It’s tempting to look at the recession as the cause of all this, the Great Fuckening from which we are still waiting to recover.
But what we are living through now, and what the recession merely accelerated, is a historic convergence of economic maladies, many of them decades in the making.
I am 35 years old—the oldest millennial, the first millennial—and for a decade now, I’ve been waiting for adulthood to kick in.
We spend money we don’t have on things we don’t need. We killed cereal and department stores and golf and napkins and lunch.
Mention “millennial” to anyone over 40 and the word “entitlement” will come back at you within seconds, our own intergenerational game of Marco Polo.
Earlier this year she had to borrow money to file for bankruptcy.
I heard the same walls-closing-in anxiety from millennials around the country and across the income scale, from cashiers in Detroit to nurses in Seattle.
He sometimes considers getting a master’s, but that would mean walking away from his salary and benefits for two years and taking on another five digits of debt—just to snag an entry-level position, at the age of 30, that would pay less than he makes driving a bus.