Mentored by the 90's, Roasted by Gen Z
To be a Millennial is to be both a relic and the inspiration
You know what really jams my Glock? Sometimes it seems millennials, the original digital natives, have become the internet’s favorite punching bag. We’re “cringe.” We try too hard. We’re drunk on oat milk, identify with “adulting” as a personality trait, and are nostalgic for UPN sitcoms and TGIF programming of the late 90’s. And maybe… some of that is true.
But here’s the thing: millennials are the bridge.
We had analog childhoods and digital adulthoods. We have the skills to burn a CD and build a social media strategy. We remember getting up early to watch cartoons on Saturday mornings and also staying up late to code a MySpace layout. Millennials are the last generation to truly experience mentorship in its most natural form; before it got branded, packaged, or monetized.
I learned to dance, pop my kitty, and developed my lifelong love of hip hop from being around my older cousins. My middle school friend’s big sister taught me how to light the end of an eyeliner pencil so it would glide on smooth (no need to try this beauty hack at home now… we’ve evolved). My grandpa modeled the joy of food and cooking, the care and ritual of stirring, seasoning, and feeding your loved ones. My elderly neighbor coached me to move to the beat of my own drum, whether people approved or not.
So much of who I am comes from the generations above me putting me on to something—some thing. Culture. Confidence. Rhythm. Wisdom. My interests stretch far beyond my years because they were passed down to me like recipes.
We’re a generation raised in basement kickbacks, in beauty salons, and at neighborhood block parties. We were allowed to be in the room, even if we were just meant to sit there and listen. We learned so much by simply being around. By watching. By eventually being handed the aux cord or taught how (and when) to stir the pot just right.
And I wonder if that kind of unspoken mentorship is getting lost.
So many younger folks didn’t grow up around their elders in the same way. I see it with my younger cousins. My paternal grandparents are an extension of my parents; we hella close. I don’t doubt my Gen Z cousins’ love for our grandparents but the dynamic isn’t the same. They grew up online, where mentorship is behind a paywall, advice is condensed content, and wisdom is tucked into Instagram stories set to disappear in a few hours. There’s a gap now. A visible space between generations. And often, it’s filled with irony, skepticism, or distance.
I saw a TikTok recently where someone shared a clip of Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” and captioned it: “I thought clubbing would really be like this.”
And all I could think was: It was.
Clubbing was like the music videos. Being pressed body to body. Hair sweat out. Minimal VIP. Even a few booths in the corner if your feet gave out in your Charlotte Russe peep toe pumps. No one filming. No ring lights. Just good vibes and big basslines. It was all about having a good time and none of it was for content. And the next day we would upload a full album dedicated to that one night to Facebook. Ah… good times.
There’s this cultural disconnect that makes it feel like younger generations don’t believe our youth was real. But it was. And in many ways, it was freer. Messier. More offline. Less documented and less curated.
As I glide into into my fourth decade of life, I find myself thinking about what it means to show up for the next generation. I don’t want to gatekeep our experience, but I do want to be someone who offers context. I want to mentor. I want to model how youth is not an age, but a mindset, a curiosity, a way of showing up in the world with wonder.
My three closest friends span a decade. One is five years older. One is five years younger. One is my age. I got 20-something friends and I got friends that would cuss me out if I revealed their age. That range feels natural to me, like we’re all basically the same age and especially because it feels like a common millennial trait. Our ability to move between age groups with ease. To talk to anyone. To hold space for different experiences. We learned to do that by being surrounded by intergenerational influence, by growing up in blended households, at after-school programs, in our church parking lots and at city parks.
We’re the bridge between landline phones and iPhones. Between handwritten notes and texts written in disappearing ink. Between big cookouts and a curated brunch. Between being raised and being self-made. And with that position comes responsibility.
We’re raising Gen Alpha and we’re working alongside Gen Z. If they feel disconnected from culture, it’s on us to help reconnect them… not by preaching, but by modeling. We can share what the elders gave us: self-trust, style, stories. Not to be cool, but to be kind. Not to keep up, but to lift up.
If Gen Z is building the new world, we’re the ones who remember the blueprints.
We’ve been given so much. The least we can do is pass some of it on.