In It to Win It

I suppose it's true that every crop of adolescents-turned-adults commiserate similarly, swimming in their own self-important exceptionalism until the next group comes along and pushes them into adulthood. But I will make the self-awarely ironic (and admittedly incorrect) claim that we, las hermanas de generation Y, or Z, or AA or whatever initial we're at now, are a truly unique breed.

And it's more than our philanthropic tendencies, our technological aptitude, and our self-awareness (read: stylish humanitarianism, collective addiction to all things electronic, and our self indulgent analytics of the minutia of our lives). We are unique in our mixedness. Our layers. Our ancestry of teen angst. No other generation before us had the benefit of so many oscillations of pop culture. And now not only can we indulge in the cinematic genius of John Hughes while wearing high wasted jeans, but we can do both while ironically carrying a tin wonder woman lunch box and using a Polaroid camera. Go us!

But the real reason that we are a superbly particular generation of 20-somethings? Apart from the fact that we are supported by a highly individualized society, we actually have our 20-somethings to ourselves. Joan from Mona Lisa Smile proved that even the brightest young minds of the '50s were in it win it. And here "it" means "college" and "a husband" respectively. Skeeter from The Help was an Ole Miss Old Maid for graduating with a degree instead of a husband. The examples go on, but even up to contemporary pop culture we have the lingering sense that we were already supposed to have found our future hubby. In  How I Met Your Mother, Lily and Marshall, dating since the first week of college, are the relationship ideal while Ted's failure of a love life is a convenient expository device to tell us more about the gang's past and Barney's antics. And Robin's inability to nail down a man is conveniently written off by her decision to put herself and her career first and not have kids. How interesting. And by interesting, I mean rude.

It hasn't been all that long since we were allowed to enjoy our twenty-something years, at least the first few, guilt free. And there's a solid spectrum of indulgence with New Girl on one end and Sex and the City on the other. But regardless of the extent to which we let our freak flags fly, how wonderful that we have a flag pole to hang 'em on.

So tonight, raise a sinfully indulgent effeminate cocktail to the fact that we have these years to cultivate resumes and bachelorette pads before entering that sacred bond of marriage. Lots will be sacrificed on that altar (the ladder half of your nominal identity comes to mind, as does the financial independence won for you by the women of the 19th century). One day there will probably be grocery lists where juice boxes are for kids, not chasers, and dinner partys that aren't thrown ironically or as an homage to Mad Men. So before we get there, toast the fact that we're enjoying the most exciting of all life stages thus far. We're in it to win it.

And here "it" means "our 20s" and "life" respectively.