Generation Y is a generation raised on the belief that their opinions matter and that other people actually care to hear them. That their identity must and should be asserted, that they must define themselves as someone new and different.
Digital curatorship on Tumblr, downloading Flac versions of obscure artists that they already have on vinyl, cries of Identity disorders and Existential crises and depression.
Sure, all legitimate things, and in no way am I denying that I am not apart of all this. I mean, look where we are right now. Look at what I’m listening to. Look at the problems I’m dealing with, look at the life I am aspiring for.
Look at the same fear that I share in common with everyone else: that my life is as meaningless and inconsequential as the next, that truly nobody will remember me when I am long gone. That this is somehow a crime against my humanity, that I should be remembered, that I should have my ten minutes of fame that Warhol promised me.
I seem to think I can somehow stop this, fix that: be remembered.
And I continue to do so. And I continue to assert this identity. But why?
Posted 11 months ago with 0 notesTags: Identity
