When Did the Term “Twentysomething” Become Such a Cliché?

I was recently commiserating with a friend over her recent breakup. There was red wine and fried eggplant and the conversation invariably flitted to Instagram, where her ex had made his relationship with his new girlfriend very public.

New Girl in question looked decent in Valencia. Aside from that, we knew nothing about her. Her bio read:

“~Twentysomething living in Cali~”

My friend and I guffawed — partly because New Girl captioned one of her photos, “Fashion is my music,” but mostly because she had used the term “twentysomething” in earnest. And what’s so wrong with that? She did indeed look about 23. But it’s not about the age. It’s about that fact that somewhere between Friends, Sex & the City and Girls, the term to describe humans who’ve been alive for 20-29 years has become a cliché.

The platitude evolved much in the same way “basic” did. Where the millennial b-word implies a high reverence for group fitness classes and Sunday brunch, “twentysomething” seems to be the fashionable classification for women who have not yet figured out their shit.

A twentysomething is Hannah Horvath and her cohort of Brooklyn-dwelling peers. Their lives are clumsy, their relationships erratic and their Pinterest boards likely replete with inspirational quotes. They have no clue. Perhaps “they can’t even.” A twentysomething has various plights and faults, and not only does she recognize them, but she makes them known — because of social media and dating app bios, she’s at least mildly self-aware: “26. New to NYC. I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream.”

At least that’s my perception. Or it’s my projection of society’s perception, because this concept of twentysomething as a means to describe one of life’s shortest decades with an eye roll is just that: an idea. A point of view. Doesn’t mean it’s right. Or real. What even is real? (We twentysomethings are very existential!) It exists because enough of us under thirty provided fodder for a stereotype, which women like me quickly rejected.

But there’s nothing wrong with being twentysomething. Not in age, nor in its broader implications. Shit not together? Great, whose is? Relationships are hard? Per my mom, a forty-something, “Welcome to the club.”

So maybe it’s a matter of embracing the term, of opening our arms to all it implies. Maybe New Girl had it right: put it out there for the world to see — the old make fun of yourself before someone else has the chance trick. Maybe it’s a matter of remembering that amid heartbreak and crushed dreams, twentysomethings have the gumption to succeed.

Or maybe it’s about recognizing the beauty in chaos? Although I can’t take credit for that last one. I discovered it on a Pinterest board.

Edited by Amelia and Leandra, two twentysomethings living in NYC.

Image via i-D