Feature piece profiling Gen Z figures like figure skater Alysa Liu and creator-musician Connor Storrie, examining youth culture and careers.
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Photos courtesy of Getty
A strange feeling arose in me watching Alysa Liu’s recent PinkPantheress-soundtracked star turn at the Winter Olympics: genuine generational pride.
As a fully grown, 25-year-old adult, I am loath to overly identify with any celebrity or cultural product. But I can’t help but notice something familiar and exciting in Liu, even if she’s five years my junior. She has an Olympian’s work ethic, but her priority is her friends. She is ambitious, but comfortable with failure. She has an online sensibility, but doesn’t speak in TikTok gibberish. She’s gritty, but joyous. Basically, she’s cool.
As a desk-bound cultural journalist, I can’t really relate to winning a gold medal, but in Liu, I do see a kindred generational spirit and a representation of the best of what my age group has to offer. At our best, Gen Z can approach a world of chaos with a blend of humor, irony, and resilence. Liu evokes a happy warrior archetype that is aspirational and balanced.
For too long, the prevailing media narrative around Gen Z was that our generation is full of “woke scolds” and “snowflakes.” To some, the rise of activists like the Parkland students and Greta Thunberg seemed to validate the common consensus that Gen Z is dominated by outright activists.
The other central generational story is one of rising rates of anxiety and depression. This narrative surrounding a generation in mental health crisis was codified by pieces of Gen Z media like the ironically millennial-led Euphoria, and further heightened by outspoken artists like Billie Eilish, who made mental health a central theme in her chart-topping songs.
These dual narratives were quite flat. And it helped serve
