While scrolling through a lengthy photo dump of a friend’s recent paddleboarding excursion in Cornwall, I was hit by a wave of existentialism. The toxic dopamine spikes from social media that once jolted my soul were now gone. In its place was a heavy shame. “This place used to be sexy and fun,” I thought, while opening, closing, then reopening the Instagram app. “How pathetic it is to be a millennial social media addict.”
Given the definition of a “millennial” encompasses both a 28-year-old Gigi Hadid and a 42-year-old Pitbull, it would be reckless of me to generalise the status of an entire generation. Yet due to fastidious research (scrolling until my eyes bleed) and my age group’s alleged predisposition to make literally every passing thought into a narcissistic melodramatic state of the nation essay, I can officially declare that millennials are done. Jettisoned. We have no place online in 2023.
