Millennial Metrosexuals are Worthless

I completed my Christmas shopping Friday night. Not bad for a man, huh? I am usually done before December comes. I have become an Internet shopper; after all, part of my job is Web design. I support my industry. Every once in a while I head to the Mall, and like most men who are part of Generation X and before (I am leaving out the soft, confused millennial metrosexuals on purpose) we hate most of the mall experience. (The Craftsman tool section at Sears is the exception.)

It dawned on me Friday night why I hate the whole mall experience of 2008. It’s what the mall has become, and the Battlefield Mall in Springfield, Missouri is the typical model I speak of. To say I hate all malls wouldn’t be true. I like outlet malls like Gurnee Mills. I like Oak Brook, Illinois’ outdoor Oakbrook Center. I did like the Sharper Image and the Discovery Stores, but I don’t think they are around anymore.

What I see that bother me the most and impacts society, is sexualizing children in stores like Hollister and Abercrombie. It’s the constant pushing children to fear rejection unless they advertise Aeropostale on every inch of a sweatshirt. It’s this pseudo belief that you are what you wear instead of what’s inside. It’s the need to look older (focused towards sexuality) than what they really are. (Trust me, after you hit 21, the time flies by too fast.)

Have you walked in a Hollister store? I don’t want to believe I am getting old, but I feel old when I am in Hollister. I want to shake that customer service rep with the attitude that he is too good to help me because I am in my thirties and give him the butt kickin’ he needs. You know what I am talking about. The kid with the highlighted, pomade do–each hair perfectly in place. I wanna bet he’s the future environmental type afraid to go out in the sun because he believes the hole in the ozone will age his skin if spends more than five minutes a day outside. He sprays his tan on once a week and smells like a French whore with Hollister’s signature smell. The smell reeks into the mall when you walk by noticing the half dressed mannequins along the storefront. Does he know he supposed be a man one day soon? (As I type, I hear Paula Cole singing Where Have All the Cowboys Gone.)

These kids are all about feeling good. They don’t pledge allegiance to the flag, they pledge to the mirror–to vanity, to Hollister, to Abercrombie. This is the result of not keeping score at their Saturday morning soccer game. Pain wasn’t a choice for little Timmy as far as mommy and daddy were concerned, and now I have to put up with this I am too good to get my hands dirty sense of entitlement as I shop.

Go get a job at Shoney’s as a busboy. What happened to the busboy jobs? You hardly see busboys anymore. If I see a busboy these days, I want to pull out my wallet, show my FOID card (Illinois Firearms Owner Identification), ask for a green card, and ship the illegal south of Texas. Many teenagers feel they are too good to work jobs like these. Based on what I ask? Because mommy and daddy told you that you were?

The word is out. Ask a manager or a CEO about future hiring, and many will tell you that this might be the first generation that loses in the interview chase to 40 and 50 somethings based of work ethic. I know. I have sat in meetings about this subject.

These are the kids that flocked to Obama because they feel like they are owed something. My friends who teach college classes deal with them every day. The second a C is assigned they complain, “but in high school…” They whine for an undeserved A. Lord knows how they will handle real leadership when it’s their turn. Everyone’s a winner and government programs for all, right?

I would hope that harder economic times would teach the lessons I learned living in Jimmy Carter’s America. I watched credit card sized interest rates enter the housing market. My grandpa’s water well business, passed on to my dad, died as the construction business stood still. Parents are too afraid to inconvenience their kids with a tightening of a belt.

I shopped for my stepsister, a 16-year-old prototype of the above definition–too much glitter makeup, clothes too tight, and looks that could nearly get her into a bar. Hoodies marked down to $16 caught my eye at Aeropostale. I fought through the mass of kids and a few parents, while listening to a poorly done cover of Led Zeppelin’s Good Times Bad Times piped loudly from the ceiling. I am guilty too, but I justify it. I preached to her about wearing her iPod at the dinner table the last time we went to Applebees. It would satisfy me to watch her butt hit the ground of the tough pavement of life, but I fear Obama and the Democrats will soften that blow with more entitlements. What a future to look forward to! I shake my head left to right every time I think about it.

I haven’t even mentioned the piercing stores, the goth shops, and the rest of the riffraff that pushes responsibility to another day, another year, another decade for many. That’s another day, another blog…

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Category: Society