Esther McCarthy: OK, Zoomers — I hung out with younger influencers, here's what I learned
Esther McCarthy: "Fashion is supposed to subvert, to shock, to rock the status quo". Picture: Emily Quinn
So, I’m at a foncy launch thingy (industry term), and the invitees are a mix of youngies (under 25) and oldies (over 35) and I notice an interesting metric.
For the foncy dinner, everyone’s made the effort, but as I’m admiring the shhtyle, I can’t help but note the youngies are all wearing extremely revealing clothes.
The outfits are shorter and tighter than a little person from Cavan.
One gorgeous girl I’m chatting to, her dress is so abbreviated, her arse is out to the wind.
Like I can literally see the bottom of her bum. I raise an eyebrow, and a glass to her. A cheeky choice, I must say.
We go from pre-drinks area to the restaurant and I realise the seating is leather.
“It’s going to take the two of us to peel her off the chair after dessert,” I hiss to my companion.
“They are going to have to get it professionally cleaned.”
And then I give myself a little mental slap. “Stop that, you miserable ould woman!” my inner feminist tells myself, sharply.
What concern is it of mine what that young lady decides to wear? I tell myself to cop on a small bit.
To stop being all snarky and snippy in my sensible shoes and support knickers, the label of which is actually larger than your one’s skirt.
Fashion is supposed to subvert, to shock, to rock the status quo. Good on her.
As a Xennial I should know better.
Xennials, in case you aren’t familiar with this particular portmanteau, are the micro-generation of humans right on the cusp of the Generation X and Millennial demographic cohorts. Were you born between 1977 and 1985? If so, you’re a Xennial like me.
Hiya! We are the generation who had to wait a whole week for a new episode.
We are the trailblazers who queued valiantly to check our electronic mail, and we are the heroes who had to endure the humiliation of the whole family listening in on us trying to flirt on the house phone in the hall to whichever fella we scored with who wasn’t too blathered to remember the seven-digit number.
You were then mocked mercilessly for it, and berated for doodling love hearts on the phone book while you were simpering on the dial up telephone apparatus.
Those Gen Zers — or Zoomers as I like to call them — will never know the pain, both physical and mental, of straightening your hair with the actual iron. I still have the scalp scalds.
So really, who am I to judge? Sure, don’t I remember well getting the eyerolls and the double-takes when I wore my velvet hotpants, neck-high frilly Adam Ant blouse and suede beetlecrushers to the disshcooos.
The wrinklies back then were just not digging my fash, man.
I am torn though. On one hand, I truly believe all women of all ages and all shapes and all sizes should wear whatever the hell they want and it’s nobody’s business.
But on the other, more dominant hand, I’m two cocktails in and in the mood for a bitch.
So you can understand my dilemma.
I mean, is it not incumbent on us Irish Xennials to continue the time-honoured tradition of our for foremothers and foregrandmothers to smile dazzlingly into a fellow party-goer’s face and tell them you only their dress and then process to side mouth a devastating put down just as she’s out of earshot?
“Oh, Mary, ‘tis yourself. That gúna looks only massive on ya, you’re like Coco Chanel...”
Then sotto voce to your chin “...not as massive as your clodhopper feet. Coco the Clown more like, was it SideShow Bob you borrowed the shoes from?”
Does every generation make themselves feel better by being scandalised by the next’s sartorial choices?
Like, I don’t mind them appropriating our 90s grunge — every age group should know the joy of the Doc Martin — and the body positivity movement is glorious, of course, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder have the Zoomers been sold a pup?
Do they feel they always have to be Insta- ready? Can they flirt without a filter? Is fast fashion robbing them of the joy of reworking a pair of flares found in the attic? Not one of them left their phone out of their hands for the whole event, just saying.
Is this progress? Is this feminism? I ponder this extra hard when I’m at a work do actively avoiding getting a nipple in the eye whilst trying to tuck into my monkfish.
Add the fact that, as far as I can tell, and I’m no expert, every one of the Zoomers seem to have fillers, or botox or some such under their skin, lending them all a similar plastic shine around the mid visage and forehead.
In an age when you can wear you want, is choosing to wear garb that doesn’t fully cover your derriere OR your décolleté, really the way to go?
And, the answer, dear fellow Xennials, is yes.
Probably. I’m just an anachronous ould lush in the corner who is still a slave to shapewear. What the hell do I know?
