Disclaimer: this event occurred pre-COVID, and this article is a reflection upon the event in question.
My former college roommate and current best friend Emma is the most dramatic person I know. A diehard theater nerd and rom-com obsessive, she’s spent years prepping for her big break but without the stage to perform, she’ll settle for being extra AF. She will drop to the ground to sell her performance about how she literally can’t even, and constantly talks about accepting death at the end of her work shifts. Some might call her one hell of a drama queen, or the most basic of basic bitches, or suggest that she’s one Hot Topic hoodie away from a hardcore throwback emo phase. And while my dear sweet bestie does align herself with all of these categories to some extent, above all, she is a millennial.
Since there are hundreds of different definitions of millennials nowadays, I’ll clarify my criteria.
Emma and I are both early-to-mid 90s babies hungry for nostalgia and financial stability. After all, our generation can’t afford to buy houses what with all the avocado toast we keep buying, and it’s admittedly much more affordable to forgo the Starbucks frapp and instead homebrew a cup of our tears every time we’re reminded of our ever-increasing student loan debt.
So when it came time for Emma to celebrate her 25th birthday, strategically blocked out from her two minimum-wage paying customer service job schedules, and applying those lucrative paychecks to our four-person-split rent, her car payment, student loan payment, groceries, and an iced coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts, she had just enough left over for an intimate gathering to honor the anniversary in which she was welcomed into this disastrous realm of responsibility and adulthood. And how do you celebrate such an occasion amidst the anxiety-inducing political climate, the faltering economy, and the nagging desire to stay home and watch Netflix all day? You bid a fond farewell to your childhood innocence with a funeral for your youth. A “youth-eral,” if you will.
There were a lot of ways this youth-eral could go, honestly. My initial thinking was a lot more morbid, as yours probably is right now. I pictured brooding skulls and sobbing over a closed casket, like if a group of goth kids broke into a Spirit Halloween in the middle of the night and hosted some sort of dark summoning circle. The fact that Emma’s sister was the party planner and did mention scoping out post-Halloween sales for decorations probably put that in my head, admittedly. But the actual event was a lot more like a former Twi-hard fan all grown up - romantic, dramatic, brooding but refined, and only truly understood by the equally dorky friends who went through the same dorky experiences.
Emma wanted to be with her family in these troubling times, understandably, so my boyfriend (another college friend) and I got our shifts covered and booked our train tickets to Small Town, Illinois. Our third roommate and college compadre couldn’t attend due to her starting her new retail job that weekend, so she sent her present and her regards with us and we were on our way.
It was a very chill get-together. We helped her sister blow up black balloons and hang black streamers. We attempted to buy an ice cream cake at Walmart but spent so much time getting distracted by the clearance section that we determined a lemon box cake would suffice.
Emma asked our opinion on what to wear and we settled on her having a few costume changes with the consistently amusing reply, “Hey, it’s your funeral,” interpreted to mean “if you can’t be extra today, then when can you?”
She opted for an all black skirt and top ensemble during our escapades to all her old local haunts - the local Mexican joint, her former (and her mom’s current) place of employment, and the scenic tour through her neighboring towns on the way back to the house. Back home, she donned the absolutely stunning tiara and veil that her sister had crafted for her and her bouquet of black roses. Looking back, I’m not sure if the theme concept was a makeshift funeral, a black wedding, or just her acceptance in adopting her so-called destiny as a crazy cat lady. To be fair, there were already a handful of cats in the house.
In a sense, it was very on brand as a memorial of her life that led her to where she was now. But rather than being a morbid time of mourning her fallen youth like so many adults joke about, it was a celebration of who she was.
We played board games until the other guests arrived - local friends of Emma that I was already vaguely acquainted with, and her mom who was just getting off from work. Then began the cocktail hour. Just kidding, most of our drinks came in six-packs! We had that minimum-wage millennial budget after all. We gave our gifts, had our cake, and delved into deep discussions that truly revealed what kind of family was responsible for creating the baffling creature that was my best friend. And it was hysterical.
At the time, I don’t think any of us really questioned why a youth-eral was a fitting extravaganza. We always throw crazy theme parties, and as her Golden birthday* coincided perfectly with a potential quarter-life crisis, it all just made sense. But as I’m writing this now, I just had to ask her: why?
Emma answered with this:
”It’s not necessarily that I’m old, but rather that I was no longer young. Nobody calls a 26-year-old a ‘young adult.’ That’s just an adult.”
She’s got a point. There’s something alluring and more forgiving about being a young adult. The expectations that you live a fast lifestyle killing industries and surfing internet trends start to taper off. And the fact that we were all mid-twenty-somethings still sharing the same living arrangements as when we were in college - down to the same dishes and laundry bags - was the kind of dark reality that stops being cute when you’re real adults. Plus the fact that we were partying with Emma’s mom may have also illuminated that point. (No offense to Emma’s mom - you’re a riot.)
It’s not that you have to grow up immediately, but that society starts making you feel bad when you haven’t. Here we were, giving Eeyore onesies and stuffed animals in the same gift bags as wine and coffee. And that was okay with us, but I’ve noticed how many of my friends are still surprised to get presents at this point because they’ve been conditioned to think they’ve outgrown it.
Now that a few years have passed, some of us have nestled into more traditional adult lives. But I gotta say, after all the growing up we’ve had to do during this pandemic while being apart from the friends who know the most what I’m going through, I’d kill for another youth-eral party right now.
I know some people still might find this kind of morbid, and that’s fine. I think our generation is just truly adept at dark humor and recognizing the difference between our emo phases and our emo reflections. Some people have mid-life crises, some have a quarter-life crisis. But I like to think this wasn’t so much a crisis as it was what it really was: a celebration with loved ones to recognize the guest of honor. I think there’s a reason why that definition can overlap for a birthday or a funeral. Either way, I think you have a lot to celebrate about the person.
I wanted to include some of my favorite photos from the party, mostly of my bestie being her trademark adorkable self. Til the next party 👻.
*Golden birthday refers to the year when the age you are turning lines up with your birthdate. For example, turning 25 when your birthday is on the 25th.
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