No one makes coming of age films about 23 year olds. They’re always about highschoolers played by 23 year olds. Or about baby deer (Bambi is one of the top fifty films in this genre, according to a Wordpress blog that I found and read for thirty seconds and am now treating as a credible source, bite me.) As a 23 year old myself, I resent this. Even though I could much more easily pass for “high school senior” than virtually any actor who has ever been hired to do so (I’m looking at you, the cast of Grease,) this Wordpress blog’s list is chock-full of movies that I can’t really relate to anymore.
Them in highschool (left), me in high school (right).
Princess Diaries, Breakfast Club, 10 Things I Hate About You, all provide a road map for navigating through turns I’ve already passed or messed up or missed. I have no prom to serve as my pivotal moment, no graduation speech, no one-last-house-party. And what can I expect to learn from Bambi? Bambi has hooves. And I learned to walk forever ago.
In the timeline of The Teen Movie, I’ve entered the post-credits, feeling awkward and groggy and too-full of Buncha Crunch. I’m in this age of obscurity, where my problems are no longer the subject of artistic interest — an era of existence that John Hughes wouldn’t touch even if Molly Ringwald’s life depended on it. Our screenwriters and directors and great artistic minds are too preoccupied by the universal rites of passage we face from highschool to college graduation. The great milestones on my horizon are less momentous, more administrative — my parents just sat me down to tell me I’m too old to be using their HBO.
Don’t even bother Googling — there is no Saoirse Ronan vehicle that tackles this great existential question. Just like there’s no A24 movie subplot that will tell me how to have my art framed affordably. So until there is, I’m striking out for my own second feature. One that’s niche and weird, one where the protagonist solves problems like hosting her first dinner party and finding a sensible pair of sneakers that work with black pants. Incidentally, you’re here — welcome to the Boring Twenties.
You are so funny. I am so happy I found your substack. I'm 25 and feeling all of this. Thank youuuu!! 🫂😭❤️