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Advice my parents gave me and advice I'll give my kids.
Admittedly, I am the "advice my parents gave," and not wishing to make fun of this rising great generation and regretting what mine has left for them, I nevertheless found this sadly amusing.
From the New Yorker: Advice My Parents Gave Me Versus Advice I Will Give My Kids
Advice My Parents Gave Me: Go to college and major in what you love.
Advice I Will Give My Kids: Go to college only if you’ll major in science, engineering, or money. It’s a bleak job market, and majoring in English literature or anything with the word “English” in it has been useless since the Taft Administration.
My Parents: Never show up to a party empty-handed.
Me: Never show up to a party. Send a text to the host twenty minutes before the party starts to say that you’re “sooooooo sorry” to cancel but your stomach is feeling “weird.”
My Parents: To find a job, walk into the offices of ABC News’s “This Week with George Stephanopoulos” and ask for one.
Me: Apply to jobs via LinkedIn, ZipRecruiter, or nepotism. Write a cover letter and attach your résumé, then manually enter the same information through the company’s portal, which looks as though it was designed in Microsoft Paint. Do this twenty times a day for two years, and you’re bound to make it to a third round of phone interviews before getting ghosted.
My Parents: Don’t put photos of yourself on the Internet. You’ll get kidnapped!
Me: Post thousands of carefully curated photos of your life on Instagram so you can build a following and attract sponsors who reflect your core values, such as Bacardi and MeUndies.
My Parents: Spend your twenties finding true love within a two-mile radius of your village.
Me: Spend your twenties moving between L.A. and New York to figure out what you want in your ideal partner by dating all the worst people from both coasts and Austin, Texas.
My Parents: Show how much you appreciate your friends by making them elaborate, cellophane-wrapped gift baskets. Fill the baskets with gourmet biscuits, teas, and an ornate sugar spoon that says “Gimme a little sugar, baby.”
Me: Just Venmo them five dollars.
My Parents: Never date someone who rides a motorcycle.
Me: Never date someone who rides a unicycle ironically (unless the person got a MacArthur “genius” grant for it)...
Advice I Will Give My Kids: Go to college only if you’ll major in science, engineering, or money. It’s a bleak job market, and majoring in English literature or anything with the word “English” in it has been useless since the Taft Administration.
My Parents: Never show up to a party empty-handed.
Me: Never show up to a party. Send a text to the host twenty minutes before the party starts to say that you’re “sooooooo sorry” to cancel but your stomach is feeling “weird.”
My Parents: To find a job, walk into the offices of ABC News’s “This Week with George Stephanopoulos” and ask for one.
Me: Apply to jobs via LinkedIn, ZipRecruiter, or nepotism. Write a cover letter and attach your résumé, then manually enter the same information through the company’s portal, which looks as though it was designed in Microsoft Paint. Do this twenty times a day for two years, and you’re bound to make it to a third round of phone interviews before getting ghosted.
My Parents: Don’t put photos of yourself on the Internet. You’ll get kidnapped!
Me: Post thousands of carefully curated photos of your life on Instagram so you can build a following and attract sponsors who reflect your core values, such as Bacardi and MeUndies.
My Parents: Spend your twenties finding true love within a two-mile radius of your village.
Me: Spend your twenties moving between L.A. and New York to figure out what you want in your ideal partner by dating all the worst people from both coasts and Austin, Texas.
My Parents: Show how much you appreciate your friends by making them elaborate, cellophane-wrapped gift baskets. Fill the baskets with gourmet biscuits, teas, and an ornate sugar spoon that says “Gimme a little sugar, baby.”
Me: Just Venmo them five dollars.
My Parents: Never date someone who rides a motorcycle.
Me: Never date someone who rides a unicycle ironically (unless the person got a MacArthur “genius” grant for it)...
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