Dear Post-Grads, Don’t Get Stuck in Neverland (Cities)
By Alina Clough
The talented girl leaving home for the big city, comically small suitcase in hand, is a movie trope for the ages. From Beauty and the Beast to The Devil Wears Prada to Coyote Ugly and Hairspray, the Hollywood consensus is that the first step to self-discovery as a young woman is to live among the skyscrapers. What these title characters are reflecting is that young adults are synonymous with urban areas.
There are plenty of practical reasons to live in cities in your 20s. Many people end up there for school or friends, not to mention the professional benefits of being close to potential employers. At the same time, the glamorization of urban life can obscure the drawbacks of cities for young people. These trade-offs are easy not to address when we consider the urban era as a rite of passage. Should we really accept without question the idea that city life is the ideal way to spend early adulthood?
Leaving home can be an important learning experience. Getting exposed to different cultures, values, and opportunities can help us learn about ourselves, such as where our communities’ values end and where our values begin. This kind of individualistic rationale doesn’t need much defending. It’s the default view of higher education and young adulthood in America.
The urbanization of younger generations is well-established. Between 85-90% of young people live in metropolitan areas at any point in time. If anything, we’re at greater risk of overcorrecting in favor of hyperindividualism, and it’s turning us into permanent adolescents.
I’ve spent the last ten years either on a rural college campus in Amish country or in major cities, namely Boston, Berlin, and my current home of Washington, D.C. I’ve noticed these cities feel very similar to my college campus. They’re not alike in terms of urban development, as my campus was full of horse buggies and surrounded by cow pastures. Rather, life in cities feels oddly like a college campus for grown-ups (with many more stabbings, of course).
In college, you could roll out of bed in a dorm you weren’t responsible for maintaining, head to the gym in your building, and then grab a quick meal you didn’t have to cook by swiping your card at the dining hall. In D.C., it’s just as easy to roll out of bed in a pseudo-luxury apartment and call your live-in super to tell him you need a lightbulb repaired before heading to an OrangeTheory class conveniently connected to your building. Next, you swipe your card (or your Apple Wallet) at the Whole Foods hot bar that looks eerily similar to a dining hall.
It’s easy to hang out with other 20-somethings since you all live in similar areas of the city, or at least are all involved in some Volo dodgeball league or frequent the same bars. The only thing that’s really changed is that your $50k a year is going to rent, Ubers, and kickboxing instead of a liberal arts degree. I can’t even pretend to hate the setup; it’s kind of awesome.
What’s less awesome is what this can do to our perception of our 20s and ourselves over time. At best, our 30s can be a rude awakening as we confront the specter of living with a husband who doesn’t want millennial pink shabby-chic interior design or as we sacrifice our hot yoga for baby playdates. At worst, we forgo these compromises and choose Neverland forever. The city’s hyperindividualism, if we aren’t careful, can teach us that life revolves around our comfort, freedom, and self-actualization. These values are not compatible with family and a functional society.
We also risk just wandering aimlessly. Isolated from other generations, many of us just.... vibe. What urban life offers in an abundance of peers it can deprive in intergenerational relationships. Many young people can go their entire 20s without interacting with older adults and little kids, leaving them without the guidance of elders and puzzled at the thought of child-rearing.
It’s no wonder young people in urban areas keep postponing starting families. Even many churches in urban areas, which should be a reliable source of intergenerational relationships, often become monoliths of 20-somethings. While this is great for finding community among believers, it can turn into the blind leading the blind. Turns out, we need old people and babies.
Finally, urban life offers a kind of personal anonymity that can be harmful to us long term. While it’s fun to think of reinventing ourselves or going somewhere where no one knows our names, that’s not how humans are meant to exist. This kind of anonymity, perhaps exemplified by the ways that apps now allow us to date people we never could have met in real life, separates us from social context and social consequences in an unrealistic way. We may be individuals, but we’re meant to be individuals in the context of our societies and relationships, not in spite of them.
While not an anti-urban extremist, I think we’re long overdue for more balanced conversations about cities. The psychological and social consequences of urban life are something we too often ignore or accept as a necessary life stage. If you are a 20-something urbanite like me, it’s worth it to think critically about how you’ll nurture the relationships and responsibilities that your lifestyle might be insulating you from — and to plan your eventual escape out of Neverland.
Alina Clough lives in Washington, D.C. and is a writer at Evie Magazine. She can be found on Instagram @alinatotheleft and on X @Cluffalo
