It’s 7.40 pm on Friday night and I’m in bed in my pyjamas, sipping on a green smoothie of avocado and chia seeds. I’m not entirely sure I know what chia seeds are, but here they are, floating around in this unappealing sludge. God, I wish this was a cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc. My friends have gone to a French wine bar that recently opened nearby (chic!), and my boyfriend has gone to the pub, but I told them I needed to stay at home, alone, in bed.
“Why, what’s wrong with you?” my friend asks, concerned. “I need to work on my wellness,” I tell her. She looks appalled. It’s not that I’m actually unwell, but this weekend I’m trying to live like a health-conscious Gen Z from the generation below mine, instead of the wine-loving, messy 34-year-old millennial that I am.
While my friends and I would, in our late teens, crack open a WKD Blue alco-pop the moment we escaped the clutches of our teachers on a Friday afternoon, and in our 20s we were out at sticky-floored clubs all the time, young people today are living very differently. If we are to believe the latest research and social media trends, they stay indoors at weekends and go to bed at 9pm (#quietweekend is trending on TikTok). They wake up at sunrise on Saturday morning and spend hours in the gym, they drink smoothies instead of booze, and spend their time watching TikTok or doing skincare routines in minimalist, perfectly tidy bedrooms.
Of course, it’s easy to talk in stereotypes about each generation, and there are certainly 20-somethings waking up on Saturday mornings with almighty hangovers, funny stories and some regrets – but there has overall been a shift since the 1990s and early 2000s in the way young people live.
NHS statistics for 2021 revealed that 38 per cent of 16 to 24-year-olds and 21 per cent of 25 to 34-year-old Gen Z and millennials in England either don’t drink or haven’t drunk in the last 12 months. One in three younger Britons are socialising less, according to the struggling nightlife giant Rekom, which in 2020 went into administration. On TikTok – the Gen Z platform of choice – there are millions of videos documenting their “quiet”, “self-care” weekends. Not only does their youth look very different to mine, it’s also different to the way my friends and I live now.
While I now go to fewer parties and clubs than I used to, an average weekend will still involve an evening at the pub, or a gig, or a meal. For a long time my friends and I would meet up for Sunday evening dinners, where one of us would cook, and we’d have funny, loud evenings to see out the weekend. I also love a bit of time on a Saturday afternoon tidying the flat while listening to a podcast, but this is always in contrast to something else involving other humans.
If Monday morning comes around, and I’ve not done my washing, or changed my bedding, or done a face mask, or I’m a bit tired, then I’m ok with that. Gen Z, however, would not be. So what do these younglings actually do on an average weekend? I spend a few days talking to Gen Zs in my life, and watching videos of their routines, and then I plan my weekend accordingly.
That’s how I’ve ended up here in bed on a Friday night earlier than most five-year-olds. “I don’t have the energy to do anything on a Friday night,” says a 21-year-old TikToker who has devised a perfect “quiet weekend” and tells her thousands of followers how to execute it. She advocates “decompressing from work” in bed with a green juice, then “be a bit naughty and stay up til 10”.
You know what? It’s not so bad being in bed after all. I am also fairly tired from my working week, and it’s quite nice to be under the covers, dozing off, knowing I’ll be fresh as a daisy tomorrow. Maybe these Gen Zs are onto something. The problem is, though, that the TikToker wants me to wake up at 7am. She calls this “sleeping in”, but I call it “torturing myself as if I have children, when I don’t have any”.
My boyfriend isn’t thrilled when the alarm goes off at 7am, which is fair enough, because he didn’t sign up for this Gen Z life, and had several pints last night. Never mind. Now is time for my “Slow, wellness morning.” I hope that means a big brunch in a local cafe (maybe a Bloody Mary or two?) with friends, but no. I have to, instead, drink another green juice, and make a to-do list of the chores I’m supposed to get through today. Then I have to “journal”, which means writing down my thoughts in a neatly sectioned day planner.
Now, apparently, it’s time for the gym. In my normal life I’ll go to a pilates or yoga class some weekends – one hour maximum, then fun. But as a Gen Z, I have to spend two hours doing a “proper” session of leg curls and another limb-related things I’ve never heard of. Exercise, for Gen Z, isn’t just a sensible thing to do, it’s a “hot girl habit”, which means it’s non-negotiable if you want to be, as a TikToker puts it, “hot on the outside, but also on the inside, to take care of your soul and wellbeing.” I do want that, I think?
When the gym session is over, I have to have a protein shake and a protein-filled breakfast, ideally involving gluten-free bread. There’s still no mention of a Bloody Mary or of seeing my friends. When deciding what to make for my breakfast, I can’t Google anything because that’s not what the kids do, and I have to instead use TikTok as my search engine. This is ok when looking for egg recipes, but less good when trying to later find out about the news (a lot of 19-year-old explaining horrifying geopolitical conflict to me in soundbites).
I consult my Gen Z guru about whether I’m allowed to head out for some fun. “Now, you tackle that to-do list,” she says. Oh. So more chores, which involve my changing my bedding (ugh, but I did it last week already, or actually, maybe the week before), and arranging my skincare properly into little plastic boxes, so I know my hyaluronic acids from my peptide serums. It’s soothing to have a pristine room and all, but the sun is now setting, and the day is running away from me.
What would a Gen Z do now? “ I turned 21 at the peak of the pandemic,” says Sienna, a student from London. “I play board games and crochet at home, but sometimes I’ll go to a friend’s house and play video games there. We don’t really go to bars, they’re expensive and loud.” A Gen Z TikToker says on Saturday nights, the world is my oyster: “For example, last Saturday night I really wanted cereal, so I went to the shop and I had a huge bowl of cereal for dinner! A magical experience.” Right, ok.
So I’m alone at home again, eating cereal and watching Netflix, while doing a skincare regime using my perfectly arranged potions. Instead of the spicy margarita I’d normally be having about now, I’m slurping a “sleepy girl” mocktail – a mix of tart cherry juice, powdered magnesium supplement and soda water. TikTok videos featuring the concoction have garnered hundreds of thousands of views, with some Gen Z saying this wellness trend helps them with their sleep issues. I get another early night so that I can wake up at 6am on Sunday morning and get eight hours sleep. “You’ve got to wake up early, so that you can go to bed early on Sunday evening,” I am told.
While all this is very wholesome and healthy for the body – and the bank balance – I am alarmed. But should we be worried about all this staying in? Kay Roberts, an accredited London-based counsellor, says that she interprets this shift as “Generation Z picking up on the fact that alcohol is a depressant that can affect people’s mental health, and there is a huge mental health crisis at the moment, so young people are engaging more in what they call ‘self care’ in steeling themselves against the challenges they face.”
That sounds pretty wholesome and sensible. “It can be,” says Roberts, “and drinking less is certainly no bad thing. But there is also the issue of younger people staying in on their phones, and not engaging with other people in the real world, not taking on the social challenge of being out and about meeting each other, and there is space for anxiety and an insular life to also take root there. The pandemic had a big impact on lots of young people, who were doing school or university from their bedrooms, seeing nobody else. Now, even though it’s over, that is often all they know.”
According to recent research, young people aged 16 to 24 feel more lonely than any other age group, including people aged 65 and over. A survey of 1,000 adults found that 73 per cent of Gen-Z report feeling alone sometimes or always. Loneliness can be as damaging to health as smoking 15 cigarettes per day. And people who experience social isolation have a 32 per cent higher risk of early death. “Gen Z tend to be hyperconnected in the virtual world,” says Roberts, “but socially disconnected in a way that previous generations simply haven’t been.” In essence, Gen Z are stressed out.
It’s tempting to scoff at “generation boring” – but there’s another reason why young people are choosing to stay in, and indeed why they’re so worried. They’re broke. A 2021 survey by management consultancy firm Deloitte found that financial insecurity is one of the leading causes of stress among the young, with two-thirds of respondents saying that they often worry about their financial situation. Other reasons for being stressed included fear of their loved ones getting sick, family welfare, having fewer job prospects because of the pandemic, and witnessing devastating global events.
A friend’s Gen Z brother who recently graduated from university lists the reasons he and his friends feel stressed. “Despair over being one of the first generations in several hundred years to have lower living standards than our parents. Trying to push away the dream of ever owning a home in a place we’d like to live. Entering the work force with circa 30-60k of debt measured on a very high inflation index. And because we fiercely compete for jobs which our parents would’ve got from their dad’s friend’s dog’s therapist.”
Katie, who lives in Surrey and is turning 17 next week, tells me that she does see her friends, but she also spends a lot of time on her phone in her bedroom watching fun videos because, “what’s happening in the world, and to our planet, is so depressing and I feel helpless a lot. Sometimes it’s easy to stay at home. It’s also cheaper, and I want to save what money I have because I worry about the future, and the economic crisis that we’re in.”
I feel for Gen Z, and the worry that consumes so many of them. I do wonder, though, whether “quiet” weekends spent alone, seeking control and escapism, are the answer.
Professor Bruce Hood, who runs the Science of Happiness course at Bristol University, says: “Something has changed in the mindset of children today that they feel they have to be on point all the time, on form all the time, because of the ubiquitous nature of online profiles and social media. It makes young people compare their lives to others, and they have this unrealistic view of how successful, productive, and perfect they need to be.
“That, coupled with a real financial uncertainty, and worries about the world of work, means they’re extra anxious. It’s our human nature to try and control our environment, so a lot of young people are trying to do that with this ‘clean’, insular way of living. The issue is that there is huge benefit to face-to-face social interactions, and spending all your time ruminating on your thoughts means you don’t get the benefit of sharing those problems with others, and you end up being totally self-focused. You need a balance, but parties are good things to go to…”.
I certainly don’t feel better about the state of the world when I wake up at 6am on Sunday morning and it’s still dark. For a moment I think it must be Monday morning. I spend the day drinking coffee, doing chores of laundry, cleaning, spritzing my laptop and phone screens so they’re sparkling clean. I like the idea of going into the week with a soothed mind, but it feels like the whole weekend has been about preparing for work instead of enjoying not working. At 4.30pm, I am told I need to “wind down”. I can’t see how I could get any more wound down, as I’ve done nothing remotely exciting.
I take an “everything shower,” a trend which involves spending 45 minutes under hot water, washing your hair (twice), doing a scalp scrub and a hair mask, shaving your legs, doing a face mask, and exfoliating every limb. At 7pm it’s time to get into bed and read, then do some breathing exercises and some more journalling. I don’t have any thoughts to journal except: “Is this what slow death is like?” but I do it anyway.
It makes sense that young people feel very differently to the way I did, growing up in the 90s and early 2000s. They’re trying to take back some control of the world, and at the same time they have their addictive phones luring them into their bedrooms. Born a decade earlier, I’d be the same, I’m sure. Yet, it seems to me that this type of insular, “self-care” weekend is denying young people the fun, communal experiences they deserve.
I may have overdone the vodka on a few nights out and I’m sure I’d have more brain cells if I’d stayed off the shots, but the socialising did me a lot of good. Those shared experiences, that occasional lack of control, would, I’m sure, make the quieter weekends, and those long, hot “everything showers”, so much more gratifying. The truth is, although there are extra challenges now, lot of us were relatively broke when young, but found ways to spend time together. Economic issues aren’t going away anytime soon, but it doesn’t cost much to go to a friend’s house. So it would be good for us all, if hanging out together could be the next TikTok trend.
A GEN Z’s VERDICT: i’s Kia-Elise Green (21) on how true to life Kasia’s Gen Z weekend really was
As a Gen Z-er I’m part of an extremely controversial cohort. We’re “boring” – we don’t drink, we like to sleep early and wake early, we journal and, of course, we spend hours of our weekend in the gym. For me, and most of my friends, I’m afraid to say that this is very true. I’ve been to a club twice in my life, and the day I went out for dinner after work and didn’t get snug in my pyjamas until 12am I was mortified. Partly because my sleep schedule was ruined and partly because I didn’t have the energy to make my green tea and moisturise my face before I passed out for the night.My alarm goes off every morning at 5am, and the sleep mode on my phone is always on by 9pm (9.30 if I feel like pushing the boat out which, quite frankly, is rare). As for the smoothies, my friends are huge fans, and the sleepy girl cocktail is as much the norm for us than the WKD was for 21-year-old Kasia.
Her “quiet girl” weekend to me is just the weekend. As for her normal Friday and Saturday night rituals, they sound like a big ball of sociable hell – and I can feel a headache coming on just at the thought of not one but two Bloody Marys.
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