1 hour ago
6 
If Gen Z had a patron saint, she’d have a striped mullet, a vape in one hand, a mic in the other, and her name would be Lola Young.
The night her new album dropped, I went to worship at her glittery, scowling altar – tragically afflicted as I am with the condition of being a millennial.
To be clear, I did not go into the night expecting a changed perspective. At most, I expected a few very good pop songs, some tepid influencer selfies, and perhaps a brand booth or two.
What I got instead was a crash course in Gen Z emotional logic – and a tiny crystal glued to my molar.
Let me explain.
24-year-old Lola Young’s chaotic, confessional single Messy became the most-streamed song by a British artist in the world earlier this year. Now she’s followed it up with I’m Only F**ing Myself*, an album so raw it practically oozes.
It’s equal parts diary entry, group chat meltdown, and antihero origin story. Naturally, the release party – hosted with Spotify – matched that energy.
Forget polished PR gloss – this was more like a moody house party thrown by someone who definitely has a zine and hopefully has a therapist.
There was a tooth gem station, spoken-word poets, a place to scrawl confessional sticky notes, and a moment where Young’s actual grandfather read a genuinely excellent poem inspired by her track SPIDERS.
And there was Young herself, standing at the center of it all, wearing a frown that seemed to say: ‘I will not perform joy for your approval.’
It was… confusing. Moving. Slightly intimidating. In short: very Gen Z. And let me just admit something: I haven’t always known what to make of Gen Z.
I’ve read the headlines and seen the memes. I’ve stared into the infamous void of the Gen Z stare – that expressionless gaze Forbes once described as ‘zombie-like,’ often deployed by teens in customer service jobs as a form of passive resistance. It’s a face that says: I’m here, I’m over it, and I don’t care if you’re uncomfortable.
And so I entered the Lola Young event as a nearly 30-year-old millennial. I’ve been taught to perform: enthusiasm, politeness, ‘good vibes.’ Gen Z? They do not do vibes, they do boundaries, and I found it all kind of off-putting and unfriendly.
But then something shifted.
Somewhere between Young’s deadpan delivery and her granddad’s tear-jerking poem, between the poets unpacking generational trauma and Young’s actual childhood best friends screaming her lyrics from just a few feet away, somewhere between the 19-year-old next to me petting her Labubu, I saw it.
An unexpected tenderness.
For all the bluntness, all the radical honesty that can feel like thinly veiled shock tactics, all the confrontational sulky shrugs and ironic mullets, there was a deep well of love: for chosen family, for self-expression, for vulnerability.
When Young declared her grandfather ‘the most important person in my life’ without a hint of performance, and he kissed her cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world, the whole room softened. Even the girl with the spider lashes and nose chain clapped with both hands.
This is the paradox of Gen Z: their blank stares aren’t blank at all. They’re a rejection of the expectation to perform for the world they were born into – the world that probably seems to them to have been wrung dry of all its potential before they were born.
Young’s music is an embodiment of that, as exemplified by the opening track, F*** EVERYONE, a nihilistic ode to hookup culture that doubles as a cry for help written in lip liner on a mirror
There’s no polish here, and no Y2K-style glam spin on the emotional chaos, as Young talks about therapy, medication, and spiraling, not like she’s bragging, but like she simply doesn’t know how not to. It’s an authenticity that’s sometimes ugly, sometimes uncomfortable, but never fake, and its clear that it offers real salvation to many of the young people in the room.
Which brings me, finally, to the tooth gem.
Reader, I got one. I sat in that chair – fully sober, I might add – and let a stranger glue a tiny fake diamond to my nearly-30-year-old front tooth, knowing full well I’d have to show up to the office with it for the next month.
Why did I do it? I think, in some small, sparkly way, it was an act of love – not just for Gen Z, but for the younger version of myself who grew up in a time when flaws were something to conceal, not flaunt.
We didn’t wear star-shaped pimple patches in public like teenagers do today – in fact, we sometimes skipped school over a bad breakout. Our makeup – shaped by the gospel of Teen Vogue and older sisters who taught us the sacred art of ‘no-makeup makeup’ – was designed to be invisible. The highest compliment was, ‘You don’t even look like you’re wearing any.’
To stand out was to ‘try,’ and to try was to risk ridicule. I remember when a girl at my school showed up with a nose ring at 15, triggering immediate sniggers: God, she’s trying so hard. By the next day, it was gone.
Gen Z, by contrast, doesn’t just ‘try,’ they declare. Their style isn’t about achieving natural perfection; it’s about broadcasting intention. They glue rhinestones to their teeth and wear neon eyeliner like battle paint. They slap on pimple patches like merit badges and wear them out of the house as accessories to their burgeoning puberty.
They don’t aim to look effortless: they aim to look like themselves. Flawed, stylised, expressive, effortful, and self-aware of the fact that all fashion is performance, so why not make it interesting?
I came to the event unsure of Young’s whole brand. I left with a mild dental liability and a much deeper understanding of my younger peers.
No, I still don’t fully ‘get’ Gen Z. But I get this: they aren’t detached, or dead-eyed, or apathetic. They’re just done faking it.
And if Lola Young is their high priestess, then their gospel is simple: vulnerability over performance, truth over poise, feeling over form.
So no, I don’t know if this is altogether a better world — one where trauma is social currency, and smiles are replaced by stares.
But I know that when I looked in the mirror later that night and saw a tiny crystal winking from my smile, I saw something else reflected back: A glimmering little reminder that showing up visibly, intentionally, vulnerably – is actually pretty radical.
Got a story?
If you’ve got a celebrity story, video or pictures get in touch with the Metro.co.uk entertainment team by emailing us [email protected], calling 020 3615 2145 or by visiting our Submit Stuff page – we’d love to hear from you.
Bengali (Bangladesh) · 
English (United States) ·