Talkin’ ’bout my generation

worth the time it might take to acknowledge it. Yet the eye rolls and outrage produced by Gurner were not born out of indifference. The avocado-induced Millennial housing bubble was all anyone was talking about last week because Gurner’s assessment hit a nerve.

It’s well documented that Millennials have abandoned many items marketed as life’s essential luxuries. An Atlantic investigation found that we are not buying property or cars. The Economist infamously diagnosed Millennials as the reason that the diamond industry is in trouble. Yes, good food is also a luxury, but it is the cheapest luxury available that has the capacity to directly impact our quality of life.

This is bonus for a generation that makes less than its parents or grandparents did. An analysis of federal reserve data by advocacy group Young Invincibles found that Millennials earn 20 per cent less than Boomers did at the same stage in life and have a lower level of wealth than previous generations. A separate study by a team of economists and sociologists from Harvard, Stanford and the University of California found that half of Millennials make less than their parents did at the same age.

Many pricier luxuries are out of reach for Millennials, but a plate of $18 avocado toast is not. As Millennials realized this, our eating habits and bank accounts have broken into two misfit pieces that often feel like dueling sumo wrestlers more than anything resembling sound financial planning.

Brunch isn’t a question of why but when. We splurge on $12 green juice and $6 kombucha because drinking it makes us feel good. Trying the $18 bowl of poke at the latest raw fish locale is a conversation starter. Organic meat is better for us so we spend the extra cash when we can. A jar of $14 almond butter instead of $3 peanut butter pumped with hydrogenated canola oil sounds great to us.

Rent is due and credit card and student loan payments are always looming, but that is exactly the point: when you’re not making much money the money is going to disappear anyway. You might as well spend it on something guaranteed to make you feel good.

The overwhelming mentality of “eat and enjoy now, worry later” stands in stark contrast to the mainstream food mentality of the 1980s, 1990s and early 2000s. It was here that many of us witnessed our parents pay little attention to the calories on our dinner tables. Gastronomy was secondary to convenience, and supermarkets — not farmer’s markets — were king. food has over his reality. He discovers his ability to act independently and make his own free choices in bowls of steaming spaghetti Bolognese as viewers hear the loud physicality of noodles being slurped in a quiet home full of creature comforts like wifi and air conditioning. Pork is a source of rebellion when the faces of his Muslim relatives appear blanched as he orders crispy pork with Chinese broccoli for dinner. Learning how to make pasta is the answer to reconciling a failed relationship. Two bottles of Martinelli’s apple juice provide a moment of levity during a midnight trip to the drugstore for Plan B with a one-night stand. “You gotta get the apple juice,” he insists, his eyes suddenly aglow. Dev’s excitement around eating could be used as a time capsule to explain to future generations what people born in the ’80s and early ’90s were like. For us, food is often at the root of comfort and conflict. It is, in many ways, everything.

As we continue to experience our lives through screens, food provides a sense of community, both in the act of coming to the table with others and in sharing whatever is about to end up in our stomachs with followers online. Not everyone watches Game of Thrones or has the energy to discuss the Trump administration’s latest blunder, but everyone has to eat. It may seem obvious, but the ability to insert calories in your mouth serves as increasingly rare common ground. Food has become one of the only topics that is safe without being boring, and engaging without being polarizing.

If generations before us had photo albums documenting themselves settling into their first homes in their 20s, my generation will find similar solace reminiscing about the time we snagged a table at Rene Redzepi’s Noma pop-up in Mexico. We will scroll to the bottom of our Instagram feeds in our rental apartments for proof, recalling a crystallized picture of a dish made with expensive and rare criollo avocados grown locally in Tulum.

So, yes, in this sense, it’s true. My generation is buying avocado toast with no plans to purchase property. But we’re not sacrificing stability for experience — because we can’t sacrifice what we don’t have.

We’re recognizing that buying a house is not a realistic option for us. So instead of attempting the impossible, we’re seeking several of the same comforts that previous generations found in home ownership: a sense of control over our own lives, a greater understanding of the reality around us and a feeling of connectedness.