I am a millennial. What in the world does that mean?
I was born in 1988, right in the middle of the generation, defined by 9/11. 13 year-olds shouldn’t watch such things on television.
I am dichotomous.
I can’t decide whether I envision myself in a New York City apartment, some kind of digital Don Draper, or if I see myself in a cabin in Montana typing the next great American novel on an old Underwood.
This is a uniquely American idea, after all. I am not unique.
I shop at Whole Foods out of guilt. I own a home at 30 and find myself lucky amongst my peers.
I hide things from all except those I feel closest to.
I will research for hours before deciding on which 15 dollar bag of coffee to buy for the week.
I watch shows on HBO, Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon yet don’t pay for any of these services.
I am optimistic and pessimistic, light and dark, easygoing and obstinate, truthful and fraudulent.
I am confounding. I am a fork in the road of history. I am clearly arrogant. I am bashful.
I am exactly who you want me to be. Tell me what I already know. Tell me a story. But make it about me.
We know millennials. We can help you tell them a story. Let’s make something memorable.
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