San Francisco twenty-somethings are a curious bunch. They can be elitist assholes, willing to shell out $5 for a single scoop of ice cream, and cheap bastards, trekking home by foot to and/or from the Mission instead of putting that same Lincoln towards cab fare. They can refuse the ubiquity of Starbucks in favor of a tall drink of Blue Bottle, while debating the subtleties of each Chipotle around town. And they can roll their eyes at the obnoxious, tearful drunk girl next to them who just got her phone stolen, only to lash out with violent fervor when cell phone karma inevitably gets them back. I know these contradictions to be true because I embody them. I'm a San Francisco twenty-something, and I'd really like to know what that means. Wouldn't you?
My goal for this column is to define that indefinable San Francisco twenty-something experience. Maybe that means addressing stereotypes. Maybe that means creating a few new ones. Maybe that means dispelling the myths. Maybe that means weaving a few more into our city's mystical tapestry. If I sound like I'm contradicting myself again, then you're onto me -- and you're onto the rest of this flip-flopping, Emersonian generation.
I won't claim to know too much about the San Francisco twenty-something experience -- herein referred to as SFTE -- because I've been in my twenties for just four years, and only half of that time was spent in San Francisco. But I'd like to think I know more about the SFTE than, say, investment banking or mountain biking, so I hope you'll accept my qualifications by that process of elimination. I also hope that fellow twentysomethings (and beyond) would want to engage in a dialogue about the SFTE, via the oh-so-convenient comments section below, for what's an SFTE without a collective E to round out that newly-formed acronym?
Enough with the introductory mumbo-jumbo. I'd like to return to that word, "qualifications," and get the proverbial MUNI bus re-aligned on its proverbial electrical wires. I've noticed that SFT's have an overwhelming tendency to beat the phrase "back in the day" to a bloody pulp. I'm not talking lexically here, either. I mean to say that the past is a very present part of the SFT's present. Two decades in, and we're already talking about what we "used" to do "back in college," or where we "would always go" to hang out with co-workers after "a long day at work." I'm sure those experiences, like the ones we're having now, were good and fun and Facebook-documented and beer-stained and condom-wrapped. (Safety first!) But we haven't lived long enough to stake claim over these E's, and we're certainly not qualified enough to wax poetic about them with any sort of authority. We're young, we're meant to live life in short, emphatic, experimental bursts. The long stretches of "life experience" are supposed to come later, after we've been 20, 30, and even 40, and we've established a tried and true routine. Being in your twenties is like having an internship: We make a few business connections, we make even more missed connections, and we earn absolutely no money. (There's a reason why all interns are in their 20s.)
So why are SFT's, specifically, harkening back to the good old days when we're not even old yet? Well, the city enables it. San Francisco is a contradiction itself, filled with tempting, expensive treats and terrible, bland grub and gorgeous ocean views and dirty, puddle-soaked sidewalks. We've grown accustomed to changing our minds all the time because the city does it, too. It's at once a home to hipster dive bars and boutique stores for babies, and all of these wonderfully diverse contradictions are contained within a seven-by-seven mile area that forces us to live many lives before we've reached the age of 30. I guess we're pretty qualified after all.