Women's Lifestyle November 5, 2026 0 Comments

Why Zillennials Are Rejecting Adulthood—and What This Means for Their Future Health and Happiness

Turning 29 feels like standing at a crossroad where the party fog starts to lift, and suddenly, the very idea of being an adult becomes this looming, awkward puzzle. Is it finally time to hang up the club shoes, or can you still dance on the edge of responsibility without falling off? Here’s the kicker: millennials and zillennials are caught in this wild tug-of-war. Older generations are nudging us towards the “normal” climb up the ladder—settling down, scoring that house, climbing careers—while the ground beneath us keeps shifting with sky-high rents, growing debts, and a future that looks more like a tightrope walk than a guaranteed path. So, why exactly would anyone wanna stop the party when just paying the rent feels like a victory? That’s the raw question at the heart of Jordan Firstman’s sharp, bittersweet movie Club Kid, which drills into the mess of arrested adulthood, unexpected parenting, and the urge to hold onto youth when the world’s doing its best to yank it away. Ready to dive deep into the chaos of growing up without the safety net? LEARN MORE

4 min read

I’m 29, an age that has become a catalyst for conversations about what it means to be an adult, about settling down (or not), and, perhaps above all, how to show up for my own well-being (do I need to party less?) It’s a volley of topics that are often the subject of yearly think pieces, even when we know the conclusions they’ll reach. Millennials and Zillenials feel pressured by older generations to live a conventional and ambitious life, even as they’ve squeezed young people’s hope for a future.

The New York Times detailed this dilemma just last month, speaking to thirtysomethings across New York City who felt discouraged by their situation and, to put it plainly, left behind. The article pointed out that the long-running Harvard Youth Poll found, for the first time ever, that most young Americans don’t believe they will surpass their parents financially. In the last 30 years, the cost of living has skyrocketed, and, today, mounting loans and debt among young people have made a house feel out of reach. Looking even younger, Gen Z is feeling the brunt of the economy, with Fortune finding that two-thirds of parents say their Gen Z adult kids rely on them (and Playboy going so far as to connect the housing crisis to the sex decline). Why stop partying if the rent’s too high, if there’s no reasonable expectation that you’ll find security, buy a house, or live easily past 2050?

A man and a boy walk past a wall covered in posters in an urban setting.

A24

Jordan Firstman as Peter and Reggie Absolom as Arlo

This growing frustration is likely why audiences—including myself—are connecting so deeply with influencer-turned-director Jordan Firstman’s sensational feature debut, Club Kid. The film offers a tender look at arrested development and unexpected fatherhood, but above all, it delivers an incisive look at the struggle to let go of youth when the world feels increasingly grim. The idea of partying instead of worrying is alluring: to exist in a space free from responsibility. Peter (Firstman), a thirty-something party promoter deeply enmeshed in New York’s underground queer club scene, lives in the apartment his late mother left him, sells drugs on the side, and his only real daily concern is recovering for the next party. The moment he crosses the threshold of any club, he plunges into a fugue state fueled by drugs and sex. Peter clings to his youth (his name aptly echoing Peter Pan syndrome), shirks all responsibilities, and actively defers a much-needed inward look.

Peter’s wake-up call arrives as a 10-year-old boy named Arlo (Reggie Absolom)—a son he unknowingly fathered years after hooking up with a man who insisted they turn their dalliance into a threesome with a woman. A decade after that fateful night, the woman’s best friend (played with drug-fueled frenzy by Kirby Howell-Baptiste) shows up at his door, a young child in tow, with news that the mother has died by suicide and Peter needs to step up. It’s a parable tailor-made for a worn-down generation that sees no reason to stop the party. It takes a ketamine stork of sorts to change course.

A smiling man is playfully embraced by a child while sitting at a desk with papers and a laptop in a cozy room.

A24

Jordan Firstman as Peter and Reggie Absolom as Arlo

Club Kid revels in the growing pains. Firstman avoids reducing the conflict to a simple clash over parenting Arlo or his personal struggle to break free from the party lifestyle; instead, Club Kid unfolds as a tender parallel coming-of-age, where Peter grows up as he learns to parent Arlo, a quiet, curious kid grappling with the loss of his mother. Firstman embraces the missteps, letting us see the beauty of his life as it intermingles with his newfound parenting. The whirlwind of responsibility—of unwitting fatherhood—plays like a fairy tale, a wondrous reality that feels increasingly distant from what a thirtysomething can reasonably expect today.

Watching Club Kid, I considered my own parents, who conceived me (by happy accident, I’m told) at 27 and 29. They worked at a pizza restaurant together before opening their own bar. My childhood felt wrapped up in Atlanta’s nightlife scene; somehow, completely inexperienced, they still learned to balance their lifestyle with their newfound roles as parents. I lived as the only kid (with my two-years-younger brother) in my parents’ world for several years, often sitting with the bar regulars for hours while my parents worked, or being actively watched over by the cooks. It felt like tapping into another world, but also brought us closer. They didn’t give up their life for me; they made me a part of it. These days, this story sounds like a romantic ideal, a whirlwind adventure only possible without looming loans and the high cost of living. I simply couldn’t imagine doing the same today.

A lively gathering with people posing and interacting in a stylish indoor setting.

A24

Jordan Firstman as Peter and Reggie Absolom as Arlo in Club Kid

What makes Peter’s story compelling is how he navigates the responsibilities of fatherhood without fully forgetting himself. Some critics have challenged the film, claiming that it’s stigmatizing the queer party scene, but in his telling, he doesn’t rebuke his former lifestyle, just the parts of it that were bad for him. His friend even welcomes the news of his fatherhood with excitement, spending time with Arlo without passing judgment. Even if he eventually needs to distance himself from these friends’ party habits, it doesn’t need a blow-out fight. Life happens, and people move on.

That’s why it’s important that Firstman returns to the real problem at the end of the movie. A vindictive call to social services by Peter’s ex-best friend (Cara Delevigne) leads to Arlo’s deportation and the new father-son duo’s separation. It brings to light the real-life anxieties looming over this heartwarming story. Sure, Peter did not file the proper adoption papers, and his lack of money becomes damningly apparent when he stares down health-care premiums and legal bills in the face of an unrelenting bureaucracy.

A DJ teaches a child about mixing music at a lively social gathering.

A24

Saturn Risin9 as Saffron and Reggie Absolom as Arlo in Club Kid

Firstman refuses to provide a pretty picture; he instead studies the anxieties of millennials, a generation perennially unsure of the world around them, and distills them into a heartwarming, deferred coming-of-age story. Firstman dreams of who we can become, if only given the chance to grow up in a world where steady ground is hard to find. Peter is growing up alongside his son, hiccups and all.