The pairing of a late 20s Gen Z with an early 30s millennial is a popular social experiment running wild these days. One is quoting reels and the other is still watching Facebook videos, but both are swiping on each other on Tinder, Bumble. It doesn’t have the cinematic value of R Balki’s subtle 2007 rom-com Cheeni Kum, but it definitely has its own spicy character arcs. Welcome to the generation mash-up.
You’d be surprised how the sweet age gap of five or fewer (or more) years can, in this age, feel like aeons in pop culture references. One-sided love affairs got situationship rebranding, mercury retrograde became a celebrated cosmic excuse, and pineapple is now a valid pizza topping. The chronically-online Gen Z has expanded the dating syllabus, by defining and over-analysing each stage—from eyecontactship to breadcrumbing. Millennials, who thought adding ‘complicated’ as their relationship status was pushing it, are now playing catch–up.
It was amusing when my millennial Hinge date, who has a ‘Sufi hits’ Spotify playlist, learned that nobody says ‘ping’ anymore. Many Gen Z girls are pointing out the overuse of ‘lol’ and rationing of emojis by 30-somethings in text messages. And everyone my age is just sick of hearing about the 90s nostalgia. Why not just move on? The world has.
Learning and unlearning
Gen Z loves to roast millennials for their awkward pauses at the start of every video, undying love for skinny jeans, and obsession with being the most ‘realistic’ person in the room. These oldies always have to use the correct pronunciations, and live to please everyone—bosses, parents, friends, neighbours. They still tear up over Baghban (2003), and their sense of humour peaks at Hera Pheri (2000) references. Gen Z tends to look inward, all day, every day. We outrage for fair wages, clean air, and a solid grip on sanity. But when it comes to love, neither cohort is any wiser. That’s our one shared woe. Sure, there’s world hunger and whatnot that we all care about, but let’s not digress.
My 26-year-old friend in marketing has become her 33-year-old content creator boyfriend’s unofficial artist manager. He dreams up captions, she transforms them with trending lingo she’s picked up by staying chronically online. Last month, she was yapping to him about living out a Charli XCX-inspired ‘brat summer.’ This month, she’s busy schooling him on how to be ‘very demure, very mindful,’ as per the latest TikTok trend. It’s all about learning and unlearning.
She’s eager for him to join her at the next Dua Lipa concert, but he’s dragging his feet—he only has one concert left in him. He can’t match the drinking capacity of her roaring 20s, and she’s baffled by his weekend Monopoly marathons. But when it comes to marriage, they’re on the same page—it’s outdated for both.
Also read: Dating app bios are where the game happens. And it’s not just about how tall you are
Delulu and self-awareness
For two generations that simultaneously got introduced to the horrors of online dating, millennials seem impressed – and jealous – by how Gen Z has adapted to it. The 20-somethings are conveniently nonchalant, weirdly sensitive to all things emotional, and very, very loud about boundaries. We don’t fat-shame others for giggles, we preach about body positivity. We dump our baggage in pretty obvious subtweets, 2X speed voice notes, Instagram carousels, and move on. Naturally, every new romantic relationship is a fresh chance to fail spectacularly. Our not-so-secret recipe? A heady mix of delulu vibes and inescapable self-awareness.
It’s true that we mask our vulnerability with ironic memes and have a nervous breakdown every time we get a phone call, but if somebody truly matches our freak, we go all in.
Amrita, a 30-year-old climate crusader, is constantly floored by her 23-year-old boyfriend. His game is so strong that he could eat all her exes for lunch. When she wanted to buy an electric toothbrush, he didn’t just pick one. She came home to a trail of tiny letters and flowers, all leading up to the present in the washroom. And when she shared that no one’s ever picked her up from an airport, he turned up at Terminal 3 of the Delhi airport, standing front and centre with a mismatched bouquet of roses and lilies. Ladies and germs, now that’s what you call a green flag.
As consenting adults, it makes sense to occasionally dip into new dating pools—older, younger, wiser, sillier. But make sure that the age setting on the dating apps is not too high. You might crash land into boomer territory, where a 60-year-old uncle is dying to call you beta and take you out on a date.
This article is part of a series of columns on modern dating in India—the good, the bad and the cuddly. Views are personal.
(Edited by Aamaan Alam Khan)