The Mass Rejection of Adulthood

By Sadhika on

Grace Slick, the iconic lead singer of Jefferson Airplane, a band that gave the 1960s some of its most emblematic anthems, once made a strikingly honest observation:

"All rock-and-rollers over the age of 50 look stupid and should retire. You can do jazz, classical, blues, opera, country until you're 150, but rap and rock-and-roll are really a way for young people to get that anger out, that sexual energy. It's silly to perform a song that has a sexual thrust to it when you're 75."

Slick, who left rock music behind decades ago, chose to walk away from the stage and embrace the realities of aging rather than cling to the energy and image of her youth. Her statement is not merely about music; it calls for an acknowledgment of life's different seasons, an acceptance that is both liberating and dignified.

Grace Slick, as an artist, captured the spirit of her generation. Songs like Somebody to Love and White Rabbit reflected the psychedelic counterculture, with its explorations of freedom, rebellion, and self-discovery. Her music was of its time and for its time, pulsating with the idealism, anger, and experimentation of youth. But she recognized that rock and roll is inherently youthful and to persist in pretending otherwise would not only be dishonest but faintly ridiculous. In her view, to cling to the aesthetics, desires, and ideals of youth is not merely to deny the reality of time but to become a parody of one’s former self.

One of the more regrettable tendencies of modern culture is its infatuation with perpetual youth, a phenomenon that manifests itself in everything from the media we consume to the clothes we wear and even the manner in which we speak. The adolescent, once understood to be in a transitory stage of life, has now been elevated to a kind of cultural deity, worshiped for his vitality and absolved of his ignorance. To be young, or at least to seem young, is no longer a stage of life but a categorical imperative. We see this absurdity in the middle-aged man who dresses like his son, the 50-something woman who adopts the slang of teenagers or the creepiest of all, the 38 year old frat boy who flirts with college girls. 

The refusal to age gracefully, or rather to age at all, is at its heart, an act of narcissism. It is an insistence that the world indulge one's illusions, no matter how grotesque or incongruous they may appear. This refusal is born of cowardice—a terror of mortality so overwhelming that it demands a futile defiance against the inevitable. What is most striking, however, is the way in which this narcissism impoverishes the individual. 

Slick’s decision to age gracefully stands in sharp contrast to this cultural obsession with eternal youth. Modern pop music, in particular, seems reluctant to embrace the inevitability of aging. Consider Taylor Swift, one of the most celebrated artists of our time. Now in her mid-30s, Swift continues to pen songs that could easily be lifted from a teenager’s diary. Her lyrics, laden with tales of heartbreak, “getting back at” one’s exes, and the dizzying highs of first love, resonate deeply with a younger demographic. As Swift enters her mid-thirties, the question arises: how long can she credibly inhabit this persona? Certainly, Taylor Swift’s ability to connect with her audience is extraordinary, and her success is undeniable. But her insistence on mining the emotional landscape of youth raises questions about authenticity and growth. Does her reluctance to evolve thematically reflect artistic stagnation, a calculated effort to remain relevant in a youth-driven market or a deeper discomfort with confronting the complexities of her own adulthood? 

Art, at its best, is a mirror held up to the soul, reflecting the truths of the human condition in all their complex glory. Slick understood this when she chose to leave the stage rather than continue performing music that no longer resonated with her. Her decision was not merely an act of integrity but a recognition of art's higher purpose: to express the truths of the moment, rather than perpetuate the fantasies of the past. The artist who refuses to be creatively honest, cheats both his audience and himself, reducing art to a commodity rather than a genuine expression.

Youth is but a phase in one's life, not a virtue in itself. Childhood, though delightful, was never meant to be an end but a passage, a stepping stone towards the far greater destination of adulthood. The true treasures of life lie in the joy of independence, the capacity to carve one’s own path, and the willingness to embrace adventures. Adulthood offers a depth and richness that youth, no matter how carefree, can never provide. It is incumbent upon our culture to make adulthood an attractive proposition for the young, to sell it not as a burden but as a gift—an invitation to the autonomy and purpose that come only with age. A failure to do so risks reducing our society to one of aging Peter Pans, desperately clinging onto Neverland.



Image Source: Peter Pan (1953)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Last Keeper

By Sadhika on
Image
Of late, there has been a feeling settling in my chest like dust in an empty room—soft, silent, and certain. It is the quiet realization that my memories are not permanent things. Not chiseled into stone or sealed up in iron-bound books, but written in pencil, the graphite growing faint with each passing season. I am aware, now more than ever, that what I remember will not be remembered for long. I think of my parents often. I remember my mother in her early sarees —floral, soft, like the curtains of a spring house. As the years passed, her colours dulled. Maybe they matched her age better, or maybe they just matched her mood. I see her now in my mind, young, barefoot and newly married, in a kitchen not yet hers, lifting a spoon to her mother’s lips and asking if the peas were soft enough. What was her scent like?  Turmeric?   Talcum powder? Or those white rajnigandha flowers she loved so much? I don’t remember. I think of my father and the way he used to hum when he shaved, a...
Read more

A Village Denied

By Sadhika on
Image
Co-authored by  Shrankhla and Sadhika on August 28, 2025 Of all the deprivations visited upon modern childhood, none is so grave and yet so little acknowledged as the absence of other people. Those of us who grew up in fuller households know what today’s children are missing. We remember weddings where ten different families would squeeze into one house, sleeping on the floor, with cousins lined up like sardines. We remember giving up one’s own bed to an elderly uncle, and waking up to the sound of aunties and uncles gossiping arguing over tea. In those homes, very little belonged entirely to us. The bed we slept on, the food on our plate, not even our stories. Someone was always listening in, correcting us, mocking us, softening our triumphs with their own, or placing a hand on our shoulders when we faltered. It was infuriating. It was also how we learned that life is not designed for any one person’s comfort—least of all a child’s. Siblings taught us this brutally and tende...
Read more

So begins our undoing

By Sadhika on
In rich aplomb we sit Atop the piles of gold and good That we write to our credit, When the good Lady Fortune’s scales tip And the waves of Chaos come gushing in From directions unventured, To lay waste to our kingdoms. So begins our undoing. Then a shadow confronts us To which, earlier, we became privy Only in brief flashes of thought or dream, And brushed away with impatience. The darkest among us have a still darker self Long lost and buried Beneath the best of us. The old altars lay slighted, Our ideals bear no resemblance  To the names we gave them. We are ruled by Furies aplenty. How do we rebuild our fallen kingdoms Without Divine Guidance? Somewhere along our final descent, We meet the gods we banished. A faint glow (perhaps even imagined)  Beckons across the waste yonder. Do we follow? Or do we give in to the darkness? 
Read more