Their careers are peaking, they’re rich in money and time – and young people think they’re cool. But maybe it’s not as simple as that
‘Stop sleeping on gen X.” I heard this on TikTok recently. I misinterpreted it, with a guilty start, as: “Stop sleeping, gen X,” because I am 51 (peak X), so always tired; while not sleeping at the time, I may have been resting my eyes. In fact, Joel Marlinarson, a marketing guru, was suggesting my generation have become a powerful, if underrated, force online.
Aged between 46 and 61, gen Xers with proper jobs are peaking, career-wise (although it’s a different story for those out of work, as a report last month on the struggles of over-50s jobseekers made plain). We’re more likely to own homes than the following generations; we’re emerging from the trenches of childrearing and, the argument goes, ready to indulge in some me-time. “If gen X were a country, it would be the world’s second-largest consumer market,” the World Economic Forum reported last year, with gen X women in particular influencing 70% to 80% of all consumer spending.
That makes us great customers – witness the tidal wave of menopause-washed wellness guff (Which? reported last month that many pricey supplements were no better than a cheap multivitamin) and beauty brands for people suddenly horrified by their necks. But does it give us content-creating clout? We’re supposed to be (or at least meme lore presents us as) the forgotten generation, low-key, countercultural slackers on the sidelines in the grudge match between millennials and boomers; aspiration and self-promotion aren’t really part of our brand.
Sure, kids are scrambling for Oasis tickets and rediscovering zines; US Vogue called us “the cool ones” and the New York Times went further with “the greatest generation”. I get the argument that it’s our time to shine. But real gen Xers have a lot on their plate and it doesn’t necessarily lend itself to fun, aspirational content.
Being peak career means peak responsibility: our parents are faltering (I’m writing this as my mother-in-law is moving into sheltered accommodation) and our kids are facing awful geopolitical and economic prospects that undermine their mental health and chances of independence. We’re falling apart physically: for women, the sorting hat of perimenopause doles out a set of grim symptoms, while men are wondering what will fell them next – heart, stomach, back or knees? Who wants to hear about that? And who can be arsed to make perky TikToks?
I’ll tell you who: Kathryn Turner. I was introduced to Turner, M&S Food’s director of product development, by Marlinarson, for whom she is evidence that over-50s employees are “the next biggest influencers”. Turner, a cheery woman in smart trousers who exudes quiet competence, has worked for M&S since 1995. She launched her account in May, but her TikToks already garner up to 2m views and her nearly 250,000 fans are devoted: “Would follow that woman into war,” commented one. “Why did we give Andy Burnham the job over her,” asked another. “I love you Kathryn turner [sic],” wrote an account claiming to be the Heartstopper actor Joe Locke. I love her, too: Turner’s calm sunniness, as she talks viewers through innovations in the picky bits space, is a balm in a fractious world.
Turner isn’t Kate Moss, Miranda July or any of the other impossibly glamorous gen X figureheads – she seems like a normal, middle-aged woman who knows her stuff and does it well. I love that she’s popping up on TikTok and I get it – I’m projecting, but I bet Turner’s great in a crisis, her desk drawer and handbag well stocked with protein-rich treats, blister plasters and ibuprofen.
Maybe this is our online USP. Could watching grownups quietly bossing their busy, complex lives be the next ASMR? Because, mostly, gen X aren’t the “cool ones”: they’re the knackered ones, dealing with life, death, work and frozen shoulders. I don’t know any Mosses or Chloë Sevignys, but I know lots of Turners and I, too, would follow them into war, or at least get a dopamine hit from watching them be extremely competent in short-form videos. No one would want to watch me staring at a screen then breaking to fold some pants, obviously, but I’d love to see more of my capable peers ditch the self-deprecation (very gen X) and shine online.
Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
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