Cameron Koffman is only 23 — but that hasn’t stopped him from running for State Assembly on the Upper East Side, where he lives in his parents’ apartment.
“Experience is less relevant in my opinion,” says Koffman, whose campaign manager, policy director and mobilization staffer are also all 23 years old. He’s hoping to switch things up in Albany with his “pragmatic progressive” platform and says “there’s something wrong and icky” with current politics. “Who here has had experience dealing with a pandemic, a legislator with 40 years experience or zero? No one has dealt with this before.”
The confident 20-something — who’s still waiting on the bulk of ballots, many absentee, to be counted — says he and others who belong to Generation Z “don’t do things lightly.” From politics to meme-ing, the group is deadly serious about changing the world. “We’re very tied to our beliefs,” says Iza Schilling, 19, an Upper West Sider who says it’s common for her cohort to “cut people off” if political differences come up.
According to a 2018 study by McKinsey, members of Gen Z “value individual expression and avoid labels,” which can make them hard to pin down. That said, the researchers found that they have no problem making friends and finding communities online, they’re obsessed with “authenticity” both personally and in pop culture, and they believe that they can change the world for the better. “Gen Z is coming of age entirely in a post-9/11 world,” says Ruth Igielnik, a Pew researcher who studies the group extensively. She defines Gen Z as anyone born after 1996 and calls the group “true digital natives.”
This generation was born at the height of the dot-com bubble, and you don’t want to get on the wrong side of their screens.
Gen Z recently made headlines for pranking President Trump by booking up hundreds of seats at his June 20 campaign rally in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and coordinating the coup on the video platform TikTok. Teens there and in the K-Pop community — that’s fans of South Korean bands such as BTS — took credit for the partially empty stadium, earning praise from progressive millennials such as Bronx Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and others online.
“I’m proud to be in Gen Z. We’re super inclusive and welcoming,” says Schilling, a Fordham University sophomore majoring in digital technologies and emerging media who says she introduces herself at parties with her preferred pronouns. “I say, ‘Hi, I’m Iza, my pronouns are she and hers, what are yours?’ ”
For them, diversity isn’t just about race and sexual orientation, but gender identity and “invisible disabilities” such as mental illness.
For example, Igielnik says Gen Z-ers are more likely than their millennial counterparts to know someone who uses gender-neutral pronouns such as “they.” “To them, it’s kind of second nature,” she says, noting that Gen Z and millennials skew more liberal than Gen X and Boomers. Their hyperfocus on self-expression leads them to love characters that live-stream their lives, as opposed to the more polished celebs coming out of Hollywood or the Disney Channel.
Some Gen Z faves who have their followers wrapped around their finger: singer Billie Eilish — known for her gender-bending style and being open about her depression in her songs — and the uber-popular YouTuber PewDiePie (real name Felix Kjellberg), the highly controversial video-game streamer whose adoring fans delight in his off-the-cuff commentary.
Schilling says user-generated content is “more raw” than what she might find on Netflix or cable. Relatability is the coin of the realm online, with the goal of baring personal details to followers in order to appear more authentic.
“My generation cracks jokes about having depression. We can get very dark,” says Schilling, who dreams of upgrading her videography equipment and creating a travel vlog. “I remember there was a serial killer loose on the East Coast, and I saw Gen Z kids commenting on his Instagram, ‘Come to Maryland next!’ because he was kind of cute.”
They’re willing to make fun of themselves, too.
“Being hypervulnerable on social media gives me strength,” says Keven Victoria, 19, an Ossining, New York, native who toggles between his Twitter (@fructosepapi), Instagram (@keven.victoria) and TikTok (@latinotwink) accounts throughout the day. “I enjoy screaming into the void. Whenever I talk about dating, like about cheating or when a guy abandoned me at a music festival, people can relate.”
He says his generation’s “oversharing” about hot-button issues such as mental health — “Sometimes I post a video about being completely manic” — makes them more willing to speak out when it comes to issues such as racial justice. But that can make IRL interactions awkward.
“Whenever I meet someone in person, there’s this social barrier of not wanting to open up because I don’t really know them,” says Schilling, “But in reality, I know them a lot because it’s like I’m reading their personal diary online through their Twitter or Instagram.”
Maybe that’s why when the pandemic forced everyone inside and swapped real-life hangouts for Zoom happy hours, Gen Z was unbothered. “It sucks that we can’t go outside, but I just FaceTime my friends, which is what I’d be doing anyway,” says Victoria, who adds that he’s been keeping up virtual relationships with out-of-state friends since his early teens. “I didn’t really vibe with anyone at my high school.”
Back then, Victoria managed to land a sponsorship deal with Clean & Clear acne products, earning enough money through Instagram ads to book a plane ticket to Miami to hang out with friends he met through what he calls “gay Twitter.” Victoria and his peers are resourceful at getting what they want through the internet.
Igielnik calls the group “highly adaptable to this moment” in part because they’ve lived through upheaval before. “We are completely desensitized to crisis,” says Schilling, who credits her generation’s steely political resolve to cultural flashpoints like the 9/11 attacks, school shootings and now the COVID-19 pandemic. This most recent health crisis is forcing the group to make tough decisions about returning to college.
“I might take a leave of absence next year,” says Victoria, who’s disappointed that courses will still be online come fall for his sophomore year — for the full tuition.
“It’s a complete scam,” he says. “I was there for the classes, and the experience.”
Although it’s important for his parents that he get a college education, something he says he’s “grateful for,” Victoria isn’t convinced that a Stanford degree will get him where he wants to be financially. “Education is really powerful, but I don’t necessarily think college is essential,” he says. “Education can come from anywhere.”
Ironically, Victoria may use his time off from virtual college courses to more carefully craft his online presence. “There’s so many experiences you can get from social media, if you get that social standing,” says Victoria, who is working on snapping up lucrative brand partnerships and “dedicating more time” to his channels, much like his favorite YouTuber.
“In [YouTuber] Bretman Rock’s older videos, you can tell he lives in an apartment complex,” says Victoria. “Now, with all the money he’s made, he was able to move into a big house with a stripper pole in the living room.”