The Wall Street Journal recently invited readers to gawk at a line of well-dressed twenty-somethings waiting outside Meadow Lane, a glossy Manhattan grocery store selling $15 chicken nuggets, $23 salads, and $750 caviar. The scene is rendered with cinematic flair: mood lighting, shiny pears, influencers filming “hauls,” and Gen Z shoppers treating lunch like a lifestyle event.
“Gen Z and millennials are swimming in student debt and may never own homes, but they’re splurging on gut-healthy juices and rotisserie chickens,” The Wall Street Journal wrote on X to promote the article.
The conclusion the Journal is guiding readers toward is clear. New York City is in an affordability crisis serious enough to elevate Democrat socialist Zohran Mamdani to the mayor’s office, yet here are the kids, blowing their paychecks on boutique rotisserie chickens!
While this might make for a “clicky” headline, the Journal employs a media formula meant to exacerbate generational division. The story invites readers — especially older ones — to shake their heads and mutter, “No wonder they can’t afford houses.” The Wall Street Journal gestures at student debt and the housing crisis, then pivots to $15 oat milk and luxury nuggets, the implication being that Gen Z’s financial struggles are self-inflicted or at least undermined by their taste for aesthetic consumption.
But pause for a moment and look at what’s actually happening. Young New Yorkers are lining up for prepared food in a dense, expensive city where many live with roommates and work long hours. Yet the media spins off the big-city food store experience into a fear-stimulating screed about moral decay.
And the rotisserie chicken talking point, amplified online, quickly ran into reality. On X, “community notes” users pointed out that rotisserie chickens are often among the most affordable prepared proteins available. The notice linked to four different articles filled with counterpoints about the aforementioned meat. If a young professional grabs a ready-made chicken instead of ordering takeout, is that extravagance or pragmatism?
Yes, there is a social media element. Influencers film “hauls” because aesthetic grocery stores generate online engagement. Some of those content creators could earn more from a single sponsored post than the average shopper spends inside Meadow Lane. For them, the store is a backdrop, a set piece in the performance economy. But that’s less an indictment of Gen Z’s values and more a reflection of NYC culture and the algorithmic incentives Big Tech companies have established. Like these influencers, legacy news outlets such as The Wall Street Journal now chase eyeballs. Spectacle drives clicks, and clicks equal money.
So why frame this as generational irresponsibility? Why subtly encourage older Americans to see younger ones as unserious spenders? Because division sells.
Media organizations compete in an attention economy that rewards outrage and affirmation. A story that validates an older reader’s suspicion that the “kids these days” lack discipline will outperform a dry explainer on zoning laws or monetary policy. It’s easier to point to a $23 salad than to untangle decades of housing supply constraints or inflationary fiscal policy. It’s easier to sneer at $15 nuggets than to ask why healthy, minimally processed food often costs more than subsidized junk.
We’ve seen this pattern before. Millennials were scolded for avocado toast, as though brunch were the decisive obstacle to homeownership. Think pieces framed modern indulgence as evidence of character flaws. The cumulative effect cultivated real resentment across generations of Americans. The media imply that economic headwinds are personal failings, only to profit more as the rift — and disrespect — between young and old Americans grows.
In a stable society, older generations should shepherd younger generations, offering mentorship, capital, and institutional wisdom. A culture that trades guidance for mockery erodes the very social fabric it depends on, replacing community stewardship with scorn. When elders are nudged to sneer instead of support, everyone loses, especially the country that relies on generational continuity to survive.
This is where the conversation shifts from groceries to culture — specifically, a culture of a lack of personal accountability. Gen Z complains about the economy with limited awareness of the optics associated with their bourgeois purchases. Meanwhile, Baby Boomers and Gen X whine about the misguided youth while forgetting it’s their role to usher the younger crowd into and upward through America’s institutions.
It is far more comfortable for the media and political elites to highlight the spending habits of twenty-somethings than to interrogate the policy decisions, corporate consolidations, and fiscal experiments that shaped today’s cost of living. When the focus remains on lifestyle choices, the buck stops with the kid buying lunch, not with the lawmakers who printed trillions, the regulators who constrained housing supply, or the corporations that consolidated food production. Blame flows downhill. Accountability rarely does.
The danger in this framing widens the generational trust gap. If older Americans are continually encouraged to view younger ones as frivolous, they become less inclined to advocate for them. Why nurture a generation that reportedly refuses to sacrifice?
But Gen Z did not set interest rates in 2020. They did not draft tax codes in the 1980s. They entered adulthood navigating Covid lockdown policies that led to school closures and hiring freezes. Suddenly, they were spat out of the education system to confront inflated rents and grocery bills.
A line outside a boutique grocery store is an easy symbol. It photographs well. It flatters readers who want confirmation that someone else is to blame for what they perceive to be, whether true or false, America’s entitled and decadent youth. However, a country’s trajectory is not determined by $15 chicken nuggets.
If Americans are serious about reversing any so-called downward spiral, we should demand accountability upward first.
