Help! I'm becoming a boring grown-up and I kind of like it?

Pleasure is out, performance is in: how to sell out and grow up without dying inside.

When I was 16, my phone wallpaper read, “Growing up is giving up. Stay punk.”

When I was 19, I dated a 26 year old gremlin who thought my idealism was cute but a phase nonetheless.

When I was 24, I started paying car insurance and worrying about how much to save for retirement if I could ever even increase enough shareholder value to get there.

Routine has always been an enemy of mine. I grew up with a very strict mother who was very particular about how things were meant to be: cucumbers sliced to this exact thickness, drinking glasses wiped until you heard squeaks, beds made exactly like you’d find in a hotel room.

Didn’t she see what a creative, artistic visionary I was? I was making thought-provoking Sims 2 drama series, writing the next great YA fiction, or designing the wedding dress of dreams—I couldn’t be bothered with washing dishes before bed or sorting my laundry by colour.

I’d always just known that I wasn’t going to become like the rest of the washed out adults around me. Waking up early every day, grey from hour long work commutes, frowning over a screen after 10PM, slowing down after 2 drinks, or stretching in the evenings and seeing the dentist regularly.

But you know what they say about God and plans; that guy’s having IJBOL salad with The Pen in hand.

Last year, I dedicated over 100 hours to hand embroidering a fantasy gown inspired by my Tsonga background for Heritage Day. I spent weeks watching lengthy YouTube tutorials to stitch, unstitch and stitch again. I would wake up at 5AM some days to make less than 1% of progress before work. I’d crawl from bed, battling the most ghastly hangover to get more done on a Saturday afternoon while the siren song of bottomless mimosas tempted me. There were no corners to cut or quick hacks to make any of it go faster. It was just me, by myself, for hours and hours giving myself repetitive stress injuries. And it was probably some of the most fun I’ve ever had in my life.

I am a millennial-Gen Z cusp which means I grew up with a demobilising fear of cringe and looking like someone who tries, while growing into a world where everyone puts themselves out there and selling out is cool actually.

There are 2 wolves inside me.

After a steady diet of Tumblr, Skins and sexual liberation, I seek hedonism and pleasure. But everyone’s sober-curious now. Hookup culture is outdated, the only club to go is the 5AM one, and suddenly everyone’s always talking about pre-workouts and their 5-9s after their 9-5s.

Gen-Z puritanism used to fill me with such a white hot rage. All the sexy, cool and fun 20-somethings I know becoming prudes and workaholics when we should’ve been in the club but it makes sense.

Business casual (or office siren) is back so you know the economy’s in the tank. It’s harder and harder to find a third place to loiter with your friends for free or a well-priced drink after work—assuming you even have a job that allows you free time in the evenings if you’re not still working or in denial about being burnt out. No one can afford a beach vacation or buying a house so we play dress up as coastal grandpas and cottage fairies. Most of our free time is dedicated to doom scrolling, watching an actual genocide before our eyes in between spoofs of “Pookie’s looking absolutely fire tonight” and it’s easier to obsess over a 20-step skincare routine and add-to-cart then confront the alienation and loneliness.

But, getting off the soapbox, there’s also a great freedom in control.

I can’t deny how energised I feel after going for a run at 6AM, nor can I pretend it isn’t satisfying to tick tasks of my checklist and, I really hate to say it, but my mom was right: I actually do feel better when I come home to clean sheets and a made-up bed. I used to think the boring stuff—the rigour and strictness of doing the same tedious minutiae day after day, hour after hour was the antithesis to being cool and creative.

But those 100 hours I put into an outfit that probably no one else will notice, it’s made me a better sewist. Forcing myself to lock in and do something over and over until it was right has saved me more time now because I’ve actually increased my skills and knowledge.

I put money away and it’s like a little game where the prize is feeling superior to my friends come the weekend.

I do the work on time and I don’t have to agonise on my bedroom floor with dread in my stomach about a quickly approaching deadline.

I feel like garbage from time to time and the best fix is remembering to call my mom or getting over myself to do something for other people.

I hit publish straight away on the Reel because nothing is real and we should all let cringe destroy us. I’ve been procrastinating big projects I’ve wanted for so long because I’m so wrapped up in myself that I think I’ll be burned alive at the stake for daring to care about something and be vulnerable and put myself out there when the truth is no one cares. And just because I have to give into the algorithm and make content now doesn’t mean I can’t do it the way I like. Every bit of self-promotion is an opportunity to do something cool and creative.

And if I can make the most embarrassing things, like asking for a follow or a share, interesting, then why can’t I be creative about the boring stuff as well?

Hanger Management is free to read (and will probably always be because Stripe has something against South Africa). However, if you’d like to financially show your support, in whatever way you can, you can buy me a coffee at the link below. Otherwise, a share, follower or comment is still greatly appreciated.

You know you love me,

xoxo Khensani <3