After watching the first three episodes of TV Land’s latest series, Younger, I was left with a feeling of dissatisfaction—much like the discomfort that follows a heavy meal at a greasy diner reminiscent of the brunches once enjoyed by the iconic characters of Sex and the City.
To be clear, I genuinely wanted to enjoy this show, which draws inspiration from the popular novel by Pamela Redmond Satron. I tuned in particularly for the performance of Jenna Mazar, who portrays Liza’s lesbian friend Maggie—the main character played by Sutton Foster, a 40-year-old single mother who pretends to be 26 to secure employment. I had recently interviewed Mazar for a magazine piece aligned with the show’s launch, where she praised the brilliance of creator Darren Star and discussed the complexities of mid-life parenting. As a fan of her bold and unapologetic character in Entourage, I set my DVR with high expectations.
Here’s another layer of honesty: Like Foster’s character Liza, I’m also a publishing professional in my forties who transitioned to freelance work nearly eight years ago after my second child was born. Moving from the city to the suburbs, I have recently sought to return to a full-time position, only to find the publishing industry unresponsive. Recruiters seem indifferent to my inquiries, leading me to question whether my years in print make me unfit for the evolving digital landscape. While I’m not newly divorced like Liza, the show’s themes resonate painfully. The message is clear: the industry has changed, and those of us who are older might not be welcome.
Settling in to watch Liza and her friends, I found myself disappointed. It’s not that Foster isn’t relatable; she certainly is. Mazar shines as the supportive friend, but the show’s cynical portrayal of age is off-putting. The writers insult both younger and older characters alike. The twenty-somethings are depicted as superficial millennials focused solely on online trends and communicating through emojis, while the forty-somethings are shown as clueless and out of touch with technology. (As Alicia Silverstone once said, “As if!”)
Moreover, Liza’s boss, a 43-year-old marketing executive played by Miriam Shor, is portrayed as an inept caricature, which is a disservice to the capable women I know in similar positions. Instead of showcasing a savvy executive who could challenge Liza and create a dynamic rivalry, the narrative settles for a flat stereotype. Imagine if Liza’s boss were a formidable figure who could confront her deception, leading to compelling drama around issues like work-life balance and the mommy wars versus child-free choices in today’s fast-paced world.
The romantic subplot featuring Liza’s 26-year-old love interest—a handsome tattoo artist—could also benefit from a more authentic approach. What if Liza confessed her true age and confidently embraced her attractiveness? This scenario could resonate with many women in their forties, sparking curiosity about how the relationship would unfold.
Ultimately, it’s disappointing that our culture’s obsession with youth has manifested in a series that glorifies the chance to relive one’s twenties while presenting younger characters as shallow and submissive. Sure, our twenties were fun, but they also brought challenges, heartbreak, and uncertainty. Our experience in our forties mirrors that complexity, yet Younger fails to capture this reality, making it a #missedopportunity.
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In summary, Younger, while aiming to tackle relevant themes about age and career, ultimately falls short by relying on clichés and stereotypes, leaving a missed opportunity to explore the nuanced realities of its characters.