Gen Z 1.0 (born circa 1997–2004) were raised in the emotional trenches of early MX Player and Facebook, where character development came from watching Arijit Singh music videos in 240p and using the mustache filter, unironically. They posted “it’s okay to not be okay” before it became a TikTok carousel. They layered their personalities with lace chokers, poetry by Rupi Kaur (when it was still edgy), and fandom wars.
Their Instagram bios still say “sapiosexual”, and they believe they were too emotionally advanced to enjoy a normal teenagehood. We’re not talking about skinny jeans vs cargos anymore, this is deeper. One side mourns Tumblr like it’s a forgotten shrine of earnest oversharing and dreams of moving to Mumbai after watching Wake Up Sid .
While the other thrives on TikTok audacity and Emily In Paris delusions. Same zodiac sign, yet wildly different planets. Here’s the truth nobody wants to type out loud: Gen Z has split clean down the middle, and the divide is sharper than your last passive aggressive group chat.
Welcome to the Janus-faced generation. The elder emos (generation of flower crowns) genuinely cried to Photograph by Ed Sheeran on loop and treated Dubsmash like a pinnacle of self-expression. They’re the last surviving species who can name five Mohit Chauhan songs without Googling, sit through the whole IIFA Awards, and turn a delayed flight into a crisis narrated via Instagram stories.
These people will wear a thrifted Nirvana tee on a Zoom call with a client, but hey, they’ll also have their cat in the background as an unintentional flex of their free spirited personality. They were the soft grunge soldiers, dressed like they were always two heartbreaks away from running off to Goa to “find themselves”. Then, there’s Gen Z 2.0 (2004 – 2012).
These are the kids who hit puberty during the Covid lockdown. They never had to survive the humiliation of being on Facebook (RIP FarmVille). They were too young for Tumblr trauma and just old enough for TikTok nihilism.
Their high school crushes happened on Google Meets, with muted mics and lagging video. Their aesthetics are cleaner, meaner, and algorithm optimised: they know the difference between a serotonin–style reel and a trauma dump. This republic of 60–second reels microdoses stoicism between skincare routines, and takes their heartbreaks to Discord servers or private spam accounts with exactly 11 followers – because vulnerability is a niche, not a public service announcement.
They watched Class and wondered if Delhi parties were really that toxic. Also read: Sharing Reels creates ‘I thought of you’ moments. Instagram’s Blend takes that away Cringe envy And yet, ironically, the younger ones envy their elder siblings.
Not for the fashion (God, no, chevron and feather earrings should never come back), but for the ability to be unapologetically cringe. Because back then, cringe wasn’t a crime, it was a rite of passage. The early Gen Zs—bless them—lived before every mistake became a meme.
They could write love letters, send GIFs, and wear fedoras without fear of cancellation. These days saying “I’m excited!” online feels like you’re asking for a Twitter meltdown. And Crocs is the symbol of this generational trauma.
For Gen Z 2.0, they are not just shoes, they’re shields. Intentionally ugly, decorated with ironic charms, Crocs scream: “I care just enough to be noticed, but not enough to be ridiculed.” Gen Z 1.0 wore Crocs for Holi and sabzi runs. Gen Z 2.0 wears them like they invented irony.
They’re the sartorial equivalent of announcing a digital detox on Instagram stories. All performance, zero peace. And the weirdest part?
They sort of hate each other. Gen Z 1.0 sees Gen Z 2.0 as matcha–chugging robots; Gen Z 2.0 think their elder siblings are unable to move on from BoJack Horseman and are still healing from a situationship they had during board exams. There’s no solidarity here, just side eyes and mutual disdain.
And while Gen Z 2.0 might have missed Tumblr, they inherited something far worse: the godforsaken curse of RCB still not winning a single IPL. (Edited by Aamaan Alam Khan)
