This article is taken from the April 2025 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Right now we’re offering five issues for just £10.
Big argument chez nous re capital letters. Why do my Gen Z daughters have such a problem with upper case? I keep trying to explain that I’M NOT SHOUTING! Just because I’m not illiterate. Well, actually I usually am shouting. But I wouldn’t be, if Lyra and Minnie weren’t so hell-bent on having the last word.
We can’t involve Hector in this debate because at 12 he’s Gen Alpha, and frankly I’d be delighted if he wrote anything — lowercase, uppercase or Microsoft Word’s mysterious tOGGLE-cASE. When I made this point to the girls they began huffing that I had revealed myself to be a “boymom”, which is Gen Z speak for preferring your sons to your daughters.
Back to the capitals, apparently normal grammar feels unduly “formal” or even “aggressive”, whereas lowercase only feels more “inclusive”. So says Lyra, citing Spotify’s “chill vibes” and “teen beats” playlists as evidence.
“What about the poor marginalised capitals? How are they feeling?” I asked. Minnie’s response: “dont be sarcastic mama youre literally so sarcastic its so bad”.
Undeterred, I asked if we should also dispense with spaces between words? “OMG please shut UP” was Lyra’s response (this was all via WhatsApp). Felt a weird sense of triumph at inducing a capital.
Apparently I’m also not being sufficiently supportive of their goal to #eattherainbow. This involves buying wildly expensive vegetables in random shades (e.g. purple carrots, blue potatoes, yellow courgettes) and making “video content” about their preparation and consumption.
The Zoomer gave her notice, and told me to go work on myself
Followed by in-depth analyses to camera of said vegetable’s effect on their flawless skin. ffs! If only all it took were some blue carrots, not a shedload of Botox.
One comment about the mess created by this process (the kitchen island resembled an industrial compost heap) prompted a full teenage rant about my failure to “hold space” for their values.
I shouldn’t be surprised. All my juniors at work are massively feeble/humourless and slack off at slightest opportunity, e.g. me having been insensitive to them. The latest excuse for a day off, from a 25-year old, was a great uncle dying and this “triggering” painful memories of the death of a dog in childhood. I mean, come ON!
When I queried this, the Zoomer in question burst into tears and left. She later gave her notice, and told me — as a parting shot — to go and “work on myself”. This kind of navel-gazing apparently being the only work Gen Z can handle. I believe this is known as “revenge quitting”.
Was I heartless? Her great uncle was in his nineties! I’m sure he’d have taken my side. But the whole thing has now triggered a full crisis of conscience. I never thought of myself as a problem. I’m kind! I’m a geriatric millennial! Ok, maybe I’m pushing Gen X … But somehow the Zoomers bring out my inner Boomer. Suddenly I’m insisting on a stiff upper lip and capital letters. Where’s my inner snowflake?
Speaking of which, I feel like we’ve now officially given Lyra’s arty “low demand” school long enough, and she needs to move back into a standard- issue pressure cooker for GCSEs.
It all seemed like a nice idea at the time, in a crazed post-Covid fug, but at the risk of sounding like Amanda in the Motherland spin-off (oh God, why do I feel so seen), Lyra’s not being challenged. She’s bored, I’m bored with hearing about it, I’m also bored with arguing with Will over whether it’s “bored of” or “bored with” … and so life chez Savage-Gore continues.
