The Core Mistake: Treating 'Gen Z' as a Personality
Here's the fundamental error television writers repeatedly make: they treat "Gen Z" as a complete personality profile rather than a demographic descriptor. A character isn't just 'Gen Z.' They are a person born between 1997 and 2012 who also happens to be ambitious,
insecure, funny, or cruel. But on screen, the generational label becomes a lazy shortcut for character development. Instead of crafting a unique individual who navigates the world with the tools and context of their generation, writers simply assign a pre-packaged set of traits: terminally online, speaks in memes, and possesses a shallow, performative awareness of social issues. This flattens them into walking clichés, making them the least believable people in the story.
Symptom #1: The Walking Slang Dictionary
Nothing dates a show faster than trying to sound 'current.' Gen Z characters are often saddled with dialogue that sounds like a predictive text bot fed a diet of viral tweets. Writers sprinkle in words like "bestie," "slay," or the phrase "it's giving..." without understanding the cadence or context. The internet's linguistic lifecycle is brutally short; a term that's popular today is cringey in two weeks and ancient history by the time an episode airs months later. This attempt to be relatable backfires spectacularly, creating characters who sound like no real person, young or old. The infamous “Gen Z Hospital” sketch on SNL, while satirical, is uncomfortably close to the dialogue in many supposedly serious dramas.
Symptom #2: The Performative Activist
Gen Z is widely recognized as being socially conscious, shaped by a constant flow of information about the world's injustices. However, writers often translate this into a one-dimensional, performative activism. The character's engagement with causes rarely goes deeper than an Instagram story or a snappy, "woke" one-liner. Their passion is presented as naive, self-obsessed, or a trend rather than a deeply held conviction born from genuine anxiety about the future. This not only insults the intelligence of the generation but also misses a huge opportunity for compelling drama. The real conflict isn't posting a hashtag; it's the struggle of trying to make a difference in a world that feels broken.
Symptom #3: The 'Chronically Online' Caricature
Yes, Gen Z grew up with the internet, and technology is integral to their identity. But writers often depict this as a pathological condition. The "chronically online" character cannot experience a moment without documenting it, their motivations are driven by likes, and their social skills have atrophied. They are portrayed as incapable of deep thought or meaningful connection away from a screen. This ignores the reality that for many, online spaces are genuine communities for finding identity and connection. By framing all digital life as shallow and addictive, writers create a false dichotomy between the "real world" and the internet, a distinction that feels increasingly irrelevant to those who have always had both.
Getting It Right: Write a Character, Not a Type
So, what's the fix? It's simple: write a human being first. Shows that succeed create young characters whose problems are universal—love, heartbreak, ambition, identity—and then filter those experiences through the lens of their generation. They use technology as a tool their characters would naturally use, not as a defining personality trait. Their dialogue feels authentic because it focuses on expressing a character's unique voice, not on shoehorning in the latest slang. Instead of being a collection of stereotypes, they are complex individuals who just happen to live in a world with TikTok, climate anxiety, and oat milk. The goal shouldn't be to create a 'Gen Z character,' but to create a great character who happens to be Gen Z.
