Teen expectations are set too low

    It is beyond me how greedy teenagers on the MTV reality show My Super Sweet Sixteen, manage to persuade their parents to fork over hundreds of thousands of dollars for their ‘much needed’ Moulin Rouge themed, Hawaiian bedecked, or Las Vegas ornamented, birthday parties. Paris Hilton, eat your heart out, because a new generation of materialist teenagers are rounding up their troops. Open your eyes folks; these pretentious socialites are all around us – twirling their extensions, batting their spider-like falsies, and undoubtedly being rude to their friends.
    However, I refrain from blaming these superficial girls for their condition when they are only following the advice of seemingly wise elders. I have a bone to pick with the profit hungry media that allures teens to mimic the pop culture they see bombarding them from all corners. I propose that we give these media moguls a dose of their own medicine
    Ultimately, teens have the potential to change the world, you know – end world suffering and all that jazz. How can they reach their full potential if their future expectations amount to partying, breaking up, and the infamous hooking up?
I will reluctantly admit that I have seen my fair share of Laguna Beach episodes. The show features unmotivated, narcissistic teens that fashion perfect tresses (all extensions, trust me) and the latest convertibles (it is unfathomable how they were even permitted their license). The worst part? Teen spectators feel pressure to plunge head first into this petty world of bliss and egoism. Though the teens featured on Laguna Beach appear to derive happiness from their overdramatic parties and shallow love affairs, spectators become disappointed to discover that only so much happiness can be derived from Madonna’s material world.
    Nevertheless, with such little life experience how can they be solely responsible for their susceptibility towards the glorified youth lifestyle? It is the mission of parents to encourage individuality. It is for this reason that I find it so irresponsible for parents to chip in to the madness and participate on such shows as Date My Mom– where a lonesome bachelor dates three mothers, all looking to sell their daughters to the eligible stranger.
    What is more, I felt my mouth gape open when I watched a fifteen year old bawl her eyes out on My Super Sweet Sixteen, after being informed that a helicopter would just be too hazardous to lever her into her birthday bonanza. Her temper tantrum lasted an astounding ten minutes – I am surprised Guinness Records did not pounce on the potential freak story. MTV shows make me feel as if I am being brainwashed to blindly follow pre pubescent teens that do not even know how to spell poverty. I think that reality stars should band together for some truthful shows. Anyone for Homeless in New York? Real World Tanzania? or, my personal favourite – Survivor: Sierra Leone.
    To fix this dire issue with reality shows, I propose that we give producers a taste of their own medicine. Cameras will be arranged in every room of their decadent mansions, so that in turn, the audience can laugh at the producer’s trivial family problems. Suddenly, family arguments, alcohol consumption, break ups, and petty behaviour will not seem so hilarious to the big shots anymore. Perhaps then, they will think about portraying the teens in such an unflattering light.
    As I perused the headlines of one of the glossy mags at a local drugstore, I was astounded to see articles recommending the overnight nose job as a girl’s secret weapon. Whoa. Backtrack for a second. How is ‘Teen Queen Magazine’ qualified to define the characteristics of an ideal nose? Who dubbed them captain of the body issue contingent? Delving deeper into the madness, my eyes found it hard to differentiate the identical, stick thin girls, wearing rags that are supposed to fill the void of their dense personality - just like a Band-Aid.
    Advertised within these influential magazines are foolish flicks, superstar singers, and clothing brands that relentlessly feature the same archetypal groups: jocks who always get the cheerleader, preps who always get the grades, and gangsters who always get – well I will leave that to your imagination.
When teens conform to clichéd fads, and choose an identity with their heads instead of their hearts, they lose themselves in the process. Magazine editors perpetuate the issue with teen expectations. I propose that beauty magazine editors should be paid based on the height of their high heels and given raises according to the size of pants they can fit into. If any of the staff members find a slight overflow in a size two pant, they will be fired. After all, it was their wise words that beauty is pain.
    The English language has been murdered by girls like Paris, who translates her feelings with meager sayings such as “that’s hot.” She is a plague to intellect. Paris says of herself, and I quote, “I don’t really think, I just walk.”
At least Paris was smart enough to end her chum-chum relationship with Britney Spears, who is the classic example of a positive role model turned into the worst form of celebrity. Okay, admit it, anyone would lose their cool in the face of paparazzi who swarm like seagulls to scrapped trash. Still, I find it immature of alleged journalists to write fluff stories concerning Britney Spears’ divorce, custody battle, and her oh-so-fabulous Sinead O’Conner haircut. Teens would learn more by reading about politics and religion rather than manufactured stars.
    As for the saintly ‘Brangelina,’ I have one question for you to silently ponder. How many teenagers can truly say they follow Stephen Lewis’ fight against AIDS in Africa? Conversely, how many teenagers know the name of at least one – if not more – of Brangelinas’ children?
    In the past, one would become famous for accomplishing something worthwhile, now the achievement itself is fame. Though some celebrities (like Ugly Betty star America Ferrara) have managed to become good role models, I think we should purge society of all journalists who waste headlines with manufactured stars.
I propose that society in general should unite to create a spanking new periodical called “Paparazzi” in which we dish out all the juicy details of the writer’s scandalous lives: when they go to eat breakfast we will be watching, when they go to rehab we will be judging, when their life falls apart, we will be laughing.
I am frustrated by the virtually nonexistent expectations of adolescents, and I propose that media moguls should simply get a taste of their own medicine.
    Ultimately, the entertainment business should entice teenagers to watch shows like Dateline instead of Date my Mom, read the Toronto Star instead of Star Weekly, and idolize influential leaders like Michaëlle Jean instead of Michelle Rodriguez. Gee wiz! I just cannot wait to see the War on Terror handled by current fans of Pimp My Ride, or global warming solved by an ecosystem friendly Paris Hilton enthusiast. Fasten your seatbelt; it is going to be a chaotic future.