Why I Like Miley Cyrus

Miley Cyrus a Vehicle to Empower Youth?A few nights ago, I had a dream about Miley Cyrus. The details are scanty and I don’t really remember anything. Nevertheless, feeling a mysterious pull toward the scandalous starlet, I listened to her album on my way to work. Once there, I spotted a special Miley Cyrus issue of a magazine and, being a superstitious person, took it to be a sign. A sign of what? If nothing else, a sign that I should be paying attention to her (and for good reason).In a recent interview with Miley in Elle, Tavi Gevinson defends Miley’s supposed insanity on the grounds that her hyper-sexual and hyper-silly outbursts are actually a positive way to engage young people’s creativity and self-confidence. Noting that “she didn’t become a sex kitten or a bombshell but instead a stoner with an androgynous haircut and proudly boyish frame,” Tavi interprets Miley’s antics as a self-possessed expression of artistic freedom as well as a much-needed dose of levity. Within the mass media’s polarizing ethical minefield, where anyone willing to really stay true to the “rock-n-roll” attitude gets lambasted from every side, Miley is a rarity. When she performed with Robin Thicke she was vociferously attacked for “overexposing” herself, but didn’t Madonna solidify her entire illustrious career through the brazen celebration of her body and fearlessness? Miley is a young person that acts like a young person. She is empowered by her own middling millennial place in the world.The same, however, cannot be said of myself or of many people I know. Granted, Miley is very wealthy and has a large enough safety net in place to do whatever she wants with her life, so it may not be entirely fair to draw comparisons here. Yet, why do I feel like we all carry ourselves around like funeral directors? The vast majority of conversations I have with people my age eventually end up spiraling into the same pit of frustration broiling in the face of a colossal unemployment epidemic among the educated under thirty-five.Stewart Cole shared his experiences with the imbalance of the “worthy candidate-to-position ratio” which left him “moody, combative—a brooding denizen of uncertainty,” and his professional and emotional anxieties are typical of those who pursued the humanities in university. English students in particular are often passionate, hard-working, and ambitious but their zeal is usually met with roadblocks in the professional sector where practical experience counts for more than education, regardless of what well-meaning parents may have argued in the past. We’ve been fed goals that are seemingly unattainable. When you have earned a Master’s Degree and work a minimum wage job (as I do) you take on the role of a dupe, with education cackling in the corner at your naïveté. At least that’s how it feels—and doesn’t that count for something?While I wouldn’t go so far as to venture that education is the enemy of creativity, I do sense a pattern among the poets, editors, and readers I encounter at literary events. Everyone is very tired, very serious about their work. Few and far between are the moments when a writer acts as though their age and vitality are the best part about being young, and not the things standing in the way of their greatness.Why is the largest demographic in Canada, that of the echo boomers, so sallow? On a much larger and commercial scale, there is a notable trend in young adult fiction that celebrates disenfranchised teens embracing the torrential energy of youth, hell-bent on saving the world one epic battle or failed fling at a time. But remember, teenagers and young people are not really the ones writing the stories; the authors representing them in YA literature are, of course, much older. These characters become a cipher for a dream out of reach, wholly inaccurate.Now, I don’t want to sell anyone short. As far as I can tell, Toronto’s literary scene is more or less equally divided between the “young” people (thirty-five and under) and the “not-as-young” people. My millenial colleagues are passionate, determined, and cheeky. I can name several authors off the top of my head such as Faulkner, Gordon, Laporte, and Howard, whose works sizzle with pop culture grease and the unease that accompanies adolescence, social media, and what we define as “relationships” in the 21st century. Still, I rarely feel that writers boldly present themselves to us naked, unapologetic, reckless, and loud.Puritan contributor Aisha Sasha John is definitely an exception to my observations. When I heard her read from THOU (published by BookThug) at Livewords, I was stolen away to the Morocco she writes about, mischievously encouraged to feel and desire my body, to yearn for the sensual possibility of summer nights unconstrained by worry. When she reads, I vibrate with Aisha’s artistic empowerment and I can feel her confidence sweep through the audience.Sharp wit, critical flair, and deft talent are all evident in the work embraced and published by Toronto’s independent presses and publications. It is not a question of ability. My own experience with academia, however, leaves me with the uneasy feeling that far too much emphasis has been put on education (a notion musicians may not feel as intensely as writers, perhaps), and that the intensity of professional competition has in many ways eradicated the bold, breakaway potential for unabashed enjoyment of life—and the artistic energy that enjoyment emboldens.Noam Chomsky’s assertion that student debt eliminates the possibility of having “time to think” about changing the world rings true when set against the malaise I’ve noticed among those in my age bracket. While I don’t want to criticize anyone for not thinking enough or not doing enough, I’m almost yearning for everyone to stop thinking entirely. For just a couple of seconds. Just long enough so that the goofy grimace I’m making in the mirror doesn’t remind me of my own professional inadequacy. Long enough so that I remember that my face, and my voice, are evidence of my being alive and that my expiry date is a long, long way off.