Why the Boomers are so addicted to JUNK: Their houses are stuffed full, they can't stop buying and their children are infuriated by endless pointless presents. The reason? It's not what you think...
We stand glaring at each other like Clint Eastwood in some Spaghetti Western, eyes locked, tension thick, trigger fingers twitching.Except that in my hand is not a pistol but a black bin bag, into which I long to chuck half a tonne of junk from my mother’s garage: the plug-in plate warmer that has never been used; the Tesco bag of spare cutlery ‘just in case’ 40-plus people suddenly descend for dinner, the pile of mildewing ski jackets. Off they must go to the charity shop, the dump or (rarely) the pile for re-sale.I pick up an old jigsaw puzzling board, dangling it over the bag. ‘No!’ she will cry: ‘Please, not that!’ But why? I bark, a cross between the tidying guru Marie Kondo and one of those shouty soldiers on SAS: Who Dares Wins.‘When did you last use it? Have you thought about this object in the last five years? Did you know it existed?’It is a showdown played out in garages, lofts and boxrooms across the country: between baby boomers who want to cling onto their things and offspring who long to clear it out. This is one of the greatest divides between the generations: our view on ‘stuff’ and its value.In the US, they even have a name for the haul our parents and grandparents have accumulated over the decades: ‘boomer junk’. The divide is particularly marked at Christmas, with the older generation keen to foist a tidal wave of ‘things’ on their kids... who would far rather receive ‘experience’ gifts.For millennials like me, the urge to own stuff has been replaced by an urge to do stuff (that you can then show off about on Instagram).We want to fly to Paris, go for a posh afternoon tea, spend a night in a yurt. If physical Christmas gifts must be given, we beseech, let them be comestibles like wine or chocolate. There’s a word to describe this preference for travelling light, too: nownership. Life’s for living, not for accumulating. Clare Foges says her mother has casually mentioned the treasures she has earmarked for her: the Wedgwood tea set with the rose print; the large mahogany glass-doored cabinet with space for yet more trinketsBut such pleas tend to fall on deaf ears and are answered – kindly, of course – by another vase or bread-maker. Contrasting attitudes become particularly awkward when said ‘stuff’ is deemed a precious heirloom.A few times my mother has casually mentioned the treasures she has earmarked for me: the Wedgwood tea set with the rose print; the large mahogany glass-doored cabinet with space for yet more trinkets. These are heirlooms which were passed down to her; which she has cherished to pass on in turn, seeing herself as a temporary custodian.It is therefore baffling to her generation – and rather hurtful – when mine responds to the proffered grandfather clock or silver candelabra with a polite ‘thanks, but no thanks’.So why does the boomer junk divide exist in the first place? The crux of it is that space used to be cheap and stuff expensive; now space is expensive and stuff is cheap. In the 1970s, the average house was about £9,300, roughly four times the average annual salary. Today, the average property is around £272,000, with earnings only increasing to £39,900 – a disastrous ratio for home ownership.Younger generations can only afford to buy postage stamp flats or, increasingly, to rent a room. What’s precious to them is square footage, not things. Status is marked not by the objects you own but by the great airy wafts of space between them: think of those pale grey minimalist palaces beloved of influencers like Molly-Mae Hague or Kim Kardashian.Meanwhile the value of ‘stuff’ has fallen like a stone thanks to the easy availability of cheap homeware. I have a houseproud 30-something friend who, every three months, changes the ‘accent colours’ in her home to mark the current season, replacing rugs, curtains, pictures, even hand towels (we are currently moving to plums and reds for winter). She simply hoovers up bargains from Temu and Primark for a steal.This disposable attitude would be unthinkable to older generations, whose parents lived through the Depression and the war years, when nothing could be wasted.They made do and mended because they had to – and the habit became ingrained. Reading the memoirs of my late grandfather (who lived from 1912-2006) I am struck by the attention he paid to pieces of furniture, writing extensively about inanimate objects: ‘In 1939, I bought for three pounds a small chiffonier to serve as a sideboard in which to keep our cutlery; when we moved in 1989 it realised £800 at sale.’ The furniture is given more airtime than some family members.That same reverence for quality was passed down to my mother, his daughter. She was given a Le Creuset cooking pot on her wedding day that has lasted five decades and counting – a pot, I might add, she has offered to give to me. But why would I want the heavy thing? When my pans come off worse in a tussle with scrambled egg, it is easier to replace them with an £8 pot from IKEA than attack them with a Brillo pad.Millennial me (convinced that minimal living is the route to happiness) reasons that, with less stuff, my mother’s life would be greatly improved. And so, several times, I have stuck my oar in.Once, when living at home in my 20s, my mother went away for a few days, giving me the opportunity to sort out her garage and make a couple of trips to the dump. I reasoned it would be helpful for me to do this in her absence; I reasoned wrong.She was properly upset, her mourning for a broken exercise bike so intense it was a wonder she didn’t start wearing black.On another notable occasion, my mum became emotional over a wing armchair she had sold years previously. Seeing her eyes brim with tears as she remembered its beautiful William Morris fabric, I snapped: ‘For God’s sake! It’s a chair! Get over it!’While younger generations could be better at making do and mending, I do believe the shift in what we value – from things to experiences – is a wise one. There is a huge divide between clingy baby boomers and their ‘clear it out’ offspring‘Making memories’ might be a naff Instagram expression, but in old age it is the memories that will bring us comfort, not the floral tea set.Boomers I know pledge endlessly to declutter but find the process too difficult, as though it’s only by hanging on to the scratched vinyl records or clothes from decades past that they will be able to hang on to the memories themselves.I wonder, too, if older generations’ hoarding has been worsened by society’s headlong rush into technology: the faster things change, the more people want to cling on to the familiar.So I have stopped trying to liberate my mum from her boomer junk. Why? Because a) I love her to bits and don’t want to bicker, and b) I recognise that the generations won’t ever see eye to eye on this. What I view as hoarding, she sees as holding on to dearly loved possessions – or thriftily hanging on to things which might be repurposed one day.Coming to such an understanding is essential for those navigating the junk generational divide.So, my advice to the boomers: if your children don’t want your mahogany dresser, it’s nothing personal. And to the younger people receiving an avalanche of stuff this Christmas, respond with grace – before putting it on Facebook Marketplace.
