Rejuvenile Kickball, Cartoons, Cupcakes, and the Reinvention of the American Grown-up

Once upon a time, boys and girls grew up and set aside childish things. Nowadays, moms and dads skateboard alongside their kids and download the latest pop-song ringtones. Captains of industry pose for the cover of BusinessWeek holding Super Soakers. The average age of video game players is twenty-nine and rising. Top chefs develop recipes for Easy-Bake Ovens. Disney World is the world's top adult vacation destination (that's adults without kids). And young people delay marriage and childbirth longer than ever in part to keep family obligations from interfering with their fun fun fun. Christopher Noxon has coined a word for this new breed of grown-up: rejuveniles. And as a self-confessed rejuvenile, he's a sympathetic yet critical guide to this bright and shiny world of people who see growing up as "winding down"exchanging a life of playful flexibility for anxious days tending lawns and mutual funds. In Rejuvenile, Noxon explores the historical roots of today's rejuveniles (hint: all roads lead to Peter Pan), the "toyification" of practical devices (car cuteness is at an all-time high), and the new gospel of play. He talks to parents who love cartoons more than their children do, twenty-somethings who live happily with their parents, and grown-ups who evangelize on behalf of all-ages tag and Legos. And he takes on the "Harrumphing Codgers," who see the rejuvenile as a threat to the social order. Noxon tempers stories of his and others' rejuvenile tendencies with cautionary notes about "lost souls whose taste for childish things is creepy at best." (Exhibit A: Michael Jackson.) On balance, though, he sees rejuveniles as optimists and capital-R Romantics, people driven by a desire "to hold on to the part of ourselves that feels the most genuinely human. We believe in play, in make believe, in learning, in naps. And in a time of deep uncertainty, we trust that this deeper, more adaptable part of ourselves is our best tool of survival." Fresh and delightfully contrarian, Rejuvenile makes hilarious sense of this seismic culture change. It's essential reading not only for grown-ups who refuse to "act their age," but for those who wish they would just grow up. Not all play is created equal. True play, the kind that comes naturally to children, is mysterious, improvisational, exciting. It relies on flexibility and movement (an object with play isn't fixed; it has wiggle room). The adults who bring themselves to chase, skip, leap, or holler with the completeness and abandon of children tap into this creative force. In so doing, they strike blows against the forces of rigidity, regularity, and routine. Child's play enacted by adults can certainly look undignified. It might even appear desperate. But at root, it's something else: a ridiculous skipping frontside ollie cat leap toward an essential mystery of life that adults have for too long been discouraged from exploring. from Rejuvenile

Christopher Noxon has written for The New York Times Magazine, Los Angeles Magazine, and Salon. He lives with his wife and three children in Los Angeles.


From the Hardcover edition.