Chapter 9

Teenage Growing Pains

It’s difficult to decide whether growing pains are something teenagers have—or are.

—Author Unknown

Well, I am having a huge identity crisis. It has been going on for a while. To be honest, I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know who I am anymore. I am not sure if I am Christian or Atheist, racist or non-racist, gay or straight. My confidence level has dropped dramatically in the past years. I’m very unsure of myself and don’t even know what I want to do with my future. I have no idea what to do. How do you all find yourself?

Those are the lamentations of a teenage boy seeking solace through an online peer forum. Adolescence is that fascinating journey in our lives—the bridge that carries us from vulnerable childhood naïveté to a newly formed adult mindedness. For that reason, the field of child psychology is buttressed by the weight of countless studies exploring how identity is constructed during this essential formative stage. As this helpless teen emotes through his impassioned plea for help, it also marks a critical life stage when we either “find” or “lose” ourselves.

As adults, we can certainly remember those uncertain, often uncomfortable, times. If we suffer selective amnesia, pop culture stands ready to restore the fuzzy memories. Hollywood’s arsenal shoots out a seemingly unstoppable blaze of movies, books, magazines, shows, and music aimed at the lucrative teen and tween markets. One such creation came in 2004 with Mean Girls. The movie, penned by longtime Saturday Night Live cast member and writer Tina Fey, memorably explored the identity crises of teenage girls attempting to survive the metaphorical jungle of high school cliques. Its uncanny depiction of adolescent strife resonated with millions of teenagers across the globe, contributing to its $129 million in gross receipts at the worldwide box office. In an interview, Fey reflected, “Adults find it funny. They are the ones who are laughing. Young people watch it like a reality television show. It is much too close to their real experiences so they are not exactly guffawing.”1

In stark contrast to the mass popularity of the movie stood the relatively little-known fact that its premise was based on a book—a nonfiction book, to be exact. In 2002, Rosalind Wiseman’s Queen Bees and Wannabes offered practical prescriptions to parents and teen girls struggling through the social growing pains of adolescence and ignited the creative spark that inspired Mean Girls. In her book, Wiseman identifies seven common roles that girls often play in cliques. Among them, there’s the Queen Bee herself, who reigns supreme over all others in the clique, thanks in no small part to a powerful cocktail of looks, money, charisma, and manipulative qualities. Her Side Kick dutifully stands with her, deriving social benefits simply by her association as best friend to the head honcho. The Banker masterfully extracts potentially lucrative information from others in the clique through the unassuming manner by which she collects it, and later shares it. And let’s not forget the Target, who often suffers the brunt of social trauma, isolated and excluded from others in the group.2

What we find so fascinating about Wiseman’s work is that each archetype has a clear identity and an established role that galvanizes the group dynamic. Indeed, it is the typecast tendency that created such relatable and memorable fodder for the book’s screenplay adaptation. What was comedic genius for adults was a little too “real” for teens, according to Fey. Indeed, the role confusion portrayed on the big screen by each of the young actresses is something all too familiar to teens struggling to form their identity. Despite the fact that Wiseman’s observations are drawn from female cliques, the fluid act by which teens experiment with different roles in an attempt to “find” themselves is a universal characteristic marking this rite of passage to adulthood. The earlier example of a teen boy crying out for help from his peers reflects just how far-reaching the experimentation can be—encompassing religion, sexuality, and tolerance through his self-proclaimed identity crisis.

If adults find the blurring between the physical and virtual worlds dizzying, teens have no notion of two distinct environments in the first place. Today’s youth use technology as a means of self-expression and identity formation. Although many adults likely remember the sting of embarrassment from insults traded on bathroom walls, those emotional nicks pale in comparison to the social scars inflicted by texting fingers, opportune camera phones, and pervasive social networking sites. Technology has upped the ante for today’s teenager during one of the most critical identity phases of one’s life. Its impact on those in its wake is indelible.

The New Status Symbols

Les Parrott, PhD, a professor of psychology, offers several ways in which teens manifest their struggles with identity. He argues that status symbols, including clothing and other possessions, enable teens to express affiliation with specific groups.3 Today’s status symbols have come a long way since the Members Only jackets and parachute pants of the authors’ day. Now, in addition to clothing, teens must incorporate the latest in devices to gain approval from the in crowd. Unfortunately for parents, these devices often carry a heftier price tag and an expectation of service that place a greater strain on the pocketbook than popular clothing brands.

In the case of 16-year-old Bill, one of our study’s respondents, having the wrong device can instigate insults, if not outright pity.

When you see somebody with a flip phone, like a basic flip phone, like people are gonna be like, “You’re still using a flip phone, man? You supposed to upgrade.” Since I upgraded my TV and my game system, I should upgrade my phone so I have all upgraded technology.

Those upgrades come at a price, and teens soon find themselves trapped in a never-ending search for the next technology gizmo to keep up with the Joneses, if not their own insatiable appetite. In 16-year-old Joshua’s case, he already knows the familiar twinge of buyer’s remorse as he perpetually outgrows devices and is forced to contemplate upgrading or curtailing his needs to fit the capabilities of his latest status symbol:

The one thing that annoys me about my iPod is the limited amount of memory you can have and how once you buy a certain iPod, you think, “Oh I won’t have more than 8GB” and you’re limited to that.

If peer pressure or device limitations won’t provoke an upgrade, perhaps the sheer annoyance of technology that fails will do the trick. Consider the exchange between 13-year-old Robert and 12-year old Frank as they proudly display their new Xbox while narrating why it was purchased in the first place.

Frank [holding up an Xbox that is not connected]: This was our first Xbox. And it broke and we sent it in. And then when they brought it back, we played it for a while and then it broke again. We asked them to fix it again. They gave us back our money and fixed it—gave it to us and it broke. So then we sent it to some other guy and it came back. We started playing it again. It went for a pretty long time. And then it broke. So that’s when my mom and dad went out and bought a new one. And then my dad got this one working.

Interviewer: So what are you going to do with that one [original Xbox] now that it’s working?

Robert: Sell it.

Devices reflect status. They are also quite perishable in keeping up with a teen’s voracious techno appetite. What is less perishable, and perhaps more important, is the social communities that have become the human status symbols answering the fundamental teen question, “How popular am I?” In the case of some teens, like Bill, one’s measure of social status is directly correlated to the number of friends in one’s social network. As Bill reflects, teens in his circle are in an unspoken competition to be the one with the most toys—er, friends—on the block.

A lot of my friends have like a 1,000 friends and stuff and I’m only at like 400. It’s like “You have 1,000 friends and I only have 400, this is not good.” We have a little friendly competition and right now I’m losing. But I’m gonna be up there in a minute. I’ll be up there in the thousands.

Bill admits to accepting friend requests from people “who look decent” or from those he thinks he knows. It seems almost inconceivable that anyone could personally know 1,000 “friends.” Yet, that is the benchmark of the competition in a virtual social world where numbers are easy to compare. In our study, nearly one in five teens admit to frequently sending Friend Requests to connect with new people. The same number confess to frequently accepting Friend Requests from those they don’t know well, if at all.

Potential safety issues associated with engaging virtual strangers aside, one may question the psychological impact of this exercise. Adults may criticize the superficiality that now defines friendship status. In addition, if the hundreds, if not thousands, of friends one aspires to brandish as a mark of social status are nothing more than mere acquaintances (if not strangers), how does that form of illusion affect a teen’s identity formation?

According to researchers at the University of Virginia, perception is reality. The study determined that teens who perceived themselves to be popular—even if the assessment was not shared by their peers—were increasingly less hostile and more sought out by others. Kathleen Boykin McElhaney, the lead author of the study, states, “Perceiving oneself to be liked may actually be at least as critical in determining future social outcomes for teens as is actually being liked by other teens.” 4 The finding suggests that, whether or not the teen is actually as popular as he believes thanks to Facebook’s count, the mere perception of likeability is a powerful influence in protecting one’s ego and contributing to one’s social success.

Unfortunately for parents, the reverse also holds true. According to the same study, adolescents who lacked both a strong sense of their own social acceptance and who were rated by their peers as unpopular were increasingly more hostile, less sought out, and more withdrawn over time.5 As we cover in a future chapter, the delicate balancing act of protecting one’s child online without rendering the teen a social outcast in the process is an unenviable dilemma that today’s parents face.

The New Idols

If you are not a teenager, you may not know Amber Portwood. She is one of the breakout stars from MTV’s reality series 16 and Pregnant and its spinoff Teen Mom. The former followed the lives of teenage girls as they struggled with being pregnant in high school. The latter continued the chronicles of four original cast members during their first year of motherhood. Each has earned its fair share of popularity. The first season finale of 16 and Pregnant attracted 2.1 million viewers, the same number of Teen Mom’s pilot episode—the highest rated premiere on MTV in more than a year at the time of its debut.6

Reality television has been a boon to the entertainment industry. It gives viewers a megadose of raw authenticity that appeals to the inner voyeur, and it does so without breaking the Hollywood bank. Why pay onerous writing and talent fees when the camera can simply roll on the lives of unknown regular people capturing the “real-life” drama that naturally unfolds? In addition, for those participating and watching, there’s always an element of wonder about who could be the next breakout star.

Unfortunately, this extreme reality can also have unintended consequences. MTV has come under fire from its critics, who claim that it is glamorizing teen pregnancy. Some reports have gone so far as to suggest that teens looking to attain stardom have premeditated pregnancy just in the hopes of being cast. Although difficult to substantiate, there is evidence that teens are particularly susceptible to role models during this formative identity phase, lending credence to outraged critics that these new reality idols are not exactly what the doctor ordered.

According to Dr. Parrott, celebrities may become models for teens during their experimentation phase. Teens may identify with a known figure, attempt to emulate that person, and lose a sense of their own identity in the process.7 And, if reality television is not sufficient to seduce the teen’s imagination, there is certainly no shortage of “reality” stars in the virtual world, the product of YouTube and other self-expression sites. Look no further than the latest teen sensation Justin Bieber. Had Bieber lived in a time before YouTube, he would have likely been a victim of circumstance, one of millions attempting to capture the attention of a handful of recording insiders who exclusively could have extended him his big break. But, Bieber did grow up with YouTube and used the site to promote his talent to legions of fans. An online sensation, Bieber had his pick between two recording Goliaths—Usher and Justin Timberlake—who engaged in a bidding war to sign the young talent with an already growing fan base. In the end, Usher won, and now millions are afflicted with “Bieber Fever.”

But, beyond teen moms and YouTube sensations, the virtual world has opened up the possibility for role models much closer to home. Unfortunately, we’re not speaking about parental figures in this context. Rather, just as the virtual world unlocked the door to Bieber’s fame, teens look for stardom online that can translate to a different variety of “real-world” celebrity. As Bill puts it:

[My friend] Randall’s a Facebook superstar. Like, we went to a fair and like these girls were like screaming his name. One girl was starstruck. She was like, “Oh my gosh, that’s Randall.”

Combine this want for celebrity with the need for social inclusion, and the stranglehold that social networks appear to have over youth becomes surprisingly understandable. It also helps explain why youth appear seemingly obsessed with their online persona—an extension of their real-world identity—with nearly 25 percent indicating that they frequently spend time updating their social networking page to project the right image of themselves, according to our study. More than half of teens in our study admit to posting updates, comments, or photos about themselves or their families that they later regretted sharing.

The New Villains

In 1971, Stanford University professor Philip Zimbardo embarked on one of the most controversial human experiments of our time. Zimbardo recruited male students to call a mock prison, located in the basement of a campus building, their home for two weeks, during which time the experiment was videotaped. The students were randomly assigned as either guards or prisoners of the facility. Each group wore the prescribed garb for the part—with guards donning uniforms and mirrored sunglasses to avoid eye contact with prisoners and the captives robed in uncomfortable, ill-fitting smocks and stocking caps. On the video, Zimbardo, playing the part of Prison Superintendent, is seen informing the guards of their role in an orientation the day before the experiment’s commencement:

You can create in the prisoners feelings of boredom, a sense of fear to some degree, you can create a notion of arbitrariness that their life is totally controlled by us, by the system, you, me, and they’ll have no privacy.… We’re going to take away their individuality in various ways. In general what all this leads to is a sense of powerlessness. That is, in this situation we’ll have all the power and they’ll have none.8

To Zimbardo’s surprise, it took little time for the subjects to embrace their roles fully. Guards called prisoners by assigned numbers, not their names, to strip them of their identities. They forced the captives to count off repeatedly as a way of learning their new identities and engaged physical punishments—such as protracted exercises—as consequences for counting errors. Guards allowed the physical conditions of the prison to reach unconscionable levels, disallowing prisoners from emptying their sanitation buckets or, worse yet, from urinating or defecating in the first place. Prisoners were left to sleep on cold cement floors or deprived of clothing altogether as additional forms of degradation.

Although the experiment was to last a full two weeks, it was aborted prematurely on the sixth day when Zimbardo’s girlfriend (and later wife) visited the facility to observe the experiment. Despite the fact that more than 50 outside persons had witnessed the conditions before her, she was the only one to object to the immorality of the experiment, compelling Zimbardo to bring it to its hasty end.9

The Stanford prison experiment has come under fire from critics for obvious humanitarian reasons. However, it has also raised profoundly serious questions about how upstanding students could possibly embrace these horrific roles so completely. Beyond monetary compensation, there was nothing physically keeping any of the subjects in the environment (in fact, a few abandoned the experiment early because of the intolerable conditions). After all, it wasn’t a real prison. But that didn’t stop the subjects from assuming the identities prescribed to them by their environment.

Although most of us, it is hoped, will never see the inside of a prison cell and therefore may feel comfortable dismissing the experiment as something far removed from our reality, its findings have been linked to something much more common in our daily lives—bullying. The psychology of a bully is an interesting one. David Bernstein, an expert in risk management and a consultant to schools with bullying problems, identifies several characteristics of a typical bully. Among them, bullies need an audience or it’s “no fun.”10 In the case of the Stanford prison experiment, the guards egged one another on and performed for a camera capturing every move for an invisible audience. Imagine the potential audience of a bully with access to thousands of “friends” online who become unknowing participants in fueling destructive behavior aimed at an innocent target.

Sadly, we don’t have to imagine it at all. The stories of the victims are all too real. Thirteen-year-old Ryan Halligan committed bullycide after suffering an incessant fury of online harassment. Not seeing any end to the torment perpetuated by an omnipresent virtual world, Ryan quietly and deliberately hanged himself early in the morning hours while his family lay sleeping. He had learned how to fashion the tie of his sister’s bathrobe into a noose by researching the topic online. Ryan’s online footprint in the days leading up to the tragedy exposed another horror. When Ryan informed a virtual pen pal via an online chat that he was finally ready to take his life, the friend replied, “Phew. It’s about f***ing time.” Two weeks later, Ryan was dead.11

Governments have responded with a swarm of cyberbullying legislation aimed at protecting children. This legislation is critical, if for no other reason than to heighten the awareness of the issue for unsuspecting parents and teen bystanders. Recall the Stanford prison experiment once more. There had been more than 50 visitors who had witnessed the deplorable scene in that underground basement. But only one spoke up to stop the abuse. It’s even more astonishing when one considers that the experiment was contained to young adults, ostensibly with the mental and emotional maturity to behave in a more humanitarian way. Consider how much more impressionable teens are to their environment. In addition, on a high school campus where crowds hold sway, emotions run high, and peer pressure reigns supreme, the role of “innocent” bystanders in fueling a bully’s fury cannot be underestimated. Even worse, in a networked-community age where slander can be spewed and proliferated in seconds, there are far more observing eyes that can instigate the wrath with, unfortunately, far too few speaking up to stop it.

The Technology Conundrum

So, where does all of this leave teens battling to form their identity in a world unbound by physical constraints? In the case of status symbols, one can envision an environment in which devices are purchased for looks and networks provide the functionality. Remember Joshua, our 16-year-old frustrated with the limited memory of his iPod almost immediately after he purchased it? What’s his potential solution?

Maybe if there was a way you could have like buy memory or something or be a way to upgrade or have a huge amount of memory like 300GB. That would be the one thing.

What if that memory could automatically be purchased, on demand, from the network—similar to the way we have become accustomed to purchasing videos on demand? In that case, Joshua’s only risk of device obsolescence is in the look of the device itself—not in his insatiable appetite for more horsepower.

In the case of social networks, the guidance isn’t quite so clear. First, it is completely natural (and some may argue healthy) for teens to aspire to have fat social networks. The illusion of popularity has been shown to be as effective as popularity itself in shaping a teen’s self-esteem and identity. But what is perhaps equally important is the need a teen has for projecting the right image of his forming identity online.

As an aside, we are often asked a question that beleaguers today’s service providers: “Why won’t today’s young adults pay for services?” Many of these service providers are accustomed to offering content, like paid television services or applications, to their market for a price. However, as we see with teens, it is not their access to entertainment, but the presentation of their identity, that is most important to digital natives. In contrast to us older folks, today’s youth have only known a life in which content is instantly available and often free. Therefore, service providers accustomed to selling content, like paid television services, often find an audience reluctant to pay. Instead, these younger consumers are likely to turn to the virtual world with alternatives like Hulu and Netflix to fill the entertainment void.

But, if these youth have grown up in a world of ubiquitous content, the same can be said for the pervasive social networks that were completely nonexistent just a few years ago. As such, whereas older generations are more likely to value access to entertainment, younger generations place a higher importance on portraying their image and managing the all-important social network. Accordingly, services that resonate most loudly with these teens incorporate some form of image management, such as one that validates the identity of online friends, one of the more popular services we tested among youth in our study.

As we said, technology has upped the ante for teens already perplexed by one of life’s most confusing identity stages. The memories of high school last a lifetime—some even argue that high school never ends. Meryl Streep offered this sage advice to university graduates at a commencement address, “You have been told that real life is not like college, and you have been correctly informed. Real life is more like high school.”12 The road we take during our formative adolescent years fundamentally shapes the adults we ultimately become, so much so that Brad Smart, career expert and author, advises top companies looking to recruit top talent to start by asking the interviewee about those significant high school years: “Some interviewers actually like to begin interviewing twenty-five-year veterans with a discussion of high school days. I do. High school days are important developmental years.”13 Indeed, those high school years endure. And, as today’s teens know, so too do the growing pains as one seeks to find himself virtually and physically through a life-changing adolescence.