Why Am I Like This? The Stories That Shaped Gen X (And Me)
Every generation has its defining stories—the ones that didn’t just entertain but shaped how they saw the world. For Gen X, storytelling wasn’t just an influence; it was a survival tool. We were the generation that raised itself, watching movies we probably shouldn’t have (or at least, before we should have), figuring life out through trial and error, and learning to laugh at our own mistakes.
In The Wake of Expectations, Enrique asks Cal, "Why are you like that?" That’s the question I’m answering here—not just for myself, but for my whole generation. Why is my humor like this? Why do I talk like this? Why do I think that’s funny? The answer is in the stories we grew up with—the ones that encouraged us to take risks, to laugh at the absurdity of life, and to find our place in the world through sheer experience.
The Movies That Defined Us: Risk, Friendship, and Finding Your People
We didn’t have the internet. We had HBO. That was where we learned our colorful language, then took it out to the playground to share with our friends. Late-night stand-up specials, unfiltered movies, and shows that weren’t afraid to push boundaries gave us an early education in comedy, sarcasm, and the kind of storytelling that didn’t feel watered down. HBO wasn’t just entertainment—it was cultural currency, a secret club where you learned things that were just a little too raw (yes, that’s an Eddie Murphy pun) for primetime television.
The coming-of-age movies we watched as kids weren’t about introspective loners—they were about groups of kids figuring life out together. Stand By Me. The Goonies. The Breakfast Club. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. These weren’t movies about neatly packaged moral lessons. They were about navigating life with your friends, screwing up together, and coming out better for it.
And when it came to comedy, our generation grew up on simpler raunchy fare—movies like Porky’s and Private School. These films weren’t deep (and, sure, they contain problematic elements by today’s standards), but they encouraged a certain reckless, rebellious spirit. They didn’t take themselves seriously, and they didn’t ask us to, either.
But when our generation started making movies, we added heart to the mix. The raunchy comedies of the late ‘90s and early 2000s—movies like Clerks, American Pie, and Superbad—still had the crude humor, but they also had characters you actually cared about. That’s what we brought to the table. We took the stupid humor of our youth and layered it with something real.
The Importance of Laughing at Yourself
One thing that defined our generation was the ability to laugh at our own screw-ups. If you did something dumb, your friends didn’t cancel you—they roasted you. That was part of the love. (To be clear, I’m not excusing intentionally harmful behavior. But not every mistake is a tragedy and not every transgression deserves a death sentence.)
Laughter was how we processed failure, embarrassment, and growing up. And yeah, sometimes it was rough. That just meant you had to grow a thicker skin. That wasn’t a bad thing. Sometimes your friends could cross the line—and sometimes you would, too. That’s when we would push back. That’s how everyone learned where the line was. And you had to have a sense of humor about tripping over it. If you could laugh at yourself, you could forgive yourself and move forward. It was never about being cruel—it was about resilience. The understanding that you weren’t perfect, and that was okay.
The Writers Who Showed Me I Could Say It Out Loud
I didn’t start with books. I started with movies, TV, and comics. I’d like to think my work shares some DNA with The Catcher in the Rye because it was a major influence—but I didn’t actually read Salinger until after I wrote my first draft. No, the writers came later. Palahniuk and Bukowski weren’t just influences, they were the ones who gave me permission to say the things I didn’t have the courage to say before. And that was an important step. It’s one thing to have something to say—it’s another to have the balls to say it. The writers…they helped me grow a pair.
Kevin Smith’s dialogue—the way people actually talk—showed me that you could be real and still be hilarious. Salinger’s disillusionment, Bukowski’s rawness, Palahniuk’s chaos—they weren’t about shock value for the sake of it. They were about cutting through the bullshit and getting to something real. That’s what made them powerful.
Why This Kind of Storytelling Still Matters
This isn’t just Gen X nostalgia—it’s about the value of taking risks, learning from mistakes, and having the ability to laugh at yourself. That kind of storytelling still has something to offer because it reminds us that:
Adventure, friendship, and real human connection matter.
Failure isn’t the end—it’s the process.
The best moments in life aren’t the perfect ones, but the ridiculous, messy, unexpected ones.
Finding humor in dark things isn’t just important—it’s necessary.
Because there will always be darkness. There will always be challenges. And this is how you persevere: laughing alongside others on the journey.
Conclusion: Why I Write the Way I Do
I write books now, but my storytelling DNA comes from movies, TV, and comics first.
The stories that shaped me taught me that it’s not just okay to be messy, awkward, and to screw up—it’s absolutely essential to the human condition.
So when someone asks, "Why are you like that?"—this is the answer. The stories I grew up on didn’t just entertain me. They made me. And if I’m lucky, the stories I write might do the same for someone else.
Javier
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