Book Review: Y2K: How the 2000s Became Everything by Colette Shade
Every now and then, a book comes along that prompts us to dig deep into our own memories, and Colette Shade’s Y2K: How the 2000s Became Everything did just that for me. As someone who also grew up in the DMV during that chaotic decade, I found myself racing through the pages, both craving and questioning her perspective on a time I remember as strange and dissimilar from her recollections. It’s wonderful to connect through shared experiences, but also essential to examine how privilege can shape memories and interpretations.
Shade defines the Y2K era from 1997 to 2008 as "wildly hopeful," a sentiment I couldn’t reconcile with my own experiences. I vividly recall my father’s preparations for societal collapse, his fear palpable as he stockpiled supplies in our basement. In fact, as I checked the Pew Research surveys from January 1997, I found echoes of concern—nearly half of Americans were apprehensive about everything from poverty to job security. My friends and I didn’t conjure optimism; we braced for impact, a feeling that felt starkly absent in Shade’s essays.
Her writing style swings between introspective and flippant, and while she aims for humor, I often felt the attempts fell flat. I could sense the wealth of her background, which somehow clashed with her narratives of struggle. Yes, life is complex, but there was a palpable dissonance that left me questioning her self-portrayal and, ultimately, her authoritative voice on cultural critique. When the comparisons to Jia Tolentino appeared on the book jacket, I found it hard to digest. Tolentino’s craftsmanship and depth elevated her essays, leaving a lingering question in my mind: Can Shade’s reflections truly stand in the same light?
There are definitely moments of clarity in her collection—her reflections on sex-ed classes at her UU church and the amusingly nostalgic descriptions of her parents circulating chain emails brought a smile to my face. These anecdotes felt relatable, grounding her narrative in tangible experiences. Yet, the overarching themes often felt muddled, as she traversed topics that seemed to be outside her grasp rather than ones drawn from lived experience. The mention of certain podcasts as political entry points left me wincing, feeling secondhand embarrassment at what seemed like a shallow understanding of deeper issues.
However, I couldn’t help but ponder whether some of the book’s flaws stemmed from the imprint that published it. If they typically release celebrity memoirs or pop culture spin-offs, perhaps the essays were nudged to fit that mold, stripping away the depth that could have resonated with a wider audience.
So, who might find enjoyment in Y2K? Perhaps readers who are new to the Y2K narrative or those looking for light commentary on the era without seeking deep cultural critique. For those of us who lived through it and carry layers of complexity in our memories, this book might leave us wanting more—a more nuanced exploration, perhaps told by someone who felt the decade’s edges more keenly.
Although my verdict is a rather harsh one-star rating—as I round down for authenticity—this experience left me pondering the narratives we weave about our pasts and the importance of differentiating between memory and privilege. If there’s one takeaway, it’s this: a great book about the Y2K era is waiting to be written, one that captures its complexities and the often-overlooked voices within.
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