Praised to Death

We didn’t chase dreams—we chased gold stars.

The other day, someone emailed me to say a Substack post I wrote meant the world to her. That she “needed it today.”

And damn if that didn’t feel good.

Not just “oh, thanks for reading” good. More like “somewhere deep in my spine, an ancient part of my brain purred like a cat being scratched.” It was affirming. Validating. Pure dopamine to the bloodstream.

But here’s the problem:
Praise doesn’t just motivate me. Sometimes, it collars me.

Like some performance-based obedience kink I never signed up for. I’ll do the tricks I know get the claps. But the second something feels risky—something that might flop, or worse, be judged? I sit. I stay. I wait for the next “good boy.”

And I know I’m not alone.

If Millennials have a generational quirk, it’s this:
We’re absolutely drunk on affirmation.
And not the healthy kind. Not the kind that pushes you to do better. I’m talking about the warped version that keeps you stuck—terrified to try anything that doesn’t come with a guaranteed gold star.

Why Us?

It’s not like wanting praise is new. Humans evolved to need it. Back in the day, if the tribe liked you, you got fed and weren’t left to die in the woods. That’s some primal stuff.

But somewhere along the line, we stopped using praise as fuel—and started building our whole identities around it.

And nowhere is that more obvious than with Millennials.

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1. The Parenting Upgrade (Now With Helicopter Blades)

We were the generation raised on participation trophies and perfectly scheduled afternoons. Our parents meant well. They wanted us to feel seen. But they also taught us—accidentally or not—that praise was the point.

Winning didn’t matter as much as “how you played the game.” And when everyone got a trophy, the prize wasn’t accomplishment. It was attention. And that stuck. We started chasing approval instead of growth.

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2. Performing for the Gatekeepers

Cool used to be effortless rebellion. Ferris Bueller. Kurt Cobain. People who did whatever they wanted and didn’t care who watched.

Then came us.

Millennials became professional hoop-jumpers. The goal wasn’t becoming someone—it was becoming someone college admissions officers would like.

Grades, APs, internships, leadership, community service—every résumé was a carefully choreographed dance of strategic likability. I was debate team captain. Valedictorian. And yeah, I ran for student council president and lost. Apparently, I wasn’t “likable” enough.

It was high school theater, but the audience was the Harvard admissions committee. And when you grow up performing for invisible judges, you never stop.

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3. Buddy Christ and the Behavioral Science Brain Hack

Then there was church. But not the old-school, fire-and-brimstone type.

Millennials got the rebrand: skinny-jean pastors, contemporary rock worship bands, and the “hot-but-approachable” pastor’s wife smiling on stage. It wasn’t religion—it was vibe-based marketing.

Behind the scenes? They were using behavioral science. Studying what worked. What stuck. What made people feel something.

And what they learned was this: praise and belonging are powerful drugs. As long as you believed—and followed the script—you were showered with love. But question the rules? Step out of line? That love vanished fast.

It was God as algorithm. And it rewired us to depend on external affirmation that could disappear at any moment.

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4. Changing of the Cultural Heroes

Remember when the bad boys were cool?

Leather jackets. Skipping class. Middle fingers and rock and roll.

Then… we got the Mickey Mouse Club kids. The Glee kids. Polished, precocious, perfectly rehearsed.

Our cultural heroes shifted from rule-breakers to performers. Authenticity wasn’t raw—it was choreographed. Emotional vulnerability was branded and bathed in good lighting.

We swapped Arnold Schwarzenegger for Zach Braff.
From Terminator to Garden State.
From “I’ll be back” to “I’m just feeling a lot right now.”

The model Millennial wasn’t a rebel. It was a theater kid with a trauma backstory and a ring light.

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5. Social Media — The Final Boss

If everything before this was a warm-up, social media was the main event.

The like button changed the game. Suddenly, every thought, selfie, or status was a performance. And the audience had a vote. Every post became a slot machine of public approval.

We became dopamine junkies, refreshing for validation hits. Curating lives for likes. And now, whole careers exist around being “influencers,” carefully crafting public personas optimized for mass praise.

We don’t just want approval—we’ve been trained to need it. And worse, to fear the absence of it.

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What’s the Damage?

Praise isn’t the enemy. But when it becomes the filter for everything—every opinion, every choice, every risk—it becomes a leash.

We censor ourselves. We dull the edges. We wait until we’re sure it’ll land.

And that’s why this Substack matters to me.
It’s not just writing—it’s my rehab. My place to say the thing that might bomb. To speak uncensored. To push back against the crowd-pleasing groupthink I’ve been marinating in since birth.

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The Gen Z Plot Twist

Here’s where it gets weirdly hopeful:

Gen Z might be the cure for our praise addiction.

These kids were raised in the same algorithmic soup we were—but they got hit with the fallout earlier. They’ve been canceled, mocked, and doxxed before they could drive. And they survived.

Now? They have no fucks left to give.

They’ve realized something we’re still learning: the praise game is rigged. No one wins. So they just... stopped playing.

They’ll flame you, post a meme about it, and then upload a selfie with the caption “lol.” And somehow, that’s strength. It’s not apathy—it’s liberation.

Meanwhile, Millennials are over here editing LinkedIn bios like we’re trying to get paroled.

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What Now?

I don’t have a grand takeaway. I still love a good compliment. Still feel that hit when someone says “this meant a lot.”

But I don’t want it to own me.

So here’s where I am:

Say the thing that won’t get applause.
Take the swing that might miss.
Write the piece that might get no likes at all.

Because maybe the only way out of the gold star trap…
is to stop asking who’s keeping score.

—David