Sometimes the hardest thing for us to acknowledge is that, perhaps, we aren’t always the target audience for a particular bit of pop culture.  We assume there is no way something can be good/appreciated/successful without our approval.  And, if it is, it’s because people are idiots.

There is no better evidence of this than the day after a Super Bowl, when anyone (especially men) over the age of 40 cannot believe that that singer was chosen to perform during the halftime show.  And then they’ll likely compare it to that halftime show that Prince did in 2007 or U2 in 2002 or Michael Jackson in 1993.

To be fair, the Prince show was absolutely the greatest halftime show of all time and you’re a moron if you don’t acknowledge that as fact. But, I digress.  

This year’s Super Bowl halftime show featured The Weeknd and lots of face bandages (not jockstraps) and shiny lights.  I have to be honest, up until they announced he was performing, I knew enough to know that he existed, but that was it.    A couple of his songs seem vaguely familiar to me.  His performance was fine and sparkly, if not a little claustrophobic (It was no Prince. That rain was magical!). But, in the end, he’s not even 31.  I’m likely closer to his parent’s age than his. 

Remember when you were in your 20s and you did something cool and the one person you wanted to impress was your mom’s friend Carol who loved to collect “Live Laugh Love” pillows. 

No?

That’s because it never happened.  You were more concerned about the feelings of her 21-year-old daughter who wore the Rage Against the Machine crop top and was certain her life would be like the movie Singles.

The only people who care what middle-aged people like are middle-aged people.  A few of our bands might make decent halftime performers (I’m looking at you, Metallica.), but the collective eye roll that would come from the younger crowd would be enough to temporarily reverse the planetary spin. 

The percentage of those that tuned to the Super Bowl solely because of The Weeknd is astronomically more than those that would have tuned in solely for Metallica.  Metallica fans were already going to watch the game to begin with or never planned on to begin with, won’t because of Metallica (“I’ll just watch their classic 1991 Moscow show online”) and instead will get caught up on the new season of The Crown. 

All this is to say, we have become our parents.  And our kids will someday become us.  And then their kids will roll their eyes when they talk about some dork named The Weeknd.