Are Gen Z and Millennials Really So Different, or Is It Just Branding?

By Brandy Lesline

I was scrolling through social media last week when I saw yet another article proclaiming that Gen Z is fundamentally rewriting the rules of work, relationships, and life itself. Millennials, apparently, are the anxious, avocado-toast–eating generation of yesterday. Gen Z? They’re the authentic, purpose-driven generation that won’t tolerate corporate nonsense. The narrative has become so fixed, so relentless, that you would think we are talking about different species entirely. But I can’t shake the feeling that much of this distinction is manufactured—a convenient story we’ve convinced ourselves is true.

The problem starts with how we define these groups. Millennials supposedly span from the early 1980s to the mid-1990s, while Gen Z runs from the mid-1990s to the early 2010s. But who decided these cutoffs? Marketing firms and media outlets looking for narrative hooks. It’s not as if humanity underwent a sudden transformation in 1995 or 2000. People born in 1994 and those born in 1996 share far more than they differ. Yet we’ve accepted the idea that a handful of years creates a generational chasm.

Let’s examine the supposed differences. Millennials are called self-absorbed; Gen Z is labeled self-aware. Millennials wanted to climb the corporate ladder; Gen Z refuses to be corporate slaves. Millennials overshare on social media; Gen Z is more private. But here’s the thing: I see Millennials questioning corporations and building side hustles. I see Gen Z chasing many of the same goals and anxieties as their slightly older peers. The differences feel more like a matter of degree than of kind. Both generations grew up with technology. Both face economic uncertainty. Both are trying to find meaning in an increasingly chaotic world.

What has actually changed isn’t necessarily the generations themselves—it’s the world they’re navigating. Gen Z came of age during economic recovery and smartphone saturation. Millennials came of age during a recession and the early days of social media. These environmental factors shape behavior. But instead of saying, “Different contexts produced different challenges,” we’ve created a branding narrative where each generation has fixed personality traits. It’s simpler. More sellable.

The real power of generational branding is that it becomes self-fulfilling. Tell a Gen Z person they are entrepreneurial and purpose-driven, and they’ll start performing that identity. Tell a Millennial they’re anxious and materialistic, and they’ll either internalize it or rebel against it in equally prescribed ways. We’re not discovering generational differences—we’re creating them through constant reinforcement.

Marketing departments absolutely love this. You can sell different products to different generations if you’ve convinced consumers that they hold fundamentally different values. Insurance companies, fashion brands, and car manufacturers have all built campaigns around generational stereotypes. It’s profitable to suggest that Gen Z doesn’t want what Millennials want—never mind that individual variation within each generation dwarfs the average differences between them.

There are genuine differences—I’ll concede that. Gen Z has more exposure to mental health discourse, making them more likely to discuss anxiety openly. They grew up with algorithms curating their reality in ways Millennials did not. Climate anxiety is more existential for them simply because they’ll live with the consequences longer. But these are material differences based on timing and circumstance, not fundamental personality shifts.

What concerns me is how this branding discourse prevents us from seeing people as individuals. A Gen Z person stressed about their career isn’t having a generationally authentic experience—they’re experiencing normal human anxiety. A Millennial building a business isn’t bucking generational norms; they’re just being ambitious. We’ve created narratives so powerful that we filter all behavior through them.

The uncomfortable truth is this: Gen Z and Millennials are far more similar than they are different. We face overlapping challenges, hold many of the same values, and struggle with remarkably similar questions about purpose, security, and meaning. Marketing machines have invested heavily in convincing us otherwise, because divided consumers are easier to target than unified ones.

Maybe it’s time we stopped asking what separates us and started noticing what connects us. Because beneath the branded narratives, we’re really just humans trying to figure things out in whatever era we happened to land in.