Finn McRedmond: From the generation that brought us quiet quitting, the great iced coffee debate

If you squint, you might be able to call me Gen Z. August 1995: that’s at least a fringe case, no? “Millennial” is such a loaded term, anyway – associated with things like BuzzFeed, “girlboss” feminism, cringe internet memology (“doggo”), neo-folk music (Mumford & Sons) and a hyper-individualistic sense of politics. Given all the attendant baggage, not only have millennials hastened societal decline via their narcissism, but they also have bad taste – who would want to be part of that generational cohort?It seems the only worse accusation would be “Gen Z”. They are maligned for a lot worse than poor aesthetic judgment and innate liberalism. The charge sheet against them is long: they are lazy, poorly socialised, they can’t read, they were bad at school, worse in the workplace, they hate democracy, they love labels, they are too sensitive, they use their phones too much, they have no friends and they are boring teetotaller prigs. Okay, fine: August 1995? Let’s call it Millennial. I am thinking about this put-upon generation today as I have been watching a viral argument unravel on the internet (very Gen Z). It goes something like this: a recruiter posted a video on TikTok offering simple advice for any Gen Z in search of a job. Don’t bring an iced coffee to the interview, she said. Seems obvious. Seems so obvious, in fact, that I am surprised it ever needed to be said in the first place. Apparently not, however. An almighty row has broken out: Gen Z are vociferous in defending their right to take an iced coffee to an interview. In fact, it might even be “ableist” (don’t ask) to suggest otherwise. Fox, New York Magazine, the Guardian – you name it – have weighed in. It makes me want to stand in Gen Z’s corner. Things really have been tricky for them. Maybe they cannot socialise: Covid-19 and the lockdowns caused more damage to the world than has ever been priced in. I also believe the damning reports about their literary capabilities, but it was their parents who raised them on a diet of phones and iPads. They are indeed hard done by. But there is one fascination with young people in 2026 that really does baffle: why do they not know how to work?READ MORECoffee in an interview? A frivolous example, perhaps. But it’s part of a larger behavioural pattern. Earlier this decade, we were all introduced to the term “quiet quitting”, or the trend among young employees to show up to the office, do the bare minimum, collect their pay cheque and never work a minute over contracted hours. It arrived alongside a much greater calamity: the pandemic necessitated a year-or-so of working from home, but the habit stuck. Deloitte reports that 77 per cent of Gen Z would consider looking for a new job if forced to be in the workplace full time. Records on the trend vary, and generational groupings are so broad that it is not possible to be perfectly accurate, but the direction of travel is apparent. When I hear about the need to maintain a healthy work-life balance, I always wonder why no one ever realises it might just mean they ought to work more. Ireland is gripped by a low domestic productivity crisis. In England, Barclays is facing an employee-led revolt as they try to force office attendance up to three days a week. And it is no moral panic or a made-up fight carried out entirely online. Psychologist Jean Twenge recorded that the number of US 18-year-olds willing to work overtime “suddenly plummeted” in 2021, and by 2023, willingness was “at an all-time low”. It is not difficult to figure out why. You work to pay your rent, but you might never afford a house in the city of your choice. Of course there is no reward for overtime. AI researchers blithely suggest we might all be dead at the hands of the technology within a decade, so who on earth would make such an effort to commute to Barclays in these circumstances? And none of this is to mention the ambient sense of war and the very real sense of inflation. [ Hybrid working expected to become less flexible over next two years, research suggestsOpens in new window ]But this is not to excuse any of it. Work is good for people, in and of itself. Any society or generational cohort that decadently rejects it will soon learn that fact the hard way. In 2018, the Guardian imagined a “post-work society”. Eight years later, AI techno-optimists speak of it as though it is a foregone conclusion. What will we do with all the free time, they ask, not realising that’s a question that should be tinged with anxiety, not hope. Just look at where we are now. If it’s true that Gen Z don’t want to work, and that they also happen to self-report as the most anxious and miserable generation ever, might we wonder if those things are related? It certainly doesn’t seem crazy to point out that they are comorbidities. I know it is old-fashioned, fogeyish perhaps, to extol the virtues of hard work; to defend the politeness codes that govern the office; to argue that commuting to Barclays is about something much deeper than commuting to Barclays. I also wonder if it is existentially important too.