New York magazine asks how long we can go on like this:

He owns eleven pairs of sneakers, hasn’t worn anything but jeans in a year, and won’t shut up about the latest Death Cab for Cutie CD. But he is no kid. He is among the ascendant breed of grown-up who has redefined adulthood as we once knew it and killed off the generation gap.
(And by the way, no one is allowed to post "and he writes reviews of superhero comics on his blog," OK? Because I'm posting it first.)