The fact is you have to be pure of heart and sound of mind to appreciate the fascist master-planned exit suburbia—Jung spoke of this. All the same teens who rightly flee to discover themselves always ultimately return in adulthood; the only ones who don’t, and continue to resent the “conformity” and “boredom” are the clear failsons, the perpetual manchild, left behind to continue the empty oversocialized consumerism of the downwardly mobile coastal transplant citycel wasteling, living for nothing and no one at all, and dying facing the same; you’re supposed to get it out of your system and grow up but Netflix never told them. The same things that repel the suburb for the adolescent are what draws them as adults, but only those who survived the night’s journey, resolved their painful insecurities and emerged fully mature and individuated, where suddenly order and responsibility is a calling and not a suffocating oppression—stability, structure and investment can now be understood as a foundation for achievement where as a teen it was correctly resented as preventing the novelty and possibility of exit needed to discover and re-invent yourself, and so he escapes to the city and does so. This is the natural way of things, but the failure is the urbanites trapped in perpetual adolescence. They tell themselves culture comes from the slums and the red light district and such, but it’s because their entire cultural consumption is social media signaling and content streaming—culture has always only comes from the gaze of the literate aristocracy, who only ever wrote about such things from their high towers gawking down and trawling through in their own journeys out, prince beyond his castle—skid row can swallow Los Angeles whole and the only thing that will ever grow in the “deep culture pressure cooker” of civil mismanagement is gonorrhea; no, the 21st century Rimbaud—the next Burroughs, the next Wyndham Lewis, the next Mishima—will be born to a tiger mom in too-perfect Irvine CA.