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How 33-Year-Olds, the Peak Millennials, Are Shaping the U.S. Economy

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I have covered economics for 11 years now, and in that time, I have come to the realization that I am a statistic. Every time I make a major life choice, I promptly watch it become the thing that everyone is doing that year.I started college in 2009, in the era of all-time-high matriculation rates. When I moved to a big coastal city after graduation, so did a huge crowd of people: It was the age of millennial urbanization. When I lived in a walk-in closet so that I could pay off my student loans (“The yellow paint makes it cheerful!”, Craigslist promised), student debt had recently overtaken auto loans and credit cards as the biggest source of borrowing outside of housing in America.My partner and I bought a house in 2021, along with (seemingly and actually) a huge chunk of the rest of the country. We married in 2022, the year of many, many weddings. The list goes on.I am no simple crowd follower. What I am is 32, about to be 33 in a few weeks.And there are so many of us.If demographics are destiny, the demographic born in 1990 and 1991 was destined to compete for housing, jobs and other resources. Those two birth years, the people set to turn 33 and 34 in 2024, make up the peak of America’s population.As the biggest part of the biggest generation, this hyper-specific age group — call us what you will, but I like “peak millennials” — has moved through the economy like a person squeezing into a too-small sweater. At every life stage, it has stretched a system that was often too small to accommodate it, leaving it somewhat flabby and misshapen in its wake. My cohort has an outsized amount of economic power, but that has sometimes made life harder for us.Early 30-Somethings Are EverywhereIn 2022, America had 4.75 million 32-year-olds and 4.74 million 31-year-olds, the largest two ages by population.

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    The Children of the Iraq War Have Grown Up, but Some Wounds Don’t Heal

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    BAGHDAD — The thump of a car bomb explosion, then a whoosh of flame interrupting homework; the low boom of a roadside bomb and seconds later the shattering of glass jolting families awake; an apartment door being kicked open in the middle of the night and someone shouting in a foreign language; the pop, pop, pop of bullets whizzing past in a firefight and the bang of doors slamming as grown-ups drag children inside.For six years, during the war launched by the United States in 2003 and the sectarian conflict it gave birth to, this was the soundtrack of life in Iraq, and especially for those under age 26 — about 23 million people, nearly half of the population. Trauma was a daily event. Losses touched nearly every family.Now, especially in Baghdad, many young people want to move on. The cities have somewhat recovered from the war years, and more affluent young Iraqis frequent coffee shops, go to malls and attend live concerts. Even so, most conversations keep circling back to a relative who was killed, family members who were displaced or lingering doubts about Iraq’s future.Wars leave scars even when people survive with their bodies intact. The metallic whirring of helicopters, the flash of flares, the smell of burning after bombs, the taste of fear, the ache of something lost — all of these linger long after the fighting stops.“The war took away our childhood,” said Noor Nabih, 26, whose mother was wounded in crossfire from a passing American convoy and then seriously injured again in a bomb blast.Joao Silva, a New York Times photographer, and Alissa J. Rubin, a senior correspondent, recently talked to young Iraqis in Baghdad about their lives, their thoughts on the American invasion and the state of their country. Here are some of their stories.Mohammed Hassan Jawad Jassim, 25, at his home in Baghdad. He was blinded during protests in 2019.‘I was so scared I lay down on the ground.’Mohammed Hassan Jawad Jassim, 25Mohammed was 5 at the time of the invasion. Every explosion startled him. The first time he saw an American vehicle hit a roadside bomb, he said, the blast vibrated through him; then came a barrage of bullets.“I was so scared I lay down on the ground and pressed my face into the road,” he recalled.Before long, the U.S. soldiers began to knock at the family’s door in search of Shiite Muslim militia members loyal to the anti-American cleric Muqtada al Sadr. “I was afraid they were going to shoot,” he said.Mohammed with his mother.Family photos of Mohammed, before and after his injuries.Mohammed with his wife and children in Baghdad.With 17 sisters and brothers, and a father who could barely piece together a living working in a garage, Mohammed could not focus at school, and dropped out after second grade. “I had thoughts of death,” he said. “Sometimes I tied a blindfold around my eyes and sat in a dark room.”When he was 21, his daughter, Tabarak, was born and he wanted to get a government job but had no connections to politicians who could help him. Indignant, he joined the 2019 youth protests over government corruption and the Iranian presence in Iraq, known in the Arab world as the October Revolution.On his first day at the protests, a tear-gas canister exploded in his face, pulling one eye out its socket and damaging the other. His world went dark.Now his daughter is 4; he also has a 1-year old son, Adam.“My only wish is that I could have my eyesight so that I could see my children,” he said. “Adam came into the world after I was hit, so I have never seen him.Fadia Khalil Ibrahim Paulus Alo, 24, during rehearsal at the Baghdad Music and Ballet School.‘When I play, I forget where I am.’Fadi Khalil Ibrahim Paulus Alo, 26, and his sister, Fadia Khalil Ibrahim Paulus Alo, 24Throughout the war, Fadi and his sister, Fadia, found solace in the Baghdad Music and Ballet School.Many of their fellow Christians had fled Iraq, and the smell of smoke filled their lungs as they studied. American soldiers kept barging into their family’s fifth-floor apartment in search of insurgents, only to stop in their tracks when they saw the portrait of Jesus in prayer over the television.But the music school was a refuge for the siblings, a world of harmonies instead of explosions.“When I play, I forget where I am,” said Fadi, a computer auditor at the Central Bank of Iraq, as well as a flutist in the Iraqi National Orchestra.But when the notes fade, he wonders whether he can really spend the rest of his life in Iraq.Fadi at home with his family in Baghdad.Fadia in a gym in Baghdad.Fadi and Fadia at their church in Baghdad, the site of a 2010 attack by Al Qaeda that targeted worshipers at prayer. More than 100 people were taken hostage, and 52 were killed.Fadia is now a marketing agent for an Iraqi electronic payment system and a violist in the orchestra. When she was 12, a car bomb exploded at a municipal court next door to the school. She recalled the eerie silence right afterward and then screaming.After checking on her brother, she fetched a first-aid bag; bandaged the leg of the principal, which had been sliced by shrapnel; and helped first graders who had been cut by glass and shrapnel. “The children were so scared, so I knew what I had to do,” she said.“It was strange to be so calm when everyone was screaming and crying, but it came from God,” she said.Fadia loves the theme music from the film “LaLa Land” and Smetana dances. Unlike her brother, she sees her future in Iraq.“I am attached to this place,” she said. “When I am here, I feel at home.”Dalia Mazin Sedeeq Al-Hatim and Hussain Sarmad Kadhim Al-Bayati at their wedding reception.‘It was all beautiful until Hussain was shot.’Dalia Mazin Sedeeq Al-Hatim, 24; Hussain Sarmad Kadhim Al-Bayati, 26Dalia, 24, and Hussain, 26, met at the hospital where they were both pharmacists. It took Hussain just a month to know he wanted to marry Dalia and for Dalia to feel the same about Hussain.They had much in common. Both were from families that prized education; both had grown up with the sounds of war. Dalia remembered watching the Nickelodeon cartoon channel when bombs began to fall on Baghdad; Hussain remembered windows being blown out from a bomb blast.And both their families fled to Syria when the war came too close to home. Dalia’s school bus driver disappeared during the sectarian fighting and was later found dead, and the same happened to Hussain’s brother’s school bus driver.Dalia is a Sunni Muslim and Hussain is a Shia Muslim.Both newlyweds grew up with the sounds of war.Dalia and Hussain, both pharmacists, at her mother’s pharmacy in Baghdad.Their one difference — Dalia is a Sunni Muslim and Hussain is a Shia Muslim — did not matter to them, although they knew it might to others. “Even if our sect could be an obstacle, we agreed that it wouldn’t be,” Hussain said.“On the day I proposed to Dalia, my father insisted that I tell Dalia’s family that I am a Shia so it is clear and Dalia’s family won’t be surprised someday,” he said. “They said: ‘We do not care what sect you are. We care that you love our daughter and she loves you.’”Even before their Feb. 18 wedding day, the violence that is part of daily life touched them. Hussain was stabbed and shot during a robbery while working the night shift at a pharmacy.“It was all beautiful until Hussain was shot and now we were once again reminded of the reality of Baghdad,” Dalia said.They hope now, Hussain said, “for health and safety.”Sulaiman Fayadh Sulaiman has been paralyzed from the waist down since he was shot as a 3-year-old in 2003.‘I cannot see much of a future.’Sulaiman Fayadh Sulaiman, 22Sulaiman was 3 years old in August 2003, and having an early breakfast with his father in their family’s garden when, he recalled, “five bullets came to our house, four hit the wall and different parts of the house, and one hit me.”The bullet went through his abdominal wall and passed into his spine, paralyzing him from the waist down. Then, as he was being treated at a spinal injury hospital, a huge truck bomb targeting the United Nations headquarters next door badly damaged the hospital and buried him in rubble.Months later, his father brought him to the gate of an American base, hoping to find aid for the boy, since his initial injuries were caused by a skirmish with U.S. soldiers. A soldier told his father that he would bring Sulaiman to the United States for treatment, and that he “would send me back able to walk again.”Sulaiman arriving for archery practice at Al-Shaab stadium in Baghdad.Sulaiman at archery practice.Sulaiman at his home in Baghdad.But when they returned to the base, he said, “the soldiers at the gate said the soldier who was going to take me had been transferred two days before.”Years later the disappointment is still traced upon his face.Since then, Sulaiman has found flashes of joy as a member of the Iraqi Paralympic archery team, competing internationally. For brief moments, he said, as he holds his bow, fits his arrow and pulls the string, he can smile. But the happiness fades quickly.“I cannot see much of a future,” he said.Lt. Hamza Amer Chamis, center right, inspecting troops at the Baghdad Joint Command headquarters.‘To make my father be proud of me in the hereafter.’Hamza Amer Chamis, 24Hamza, 24, grew up with the military in his blood. His father had been a colonel when Saddam Hussein was in power, and rejoined the Iraqi Army, which the Americans initially dissolved, after it was reconstituted. He bonded with the American soldiers he worked with, rising to the rank of general.“My dream, my passion for becoming an officer, started at the age of 12,” Hamza recalled. “Our school had a costume party, and my father gave me his uniform with his rank and colors to wear. It was a great thing, and the next day I told him, ‘I want to become like you.’”But the family was seen as traitors by some of his father’s former army colleagues who had joined the insurgents fighting the American military. One group of militants tried to kidnap Hamza’s older brother. Then, in 2014, Hamza’s father was killed as he was fighting in Anbar against the country’s newest scourge, the Islamic State.Hamza at a checkpoint in Baghdad.Hamza helping his mother, Entisar, make coffee for guests at their family home in Baghdad.Hamza with his son and wife at home in Baghdad.From then on, he said, he wanted “to make my father be proud of me in the hereafter and feel that I did something for him, just as he raised and supported me.”Hamza graduated at the top of his class in military college and became the youngest lieutenant in the history of the post-2003 Iraqi Army. His first mission: to fight the remnants of the Islamic State, the same militants who killed his father.Now he is an officer in charge of security for the Joint Command, which includes the senior staff of the Iraq Armed Forces. His dream is to reach the same rank as his father.Noor Nabih with her son.‘I still have fear inside me.’Noor Nabih, 26Soft voiced and restrained, Noor recited her experiences of life after the invasion.She is a Sunni Muslim, from the religiously mixed area around Samarra about two hours north of Iraq’s capital, and at first the fighting did not touch her. But in 2005, she said, “we began to hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions.”“We knew it was the Americans, because the news was everywhere that this was an American war,” she recalled.Soon after, the family moved to Baghdad. But back in Samarra, her fathers’ four brothers were kidnapped by anti-American Sunni insurgents. The youngest, the one Noor was closest to, “was shot many times, his body was left by a rubbish heap.” Then the insurgents torched her grandfather’s house.Grocery shopping in Baghdad.Noor with her husband, Mustafa.“I do not feel safe in Iraq, period and if I have a chance to leave this country I will,” Noor said.When Noor was 11, the family returned to Samarra to put flowers on her uncle’s grave. As they drove, a firefight between U.S. troops and insurgents forced them to take a detour. A stray bullet flew through a window, hitting her mother in her side. They believed it came from the U.S. troops because of its caliber.   Her father instructed her to stop the bleeding with tissues, she said, but the blood soaked through. “I felt I had lost everything,” she said.Her mother survived, and the family fled to Syria for a time. Then, soon after they returned to Iraq, a bomb attached to the underside of her parents’ car by unknown people left her mother with a traumatic brain injury.“I do not feel safe in Iraq, period, and if I have a chance to leave this country I will,” Noor said. “I still have fear inside me every day, despite all my attempts to forget what I have seen.”Falih Hassan More

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    In New York City, Pandemic Job Losses Linger

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    Even as the country as a whole has recovered all of the jobs it lost during the pandemic, the city is still missing 176,000 — the slowest recovery of any major metropolitan area.The darkest days of the pandemic are far behind New York City. Masks are coming off, Times Square is packed with tourists and Midtown Manhattan lunch spots have growing lines of workers in business suits. Walking around the city, it often feels like 2019 again.But the bustling surface obscures a lingering wound from the pandemic. While the country as a whole has recently regained all of the jobs it lost early in the health crisis, New York City is still missing 176,000, representing the slowest recovery of any major metropolitan area, according to the latest employment data.New York relies more than other cities on international tourists, business travelers and commuters, whose halting return has weighed on the workers who cater to them — from bartenders and baggage handlers, to office cleaners and theater ushers. A majority of the lost private sector jobs have been concentrated in the hospitality and retail industries, traditional pipelines into the work force for younger adults, immigrants and residents without a college degree.By contrast, overall employment in industries that allow for remote work, such as the technology sector, is back at prepandemic levels.The lopsided recovery threatens to deepen inequality in a city where apartment rents are soaring, while the number of residents receiving temporary government assistance has jumped by almost a third since February 2020. As New York emerges from the pandemic, city leaders face the risk of an economic rebound that leaves thousands of blue-collar workers behind.“The real damage here is that many of the industries with the most accessible jobs are the ones that are still struggling to fully recover,” said Jonathan Bowles, the executive director of the Center for an Urban Future, a public policy think tank.New York City was hit particularly hard by the first wave of the virus, prompting business closures and employer vaccine mandates that were among the longest and strictest in the country. Part of the reason for New York’s lagging recovery is that it lost one million jobs in the first two months of the pandemic, the most of any city. More recently, New York City has regained jobs at a rapid clip. The technology sector actually added jobs in the first 18 months of the pandemic, a period when almost every other industry shrank.But job growth slowed this summer in sectors like hotels and restaurants compared with a year ago, while businesses in technology, health care and finance increased employment at a faster pace over the same period, according to an analysis by James Parrott, an economist at the Center for New York City Affairs at the New School.After being laid off from her restaurant job early in the pandemic, Desiree Obando, 35, chose not to return, enrolling instead in community college.Andrew Seng for The New York TimesIn July, the city’s unemployment rate was 6.1 percent, compared with 3.5 percent in the country overall that month.At the height of the pandemic, Ronald Nibbs, 47, was laid off as a cleaner at an office building in Midtown Manhattan, where he had worked for seven years. Mr. Nibbs, his girlfriend and his two children struggled on unemployment benefits and food stamps.He secured temporary positions, but the work was spotty with few people back in offices. He did not want to switch careers, hoping to win his old position back. He began to drink heavily to deal with the anxiety of unemployment.In May, his building finally called him back to work. “When I got that phone call, I wanted to cry,” Mr. Nibbs said.There are 1,250 fewer office cleaners in the city now than there were before the pandemic, according to Local 32BJ of the Service Employees International Union.Last month, New York officials cut their jobs growth forecast for 2022 to 4.3 percent, from 4.9 percent, saying the state was not expected to reach prepandemic levels of employment until 2026. Officials cited the persistence of remote work and the migration of city residents away from the state as a long-term risk to employment levels.The number of tourists visiting New York City this year is expected to rebound to 85 percent of the level in 2019, a year in which a record 66.6 million travelers arrived, according to forecasts from NYC & Company, the city’s official tourism agency.However, according to the agency, visitors to the city are spending less money overall because those who have historically stayed longer — business and international travelers — have not returned at the same rates. This has hurt department stores that depend on high-spending foreign visitors, as well as hotels that rely on business travelers to book conferences and banquets.Ilialy Santos, 47, returned to her job as a room attendant this month at the Paramount Hotel in Times Square, which is reopening for the first time since March 2020. The hotel had been a candidate to be converted into affordable housing, but the plan was opposed by a local union, the New York Hotel and Gaming Trades Council, in order to save jobs.Ms. Santos said she could not find any employment for two years, falling behind every month on her bills. The hotel union provided a $1,000 payment to her landlord to help cover her rent.“I’m excited to be going back to work, getting back to my normal life and becoming more stable,” Ms. Santos said.Despite the city’s elevated unemployment rate, many employers say they are still struggling to find workers, especially in roles that cannot be done remotely. The size of the work force has also dropped, declining by about 300,000 people since February 2020.The number of tourists visiting New York City in 2022 is expected to rebound to 85 percent of the level in 2019, a year in which a record 66.6 million travelers came to the city.Christopher Lee for The New York TimesSome blue-collar employees who lost their jobs early in the pandemic are now holding out for positions that would allow them to work from home.Jade Campbell, 34, has been out of work since March 2020, when the pandemic temporarily shuttered the Old Navy store where she had worked as a sales associate. When the store called her back in the fall, she was in the middle of a difficult pregnancy, with a first-grade son who was struggling to focus during online classes. She decided to stay home, applying for different types of government assistance.Ms. Campbell now lives on her own in Queens without child care support; her children are 1 and 8 years old. She has refused to get vaccinated against Covid-19, a prerequisite in New York City for many in-person jobs. Still, she said she felt optimistic about applying for remote customer service roles after she reached out to Goodwill NYNJ, a nonprofit, for help with her résumé.“I got two kids I know I have to support,” she said. “I can’t really depend on the government to help me out.”At Petri Plumbing & Heating in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, several workers quit over the city’s policy that employees of private businesses be fully vaccinated. The restriction was the most stringent in the country when it was announced in December 2021 at the end of Mayor Bill de Blasio’s term.After Mayor Eric Adams signaled earlier this year that his administration would not enforce the mandate, Michael Petri, the company’s owner, offered to rehire three former workers. One returned, another had found another job and the third had moved to another state, he said.Thanks to a $50 hourly wage and monthly bonuses, current job openings at Petri Plumbing have attracted a flood of applicants. In a shift from before the pandemic, Mr. Petri said he now has to wade through more applicants with no plumbing experience.The strongest candidates often have too many driving infractions to be put on the company’s insurance policy, he said. But recently, Mr. Petri was so desperate to hire a mechanic with too many infractions that he recruited a young worker just to drive him.“This is without a doubt one of the more difficult times we have faced,” said Mr. Petri, whose family started the company in 1906.The disruptions have set the city’s youngest workers back the most. The unemployment rate for workers ages 16 to 24 is 20.7 percent.After graduating from high school in 2020, Simone Ward enrolled in community college but dropped out after a few months, feeling disengaged from online classes.Ms. Ward, 20, signed up for a cooking program with Queens Community House, a nonprofit organization, which allowed her to get a part-time job preparing steak sandwiches at Citi Field during baseball games. But the scheduling was inconsistent, and the job required a 90-minute commute on three subway lines from her home in Brooklyn’s Canarsie neighborhood.She applied for data entry jobs that would allow her to work remotely, but never heard back. She remembered interviewing for a job at an Olive Garden restaurant and recognizing in the moment that she was flailing, her social skills diminished by the isolation of lockdown.“The pandemic feels like it set my life back five steps,” she said. New York officials have cited the persistence of remote work and the migration of workers to other states as long-term risks to employment levels.Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesFor Desiree Obando, 35, losing her job at a restaurant in Manhattan’s West Village early in the pandemic nudged her to leave the hospitality industry after 12 years. When the restaurant group she used to work for asked her to come back a few months later, she had already enrolled at LaGuardia Community College, returning to school after dropping out twice before, with the goal of becoming a high school counselor.She is now working a part-time job at an education nonprofit that pays $20 an hour, less than her hospitality job. But the work is close to her home in East Harlem, giving her the flexibility to pick up her daughter whenever the school has virus exposures.Ms. Obando is hopeful that she will eventually get an income boost after she completes her master’s degree.“There’s nothing like the pandemic to put things in perspective,” Ms. Obando said. “I made the right choice for me and my family. More

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    'Squid Game,' the Netflix Hit, Taps South Korean Fears

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    The dystopian Netflix hit taps South Korea’s worries about costly housing and scarce jobs, concerns familiar to its U.S. and international viewers.In “Squid Game,” the hit dystopian television show on Netflix, 456 people facing severe debt and financial despair play a series of deadly children’s games to win a $38 million cash prize in South Korea.Koo Yong-hyun, a 35-year-old office worker in Seoul, has never had to face down masked homicidal guards or competitors out to slit his throat, like the characters in the show do. But Mr. Koo, who binge-watched “Squid Game” in a single night, said he empathized with the characters and their struggle to survive in the country’s deeply unequal society.Mr. Koo, who got by on freelance gigs and government unemployment checks after he lost his steady job, said it is “almost impossible to live comfortably with a regular employee’s salary” in a city with runaway housing prices. Like many young people in South Korea and elsewhere, Mr. Koo sees a growing competition to grab a slice of a shrinking pie, just like the contestants in “Squid Game.”Those similarities have helped turn the nine-episode drama into an unlikely international sensation. “Squid Game” is now the top-ranked show in the United States on Netflix and is on its way to becoming one of the most-watched shows in the streaming service’s history. “There’s a very good chance it will be our biggest show ever,” Ted Sarandos, a co-chief executive at Netflix, said during a recent business conference.Culturally, the show has sparked an online embrace of its distinct visuals, especially the black masks decorated with simple squares and triangles worn by the anonymous guards, and a global curiosity for the Korean children’s games that underpin the deadly competitions. Recipes for dalgona, the sugary Korean treat at the center of one especially tense showdown, have gone viral.A shop in Seoul selling “Squid Game”-themed dalgona.Heo Ran/ReutersLike “The Hunger Games” books and movies, “Squid Game” holds its audience with its violent tone, cynical plot and — spoiler alert! — a willingness to kill off fan-favorite characters. But it has also tapped a sense familiar to people in the United States, Western Europe and other places, that prosperity in nominally rich countries has become increasingly difficult to achieve, as wealth disparities widen and home prices rise past affordable levels.“The stories and the problems of the characters are extremely personalized but also reflect the problems and realities of Korean society,” Hwang Dong-hyuk, the show’s creator, said in an email. He wrote the script in 2008 as a film, when many of these trends had become evident, but overhauled it to reflect new worries, including the impact of the coronavirus. (Minyoung Kim, the head of content for the Asia-Pacific region at Netflix, said the company was in talks with Mr. Hwang about producing a second season.)“Squid Game” is only the latest South Korean cultural export to win a global audience by tapping into the country’s deep feelings of inequality and ebbing opportunities. “Parasite,” the 2019 film that won best picture at the Oscars, paired a desperate family of grifters with the oblivious members of a rich Seoul household. “Burning,” a 2018 art-house hit, built tension by pitting a young deliveryman against a well-to-do rival for a woman’s attention.The masked guards in “Squid Game” mete out violence during the competitions.NetflixSouth Korea boomed in the postwar era, making it one of the richest countries in Asia and leading some economists to call its rise the “miracle on the Han River.” But wealth disparity has worsened as the economy has matured.“South Koreans used to have a collective community spirit,” says Yun Suk-jin, a drama critic and professor of modern literature at Chungnam National University. But the Asian financial crisis in the late 1990s undermined the nation’s positive growth story and “made everyone fight for themselves.”The country now ranks No. 11 using the Gini coefficient, one measure of income inequality, among the members of the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, the research group for the world’s richest nations. (The United States is ranked No. 6.)As South Korean families have tried to keep up, household debt has mounted, prompting some economists to warn that the debt could hold back the economy. Home prices have surged to the point where housing affordability has become a hot-button political topic. Prices in Seoul have soared by over 50 percent during the tenure of the country’s president, Moon Jae-in, and led to a political scandal.“Squid Game” lays bare the irony between the social pressure to succeed in South Korea and the difficulty of doing just that, said Shin Yeeun, who graduated from college in January 2020, just before the pandemic hit. Now 27, she said she had spent over a year looking for steady work.“It’s really difficult for people in their 20s to find a full-time job these days,” she said.South Korea has also suffered a sharp drop in births, generated partly by a sense among young people that raising children is too expensive.“In South Korea, all parents want to send their kids to the best schools,” Ms. Shin said. “To do that you have to live in the best neighborhoods.” That would require saving enough money to buy a house, a goal so unrealistic “that I’ve never even bothered calculating how long it will take me,” Ms. Shin said.Characters in the show receive invitations to participate in the Squid Game.Netflix“Squid Game” revolves around Seong Gi-hun, a gambling addict in his 40s who doesn’t have the means to buy his daughter a proper birthday present or pay for his aging mother’s medical expenses. One day he is offered a chance to participate in the Squid Game, a private event run for the entertainment of wealthy individuals. To claim the $38 million prize, contestants must pass through six rounds of traditional Korean children’s games. Failure means death.The 456 contestants speak directly to many of the country’s anxieties. One is a graduate from Seoul National University, the nation’s top university, who is wanted for mishandling his clients’ funds. Another is a North Korean defector who needs to take care of her brother and help her mother escape from the North. Another character is an immigrant laborer whose boss refuses to pay his wages.The characters have resonated with South Korean youth who don’t see a chance to advance in society. Known locally as the “dirt spoon” generation, many are obsessed with ways to get rich quickly, like with cryptocurrencies and the lottery. South Korea has one of the largest markets for virtual currency in the world.Like the prize money in the show, cryptocurrencies give “people the chance to change their lives in a second,” said Mr. Koo, the office worker. Mr. Koo, whose previous employer went out of business during the pandemic, said the difficulty of earning money is one reason South Koreans are so obsessed with making a quick buck.“I wonder how many people would participate if ‘Squid Game’ was held in real life,” he said.Seong Gi-hun, the show’s protagonist, entering an arena for one of the games.Netflix More

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    The Luckiest Workers in America? Teenagers.

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    Teens are picking up jobs — and higher wages — as companies scramble to hire. But that trend could have a downside.Roller-coaster operators and lemonade slingers at Kennywood amusement park, a Pittsburgh summer staple, won’t have to buy their own uniforms this year. Those with a high school diploma will also earn $13 as a starting wage — up from $9 last year — and new hires are receiving free season passes for themselves and their families. More