As a little girl growing up in the early 2000’s, I always imagined my future as a colourful, hopeful romcom, with montages of the leading lady finding herself in her adulthood, participating in the rituals of beauty, growing more confident every day.
This mindset was definitely sparked by the Romcom boom of the early 2000’s, in movies like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003), Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001), and Mamma Mia! (2008), but my personal favourite was always 13 Going on 30 (2004). However, the walk-in closet full of colourful dresses, a large downtown apartment, with a high-level publishing job, feels just as out of reach today, at 23 years old, as it did when I was 13. And yet, despite being a difficult goal, films like 13 Going on 30 inspire a similar hope towards the future as I did when I was young, which I simply cannot ignore. The timelessness of this film is gripping, unyielding, and imposingly positive due to its timeless narrative of longing and assertion of authenticity. The film is able to touch me today, in a similar way as it did when I was 13, due to its cyclical themes, symbolism, and narrative, with the entire plot being foreshadowed in the opening flashback sequence and repeated throughout the mistakes made in adulthood.
I may not have the walk in closet on the 20th floor of a New York City high rise apartment, but I gain a greater appreciation for the transcendent ritual of applying lipstick, or the excitement of thrifting a piece of clothing that screams “me” because like Jenna rink, I did not get what I wanted at 13, but I became the most genuine version of myself, and that’s the greatest future I could ask for.
The film begins with Jenna getting her school picture taken, discussing growing up with her best friend Matt, and preparing for her thirteenth birthday party. These scenes are foundational to the characters not only due to the introduction of their personalities but gives insight into who they are over the course of their lives. Jenna aspires to be a “six chick,” essentially the popular girl group in school. Matt and Jenna are opposites: Jenna is the extreme conformist, and Matt is the true individual. Jenna and Matt’s outlook can be summarized in these two lines:
Jenna proclaiming “someday I’m gonna be a six chick” with Matt replying “there’s six of them Jenna, that’s the whole point. There can’t be a seventh six chick, it’s mathematically impossible. Besides, you’re way cooler than they are, they’re totally unoriginal.” Jenna is a conformist, mimicking those she admires in the hopes of their acceptance — the plight of every adolescent. Matt is an interesting case, profoundly aware, emotionally and socially intelligent; he responds with facts, reassurance, and support for Jenna and her individuality. The conflict of the film is solidified in Jenna’s response, “I don’t want to be original, Matty, I wanna be cool,” implying the only way to be cool is to conform to pre-established constructs of “coolness.” To this, Matty gives her Razzles candy, the recurring symbol of their childhood bond, before they go to their neighbouring houses.
Matt and Jenna’s personalities are demonstrated in these first few scenes, from their hobbies to the way they dress, even to the music they listen to. At the party, Matt plays alternative music, notoriously counter culture, confirmed when people don’t enjoy his music, to which he says, “narrow man. Narrow, hopeless people.” He then calls Lucy, Jenna’s frenemy, a “robot,” implying she, as well as the other conformists of the Six Chicks, can be programmed and void of humanity due to their inability to know themselves. On the other hand, Jenna doesn’t even play her favourite song, “Jessie’s Girl,” at her own party, instead, allowing Lucy to take over the rest of the party, reinforcing the lifelong trend of self-suppression, opting for the social manipulation and exploitation of those she “looks up to” rather than forging unapologetic individuality. Jenna’s problems are caused by her desire to conform, which is unfortunately a side effect of growing up: to be popular and accepted is, to an extent, to conform. On the other hand, Matt never really conforms, seeing through teen socialization for what it is: conditioning. He loved Jenna for herself.
Interestingly, it is this transition, this tween experience of the world, that saves her from becoming a cruel adult. After Jenna magically becomes 30, it is the connections to her childhood that remind her of her individuality. A scene of particular importance is her first boardroom meeting, when she writes her name on the top right-hand of the paper—a memory everyone has in school. It may be a blink and you miss it kind of scene, but it represents so much as the action is a paradox of conformity and individuality. It conforms to the expectations of the classroom, but it is a ritual lost in adulthood, an identifier of individuality that feels absurd — Jenna brands her notes, her thoughts, her career from that moment on.
Throughout her adult experience, she uses Lisa Frank folders, wears outdated bright colours, and experiments with her style. As she navigates relationships, both corporate and personal, she is able to see through the performance of adulthood, a mask she doesn’t quite understand how to put on yet. It is this inexperience that allows her to find the familiar, not in the laid-out expectations of women in magazines, society, or her friends, but in her childhood. Jenna finds Matt, she reconnects with her parents, and has Razzles again — appreciating what she conditioned herself to take for granted. As Jenna’s thirteen-year-old self moves through her new adult life, she is followed by her past mistakes: infidelity, callousness, carelessness, etc., defining a version of herself she doesn’t recognize but can’t escape.
In the end, this problem of conformity is accentuated when Jenna realizes she is in love with Matt; it is too late to change over ten years of neglect. The consequences of conformity are on full display when Matt tells Jenna, “You may not get the dream house, but you can get pretty close,” as he decides to go through with his wedding to Wendy.
At this moment, their personalities switch; Jenna is finally able to understand what she wants, celebrate her individuality and accept Matty’s proposed Barbie Dream home life together. Conversely, for the first time in Matty’s life, he is settling for the comfort of certainty that comes with conformity — settling for Wendy’s similar angular features and Jenna-esque styled hair. The climax makes Jenna and Matt’s shortcomings clear: their desire to conform to expectations is what holds them back from being truly happy as individuals together. Jenna’s started it, and Matt’s unconscious desire to conform confirms that in that timeline, they could never be together.
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It is only once Jenna returns to her thirteen-year-old self that she is able to get over this mental hurdle and accept herself with a newfound maturity that allows her and Matt to be together, with the movie ending with them at thirty once again, moving into the life-sized, not-quite-Barbie pink house that Matty made for her.
At this point, I am usually crying with a newfound hope that my future will not only be bright, but make room for every version of myself. This film evokes emotion, for me at least, due to the paradoxical celebration of age. The film illustrates the need to carry yourself and the foundations of you as an individual throughout your life — to get to know yourself young so you can live unapologetically for you. Jenna needs both herself at thirteen and at thirty to live a full, authentic life and to learn what it is she really wants. Maturity that comes with age, while celebrating authenticity and a zest for life, is most prevalent when you’re young — you are who you were, who you are, and who you will grow to be.
