The Shins' newfound popularity infuriated both former fans and those prone to hate the Shins for not being Bon Jovi.So as grew to become a pejorative thrown around by everyone to mock basically everyone else, Garden State got hit in the crossfire. To bring you the best content on our sites and applications, Meredith partners with third party advertisers to serve digital ads, including personalized digital ads.
Worse yet for Garden State's legacy is it's tied to the codifying of an archetypal character that is easily one of today's most reviled: whiny hipsters.
There are a lot of movies, much worse movies, that are as emo, as self-aggrandizing, and that feature an even more manic manic pixie dream girl, but Garden State is the one we talk about.
Have you seen the well-soundtracked garbage that was Elizabethtown (the movie that first inspired the)?
We briefly, guiltily enjoyed Braff's ad hoc quirk collage, his breezy use of modern anxiety as fashion accessory, his crypto-jailbait was an Uncanny Valley, an emo simulacrum of actual human feeling — a pose.
Now we're cratered recession-era thirtysomethings with infants and anemic stock portfolios, and, looking back, we can't forgive Braff for getting us mostly right.
"You probably listen to the Garden State soundtrack" is likely a real insult said recently by both an artisanal pretzel baker/tattoo artist in Bushwick and a state-school fraternity president. There are a lot of smart opinions about Girls here.) The crux of the hating is that youngish people who have grown up vaguely privileged and female shouldn't make art about their problems when there are bigger problems out there.
However, what gets lost in this shorthand is that the soundtrack has a whole bunch of great songs on it, regardless of the fact that every soundtrack since has also had Iron & Wine on it (or at least artists that sound like Iron & Wine). Now, Braff and the character he created are not female, but he's something just as bad: not traditionally masculine.
It's like Harold and Maude, if you definitely want to fuck Maude and kind of want to fuck Harold.
For better or for worse (many say for worse), Braff pioneered a certain brand of attractive, young, sad bastard that we then saw over and over again for the last decade.
Rome was burning, and we were a bunch of preening, overmedicated, playlist-mongering nincompoops, begging for indie cred and youth relevance from an advancing army of Real Millennials.
I know, I'm starting to look old to you, Li'l Joe Hoodie, but before you dismiss me, please listen to this new band I heard in Bushwick!