No Space in TC for Teenagers

Guest Opinion

By Tess Tarchak-Hiss | Aug. 9, 2025

Senior summer is supposed to be cosmic in the scheme of the Midwest experience: June through August are a fresh taste of freedom for the young, licensed, and lively. The millisecond final exams end, teenagers sprint to their souped-up trucks to get a start on their superlative summers. They’re going to achieve the insane and live up to the “last night was a movie” mentality.

Or, more accurately, they’re going to go to Walmart, buy a pack of Lofthouse Frosted Sugar Cookies, speed around 85 in a 45, and proceed to watch mukbangs in silence. Personally, I’ll be pulling a Parker Posey in Dazed and Confused—hazing my upcoming freshman sister via ambush by ketchup while she fries on pavement like a Krabby Patty.

As much as I love Dazed and Confused, the movie has set high standards on what the dog days of summer should be. Growing up, summers for me in Traverse City consisted of burnt veggie-cheeseburgers and the bounce house emporium by the Asian Buffet.

Now, summers include working past my age-appropriate bedtime of 10pm and jadedly meandering around Costco with my mother while she stands in the cooler section for decades. (“Mom, put that down. I see you eyeing that 15-pound slab of Gruyere cheese—absolutely not. Why does Costco even sell butter churners?”)

My heart pangs for a “perfect” teenager experience adjacent to American Graffiti: I want to zoom down hick-highways to Esch Beach, I want to stand around in random garages while listening to “Just Wanna Rock” while awkwardly petting whatever animal comes into my vicinity. Right?

Oh my god, no. I would rather mirror what I’ve seen in the sitcoms: sitting down with friends in situations adjacent to Café Nervosa from Frasier or The Hub from That ’70s Show. I would even pull a Big Bang Theory and pull up to the Cheesecake Factory every day if I could—I know those Mac N Cheese balls hate to see me coming.

I would adore nothing more than to flump over in a flimsy diner for hours, picking at an affordable tray of flabby fries—not some millennial $16 smashburger. While there are a multitude of sit-down restaurants in Traverse City, it’s impossible for teenagers to consider these establishments “hangout spots.”

Cafés, such as Mundos, are the places you go when you want to awkwardly catch up with acquaintances, not when you want to grab a cheap bite later in the day. Coffee shops, being somewhat pricey for teenagers, also close with earlier hours. The same could go for local lunch spots, which are oftentimes the only viable options, being accessible for a rare window within the day.

With an excessive number of breweries and bars spreading through downtown like hand, foot, and mouth, the only late-night area left for Gen Z is the Culver’s drive-through. If teenagers can’t hang out in diverting multi-colored diner chairs, at least give us a Raising Cane's.

Having inexpensive locations to hang out for teenagers downtown would be profitable. Front Street businesses ultimately get a boom, and we get a place to mingle that’s not the morbid mall food court. Most importantly, we would have a set space that offers opportunities for original rendezvous, helping hoist teens out of their distressing summer ruts of FOMO—a feeling everyone this age feels.

Due to social media, summer solitary seems to have skyrocketed. Instead of barbecuing or chasing sunsets, bedrotting while watching Love Island seems to be this summer’s coping mechanism.

Despite the performative repetitiveness within bikinis, boats, and bridge of “Champagne Coast,” the left-out ludicrous has existed pre-posting; my mom also found herself in seasonal slumps. However, her solution doesn’t quite apply to the modern age: “I would go to the arcade and see who was hanging. That was the spot—I could always find someone to talk to.”

In regard to my earlier statement that downtown doesn’t need any more pubs, instead we young people of Traverse City demand available areas filled with Ms. Pac-Man machines.

There is no “perfect” teenage experience, there is no formulaic way to live out your years—despite media illustrating that there is. But in all of these “teenage last hurrah” types of movies, the characters are consistently searching. Searching for a party, an experience, a place. And through that search, they find themselves.

While representation can definitely be deluded, the films are correct regarding one thing: teenagers need spaces. Spaces where we can grow as people but still cling to a momentary sense of youth. Areas where communication is key. Settings that make each and every teenage experience a little more enjoyable, giving us opportunities in the future to look back fondly on those core memories.

Though, as Jason London said in Dazed and Confused: “All I’m saying is that if I ever start referring to these as the best years of my life—remind me to kill myself.”

Tess Tarchak-Hiss is a senior at Traverse City West Senior High. She explores the world around her by writing at her dining room table while listening to Wiz Khalifa.