Maybe that's the whole teen oeuvre, you know covering people in

Rider Strong once remarked with wry humor and insight: "Maybe that's the whole teen oeuvre, you know covering people in disgusting bodily fluids and whatnot." Though his words are playful, they reveal a deeper truth about the spirit of adolescence and the way its stories are told in culture. He points to the crudeness often found in teen films and comedies, where humor arises from excess, chaos, and the breaking of taboos. In this jesting observation lies a recognition of how society often defines the teenage experience—as unruly, messy, and unashamed.

The origin of this thought comes from Strong’s career as an actor who grew up before the public eye, most famously on Boy Meets World. Having been part of projects aimed at both youth and adults, he recognized the formula used by filmmakers: when speaking of teenagers, the art often leans toward extremes. Bodily humor, wild antics, and exaggerated rebellion become the shorthand for youth. His comment, though comedic, underscores the tendency to reduce adolescence to the outrageous, overlooking its subtler truths of longing, identity, and transformation.

History offers us parallels to this phenomenon. In ancient Rome, the festival of Saturnalia allowed citizens, especially the young, to indulge in chaos, pranks, and even vulgarity, as a way of expressing the wildness contained within society. Similarly, medieval carnivals inverted order, often delighting in mess and absurdity. These cultural moments, like teen comedies, became a mirror of youthful energy—the instinct to test boundaries, to revel in disorder, to push against the rigid walls of adult restraint. Strong’s words highlight that the art of adolescence has often been portrayed as a theater of chaos.

Yet beneath the laughter and the mess lies something more profound: adolescence itself is messy. It is a time of bodily change, emotional extremes, and unfiltered expression. The “disgusting” becomes symbolic of transformation—the shedding of childhood innocence, the awkwardness of growth, the collision of desire and uncertainty. To portray teens through chaos is, in a sense, to capture the raw turbulence of the age. Strong’s irony points us to this hidden wisdom: what may seem like mere gross humor is, in fact, a reflection of a deeper reality.

His observation also challenges us to ask: is this the only way to tell the story of youth? Must we always reduce teenage art to the grotesque, or can we also elevate it to show the nobility, the courage, the yearning of that age? For alongside the pranks and the absurdities, adolescence carries profound questions of identity, destiny, and belonging. Strong’s remark, by exaggerating the ridiculous, invites us to consider the balance between humor and depth in the way we portray the journey from childhood to adulthood.

The lesson for us is this: do not dismiss the chaos of youth, but neither should you be blinded by it. See in the wildness the signs of growth, the cries of a soul being remade. Laugh, yes, for humor is a balm, but also look deeper—to the truths hidden beneath the disorder. Guide the young not by condemning their antics, but by showing them the wisdom that lies beyond them. And if you are young yourself, know that your chaos need not define you forever—it is but one stage in the shaping of your being.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, hear Rider Strong’s jest not only as humor, but as wisdom disguised in irony. Accept that youth will at times be unruly, messy, even crude—but see through it to the deeper story of becoming. Do not cling to the chaos, but let it refine you, teaching you patience, humility, and self-knowledge. For though adolescence may be marked by disorder, it is also the forge where character is formed. What begins in mess may end in mastery, if you endure the fire and seek the wisdom beyond the jest.