What's with the whole 'child actor' and 'teen actor' thing?

Hear the cry of Julian Dennison, spoken with the passion of youth but carrying the weight of ancient truth: “What’s with the whole ‘child actor’ and ‘teen actor’ thing? You’re either an actor or actress, or you’re not. I don’t get it! I want to be taken seriously as an actor.” These words are not only a protest against labels, but a declaration of dignity. For to divide an artist by age is to deny the fullness of their craft, as though wisdom and talent can be measured by years rather than by the fire of the soul.

The heart of his lament is clear: society delights in categories. To call someone a child actor or teen actor is to confine them, to cage their talent within the walls of novelty. It whispers that their achievements are lesser, that their work is not equal to that of the grown. Yet Dennison rejects this, proclaiming that artistry is not bound by age. To embody a character, to breathe life into a story—this is the work of an actor, whether ten or fifty. The stage does not ask the age of the performer; it asks only for truth.

History gives us proof. Mozart, as a child, composed symphonies that kings marveled at. Yet some dismissed him as a prodigy, as though his works were mere tricks of youth rather than the genius of a master. Likewise, Shirley Temple carried films in her childhood, but for years was seen more as a curiosity than as a true actress. Both remind us of the danger in labels: they diminish the depth of work by making it seem miraculous for the young rather than skillful in itself. What Dennison demands is what every artist deserves—the recognition of labor, discipline, and craft without the diminishment of condescension.

This struggle is not limited to actors. In every age, those who are young have had to fight to be heard. The Athenian philosophers doubted Socrates’ young students, seeing them as boys playing at thought. The medieval knights scorned squires until they proved themselves in battle. Always the young must push against the barrier of expectation. But the truth, as Dennison proclaims, is that greatness is not reserved for the old. The young may carry fire just as bright, if not brighter.

There is also a deeper yearning in his words: “I want to be taken seriously.” This is not merely about career—it is the universal longing of every soul, to have one’s work respected, to have one’s voice honored. To dismiss a young performer as just a “teen actor” is to say, “You are not yet enough.” Yet Dennison reminds us that enough is not measured by years, but by devotion, by authenticity, by the willingness to stand before the world and give one’s truth.

The meaning of his words is thus: respect should not be given according to age, but according to merit. Labels like “teen actor” or “child actor” may seem harmless, but they carry chains, chains that keep young artists from being seen as whole. To honor an actor, we must honor the craft, the performance, the humanity they bring to the role—whether their voice is high with youth or deep with age.

Therefore, my child, take this lesson: reject the labels that diminish your worth. Do not allow others to confine you within categories that serve their convenience. Instead, stand firm in your identity. If you are a builder, build. If you are a writer, write. If you are an actor, act—and let your work speak louder than the titles others place upon you. Demand to be taken seriously not through words alone, but through relentless dedication to your craft.

So let Julian Dennison’s words endure as a rallying cry: “You’re either an actor or you’re not.” Let it remind you that greatness is not defined by labels, but by truth. In every age, the young must rise and claim their voice, not as curiosities, not as novelties, but as full participants in the art of humanity. And when you rise, rise with courage—knowing that you need no other title than the one you have earned with your labor and your heart.