We have become remarkably comfortable describing ourselves by generations.

Millennials. Gen Z. Gen Alpha. Boomers. Gen X.

These labels appear everywhere: in advertising campaigns, workplace policies, social media debates, news articles, and corporate strategy meetings. They are used to describe how people think, what they buy, how they communicate and even what they supposedly value.

But there is a question we rarely ask:

Who benefits from dividing society into generations?

The generational labels we use today were not simply created to help us understand ourselves. They emerged largely from demographic and market research, where age cohorts became useful ways of identifying patterns in consumption, behaviour and cultural change.

There is nothing inherently sinister about demographic research. Businesses need to understand their customers' needs. A company selling products to teenagers will naturally communicate differently from one selling retirement services.

The problem begins when a marketing category becomes an identity.

And perhaps even more importantly, when that identity becomes a mechanism through which generations are encouraged to define themselves against one another.

Originally, generational classifications offered corporations a convenient way to understand large groups of consumers. A generation could be analysed according to its purchasing habits, technological adoption, economic circumstances, and cultural preferences.

Millennials became associated with digital lifestyles, experiences, and changing attitudes toward work.

Gen Z became associated with social media, short-form content, digital communities, and a different relationship with traditional institutions.

Gen Alpha is now being studied as the generation growing up alongside artificial intelligence, ubiquitous connectivity and increasingly digital childhoods.

These descriptions can sometimes be useful.

But somewhere along the way, the language changed. We stopped saying “this demographic tends to behave this way” and started saying “this is what Gen Z is like.”

A statistical category became a personality.

The marketing segment became a cultural identity.

And once people internalize these identities, they can be used to construct divisions. Today, social media is filled with arguments about which generation is responsible for society's problems.

Boomers are blamed for economic conditions.

Millennials are portrayed as financially irresponsible or incapable of buying homes.

Gen Z is described as lazy, overly sensitive, or unwilling to work.

Gen Alpha is already being characterized as technologically dependent or incapable of functioning without screens.

Each generation receives its own stereotype.

Then the stereotype becomes content. Content becomes engagement. Engagement increases advertising revenue. And the cycle continues.

The irony is that corporations and media platforms can profit from conflicts between people who have far more in common than they realize.

The young person arguing that "older people ruined everything" and the older person responding that "young people don't want to work" may believe they are participating in a cultural debate.

But structurally, they are often doing something much simpler:

They are arguing with each other instead of examining the systems affecting both of them.

This is where generational labels become more than marketing categories.

They can become instruments of structural power.

A corporation can frame workplace dissatisfaction as a generational problem rather than a management problem.

Low wages become "young people's unrealistic expectations."

Burnout becomes "Gen Z's inability to work hard."

Resistance to new technology becomes "older workers refusing to adapt."

Economic inequality becomes a conflict between generations rather than a question of how wealth, assets, and opportunity are distributed.

The result is convenient.

If generations are encouraged to blame one another, attention moves away from the structures governing them.

Instead of asking why housing is unaffordable, we argue about whether millennials spend too much on coffee. Instead of asking why workers are experiencing burnout, we debate whether Gen Z has a poor work ethic. Instead of asking how technology is changing employment, we ridicule older workers for not understanding artificial intelligence.

The generational frame simplifies complex structural problems into interpersonal conflict.

And that makes them easier to consume and harder to solve. This dynamic becomes particularly interesting inside organisations. Companies increasingly design workplaces around assumptions about different generations.

"Millennials want purpose."

"Gen Z wants flexibility."

"Boomers prefer stability."

"Gen Alpha will demand AI-enabled workplaces."

Some of these observations may contain truth, but the danger is reducing individuals to demographic profiles. A person's behaviour is influenced by far more than their birth year.

Class matters.

Education matters.

Geography matters.

Economic circumstances matter.

And individual experience matters.

Two people born in the same year can have completely different relationships with work, money, technology, and authority. Yet generational branding can encourage corporations to treat them as a predictable consumer or employee category.

That is where categorisation can become control.

Digital platforms have intensified this phenomenon; algorithms thrive on categorisation. They need to predict what we will watch, buy, click, share, and believe. Generational stereotypes provide convenient narratives.

If an algorithm learns that you identify with Gen Z culture, it can continually expose you to content reinforcing that identity.

You begin seeing what "your generation" supposedly believes.

You discover what "your generation" supposedly hates.

You learn what "your generation" supposedly wears, buys, listens to, and fears.

Eventually, the label becomes self-reinforcing. We consume the identity, perform the identity, and then defend the identity.

The market does not merely sell products to us. Increasingly, it can sell us versions of ourselves. This does not mean generational research is inherently useless. Generational experiences are real.

Someone who grew up before the internet may have a fundamentally different relationship with technology from someone who has never known a world without it.

Economic conditions also shape generations differently. But recognizing these differences does not require turning them into permanent cultural tribes. We should be careful when a descriptive category becomes a moral judgement.

"Gen Z uses technology differently" is an observation.

"Gen Z is lazy because of technology" is a stereotype.

"Older workers may have different experiences with digital transformation" is reasonable.

"Boomers cannot understand technology" is a caricature.

The generational divide is real in some respects, but it does not have to become a generational war. We should remember where these labels came from. They were useful ways of identifying patterns among populations and consumers. They were never supposed to become cages for human identity.

Yet when marketing categories become social identities, and social identities become political and corporate divisions, we risk doing something remarkably profitable for those in power: fighting each other over who we are instead of questioning who benefits from the way society is organised.

The future does not belong to Gen Z.

It does not belong to Millennials.

It does not belong to Gen Alpha or any other generation.

It belongs to all of us.

And perhaps the most radical thing we can do is refuse to let a birth year determine who our allies are, who our enemies are, what we can become, or what problems we are allowed to solve together.

Don't fall for the generational war.

The label may have been created to understand the market. We should be careful not to let it become a tool for controlling society.