The Birth Order Bias
All my life, I identified as a middle child.
I’m the third of six siblings, with two older sisters, a younger brother, and two younger sisters.
I’ll bet you know a middle child or two (or you might be one). You’ve probably seen a few of us on TV.
I’m sure you’ve heard: being in the middle is tough. We’re “squeezed” for attention, affected by pressures on both ends. But our struggles make us better people: less self-centered, more humble, more used to life being unfair.
I wasn’t like those babies of the family who got away with everything.
Or those horrible only children who never had to share.
We middles were (almost) perfect (along with oldest children, but we’ll get to them later).
But something didn’t feel right, and it was hard to put my finger on it. A few life experiences made me question what I had known to be true: that we middle children had it worse than everyone else.
I eventually formed an idea that swished around in my head. I called it The Birth Order Bias, which goes like this: oldest and middle children are the “saints,” youngest and only children the “sinners.” And the question of who has it the worst is more complicated than we’ve been led to believe.
Birth Order Psychology and Being a Middle Child
Birth order psychology fascinated me as a child, probably because everyone I knew often talked about it.
I heard about it at church, from friends, from teachers, from family members, and at family reunions. I saw it on TV, in books, commercials, comic strips and movies. If you were a kid with a pulse, you no doubt heard about birth order a few thousand times.
So I decided to learn about it for myself, and picked up The Birth Order Book, which had been sitting inconspicuously on a shelf in my house.
I read the chapter on middle children and learned that being in the middle meant being born “too late” and “too soon,” missing out on prime attention and TLC from Mom and Dad.
The baby of the family got so much love, attention and coddling just for being cute (and got away with a lot more to boot). The oldest child got the parents’ excitement (and about 1,000 more baby photos). I got . . . ignored. But this was OK, right? I mean, this was good for us. Made us less self-absorbed.
I read on, finding out that being in the middle meant feeling “the squeeze,” where the oldest and youngest siblings seemed to get more attention or influence, and there wasn’t a lot left for me. But this paid off because we learned to negotiate and compromise, by virtue of never having Mom and Dad all to ourselves and getting our way.
One of the final sentences made me feel best: “Middle children are far less likely to be spoiled and therefore they tend to be less frustrated and demanding of life.”¹
I was so proud of that fact. Wearing hand-me-downs, getting less attention, and seeing the younger siblings get away with everything didn’t bother me. I knew it would pay off.
But something did bother me.
Mostly it was this: In the world of birth order, criticisms of younger siblings were fair game, but older siblings were (mostly) off-limits.
It took me a while to really nail down what was going on. I think TV helped.
Middle Children in the Media
If you want to know how a culture perceives itself, look at its media.
For me, that came in the form of reruns of The Brady Bunch and Full House which played frequently in our home. I found plenty of middle child representation there.
I still remember the episode “The Graduates” in Full House where both of Steph’s sisters are graduating, “and I [Steph] don’t get diddly-squat!” Or Jan in The Brady Bunch Movie (1995) when she exclaims, “Am I invisible?! Do I not have a voice? I had that idea two days ago!” Similar things had happened to me.
So here’s the first place where this imbalance really struck me. In any show or movie featuring a middle child, the younger sibling is always the bad guy.
One really good example can be found in award-winning web series The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. In the second episode, titled “My Sisters: Problematic to Practically Perfect,” we’re introduced to Lizzie’s older and younger sisters. Jane, the oldest, is the “practically perfect” one, while Lydia is the (you guessed it) “problematic” one. Jane apologetically enters Lizzie’s room where she finds out her middle sister is filming. Lydia bursts in without knocking. The entire series consistently reinforces this dynamic, with Jane as saintly big sister, and Lydia as annoying pest.
(The entire series is a modern spin-off of the classic book Pride and Prejudice, which uses similar stereotypes of the caring oldest sibling verus annoying, insufferable younger ones.)
There’s also the two most recent versions of Little Women, made in 1994 and 2019, also based on the classic book of the same name. In all versions (the book and movies) youngest child Amy steals second-oldest sister Jo’s manuscript and burns it, in retaliation for not being taken to the theater.
In the 1994 movie version, Jo chastises Amy for “sulking” that she can’t go to the theater.
In the 2019 movie version, not only does Amy burn Jo’s manuscript, she is also portrayed as an extremely annoying, whiny pest who does nothing but get on her older sisters’ nerves.
In both versions, the very oldest child is, once again, saintly and perfect.
This happened a lot in Full House, too. Steph sometimes stole D.J.’s clothes or invaded her privacy. Michelle was a real trouble-maker, especially in the episode where she floods the kitchen and D.J. and Steph get the blame for not stopping her. Or in The Brady Bunch there’s one episode where Cindy, the youngest, constantly tattles on her siblings because she thinks it’s funny.
Or take 2018 Netflix movie, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. 16-year-old protagonist Lara Jean is the middle of three sisters. Her older sister, Margot, is her hero, while her younger sister, Kitty, constantly antagonizes her.
Kitty wears a helmet in the car to make fun of Lara Jean’s bad driving, points out Lara Jean’s social life is lacking, and [spoiler alert] steals Lara Jean’s private letters and mails them without permission. (Yes, Kitty’s intention is to bring her sister out of her shell, not embarrass her. However, it’s still a blatant invasion of privacy and a humiliating experience for Lara Jean.) Lara Jean herself acts as bad guy when she falls for her older sister’s ex-boyfriend.
Shows featuring middle children made it clear: younger siblings are the villains, older siblings the good guys.
It’s like oldest siblings were flawless.
But Being the Oldest is Hard!
O.K. I’ll admit it: oldest kids have their struggles.
(Y’all have only talked about them a few thousand times, but I digress.)
The oldest bears the harshest discipline, only to watch their younger siblings get away with murder. They’re more capable than the younger siblings, so they do more chores. (Sometimes a lot more. Sometimes well after the younger siblings are capable themselves.) They serve as “guinea pig,” experiencing all the scary new things in life before their younger siblings. Being closest in age to the parents, they can be used as the parents’ verbal punching bag when family life gets overwhelming. They babysit difficult-to-handle younger siblings while Mom and Dad are away.
In fact, the oldest child can sometimes be used as a stand-in parent to such an extent that it’s like they are the supplementary parent of the home. On top of it all, they withstand a lot of pressure: to set a good example, to be the leader for the family, to do all the scary new things first, and to do them well.
Sounds like a lot, right?
I’m sure it is. As a middle child, though, I can tell you that the younger sibling side of the story is also difficult, but it can feel like we’re not allowed to discuss it.
Being a Younger Sibling is Also Tough
It’s common knowledge that middle children have it tough, but there was a missing piece for me. I can’t tell you how many times I heard, “younger siblings have it sooo much easier!” when I was growing up. I sometimes agreed with that script, having three younger siblings myself (they get away with everything). But sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes it felt like the “younger sibling” part of the middle child story was erased in favor of the oldest’s experiences.
But maybe that’s fair. Look at the data: Firstborns tend to do better in school. They’re also less likely than their younger siblings to get arrested or use illegal drugs. Clearly signs of stricter parenting (and saintly character), right?
They’re also signs of something else.
The slackening of the reins isn’t just about parents realizing the consequences for loosening up aren’t that bad. Later-borns benefit from laxer discipline, but they lose out on the greater focus, energy, and even attention parents give their firstborn. That might be why firstborns also tend to talk earlier and develop higher IQs. Their parents are energized, focused, and not distracted by third parties. Younger siblings’ parents are more burned out.
“But!” you say, “That focus implies more pressure. Parents focus on their oldest which results in higher expectations for them. Wouldn’t you say the younger siblings get to escape that pressure?” Well, that has its own trade-off. Oldest kids bear more pressure, but they also get more glory.
Take, for example, Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding. In 2011, their wedding amassed 24 million viewers in the U.K. In 2018, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s wedding amassed 18 million U.K. viewers, one-fourth less. Why the discrepancy? Because younger siblings are never as big of a deal.
(Not to mention that Prince William will be King one day, and Prince Harry . . .probably won’t.)
To be a younger sibling is to be the “less important” kid*. My oldest sister graduated middle school the same year I graduated elementary school. She got a huge ceremony. My grandparents came. My parents gave her presents. I got nothing. Nada. Zip. My own important (first!) milestone was overshadowed by something decidedly way more important. I sat there, seething as the graduation procession marched on, forced to celebrate someone else when it was my day too. And then (ah, the salt in the wound), when I got to middle school graduation, it just wasn’t as big of a deal. (I’m over it, Katy. But still.)
That’s not the only hardship. We talk a lot about older siblings taking the blame for younger siblings’ antics, like in that Full House episode, but the same can happen in reverse. When I was six, I blamed my younger sister for peeling a large patch of paint off our bedroom wall — something I had done. My parents were furious, and she got in trouble. I didn’t. (Michelle: I am so so sorry.) Younger siblings can serve as scapegoats for older siblings, but the script is that the older sibling always gets the blame.
The flip side of being the guinea pig is being the novel and exciting one, the first one the parents bond with, the parents’ “first love,” which can never be replicated. Babies-of-the-family are often criticized for being the favorite, but I’ve noticed in a lot of families favoritism happens to the oldest — exactly because of when they’re born. Parents never quite get over that first love, and it bonds them to their oldest for life. Parents can have a more distant relationship with their later-born children, and sometimes that distant relationship makes it so that the younger children are used as the verbal punching bag for the parents to take frustrations out on.
Not having to do things first also has disadvantages— like being forced to follow the precedents your older sibling has set. No AP classes, your older brother failed one. No birthday parties after age 15, too expensive. You must take band in middle school, we’re not dealing with a million different activities. No driver’s license until after the SAT, because that’s what your sister chose to do, and it worked out well for her, didn’t it?
Younger siblings don’t get to be the blank slate. They may follow a snow-plowed path, but it’s a worn one, with few opportunities to branch off. Going off to summer camp, or college, or traveling abroad, or any of those exciting new “firsts” are almost exclusively reserved for the oldest. New experiences are intimidating, but also exciting, and oldest kids get to do them before their younger siblings.
Oldest children are taken more seriously. The person closest in age to Mom and Dad is naturally regarded as the wise one, whose all-important opinions must be regarded with reverence. While at the dinner table, riding in the car (in shotgun), or during late-night family time, oldest kids spout their opinions off to eager ears. Later-borns’ opinions and experiences are ignored at best, and often belittled and dismissed.
While oldest kids have the burden of responsibility, they also get the privilege of being the leader. This might be why oldest kids often have the highest self-esteem: they grow up being more capable than their siblings and get the authority in the home when the parents are gone.
The smaller bedroom, the back seat of the car, the smaller piece of pizza — all intended for later-borns. Oldest kids know: more responsibilities = more privileges. So younger siblings don’t get either.
Not to mention the teasing, criticism, and abuse younger siblings take at the hands of their older siblings. Older siblings can never resist a quick power trip (I should know — I am one). If the younger sibling does something foolish, the older sibling is waiting with bated breath, ready to laugh at them and never let them live it down. A lot of the time, they don’t even need to wait for the right moment. Older siblings are masters at creating opportunities for younger siblings to make fools of themselves, and then make fun of them for it. But it’s so often depicted that the youngest child is the “pest,” the annoying one, the one who teases and embarrasses their older sibling.
Who can forget this scene from Hocus Pocus (1993)?
Oldest kids will tell me that I’ve got it all wrong, that they get criticized all the time. After all, older siblings are “bossy.” They also face their own accusations, like the implication they get the new stuff when their younger siblings complain about hand-me-downs.
But “bossy” doesn’t compare to the heaps of nasty labels applied to youngest siblings: “pesky,” “spoiled,” “babied,” “attention-seeking,” “self-centered,” and “annoying.” (And “bossy,” by the way, is often flipped around to mean the oldest child is caring and concerned for their younger siblings’ well-being. Or because they’re burdened with ensuring so much gets done around the house, of course they have to be bossy.) And just as older siblings don’t always get the new stuff, younger siblings don’t always get away with everything.
Middle children aren’t off the hook, but I’ll get to us later.
If there’s any danger at all of making it seem like the oldest has it good, the media has made sure to wipe it out.
Oppressed oldest siblings
Remember that scene I showed you earlier? The one with Kitty teasing Lara Jean about her driving? Yeah, that’s one of about a million examples of younger siblings embarrassing, teasing, annoying, or otherwise mistreating their older siblings.
Name your favorite childhood show, and I’ll show you an oppressed older sibling:
In Arthur, we see little sister D.W. do things like destroy Arthur’s hand-made model airplane. She also loses her voice, so Arthur has to be her servant for the week. In another episode D.W. instigates a name-calling war.
Disney uses this trope a lot. In Lizzie McGuire, younger brother Matt pulls stunts like putting honey on Lizzie’s phone. He also wreaks havoc whenever Lizzie babysits, and generally finds ways to torture her.
Youngest brother Louis in Even Stevens does things like unplug Ren’s alarm clock to make her late for school, and cons her into doing things (like going on a date with the school weirdo) to get what he wants.
Little brother Cory Baxter pushes his older sister’s buttons in That’s So Raven. He is also a master of manipulation who knows exactly how to get out of trouble. (There’s one scene at the beginning of the series where Raven says something mean to Cory, but it’s in retaliation to him stealing her CD player and putting bologna in it.)
In Wizards of Waverly Place, oldest child Justin serves as both hero and underdog. Justin often comes running to the rescue — he teaches little sister Alex how to fly a magic carpet when lessons don’t work out with Dad, and rescues her when she gets stuck in a horror movie. At the same time, he’s often the subject of ridicule from both younger siblings who like to play pranks on him.
In made-for-TV Disney movie Halloweentown (1998) little brother (and middle child) Dylan constantly pushes older sister Marnie’s buttons and doubts her magical abilities.
Nickelodeon uses it a lot too. In Drake and Josh, evil little sister Miranda often pranks her older brothers and overpowers them to get what she wants.
Clarissa Explains It All features terrible little brother Ferguson who, in the pilot episode, embarrasses older sister Clarissa by bringing her training bra to school for show-and-tell.
Also, if the main-character oldest child is not oppressed, at least they’re not the oppressor. Like in As Told By Ginger where harmless little brother Carl and sweet older sister Ginger get along, (but Carl does like to gross Ginger out).
When younger siblings are main characters, their older sibling is either mostly absent, or they’re portrayed as helpful, protective, and caring (“Danny Phantom,” “iCarly,” “The Secret World of Alex Mack”).
Any kids’ show made it clear: oldest siblings are never the bad guys. Nope, they’re the victims of their antagonistic younger siblings.
So what about middle children? Here’s the thing: In the media, when an older sibling is a bully, it’s usually a middle sibling.
In The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, middle child Lizzie apologizes to youngest sibling Lydia for being mean to her on several occasions.
Middle child Wayne from The Wonder Years taunts little brother Kevin in front of his crush:
He also does things like this:
But the two have an older sister who’s perfect.
Middle child Lindsey from The Lovely Bones (2009) calls younger brother Buckley a “moron” in one of the first scenes, while oldest sister Susie heroically saves his life.
Wizards of Waverly Place has middle child Alex conning younger brother Max into carrying her stuff for her. Oldest child Justin never does anything remotely mean to the younger siblings.
But I’ll admit it, there are exceptions to the oldest-siblings-aren’t-the-bad-guy rule.
Oldest siblings as oppressors
There’s TV show Anna Anaconda which aired on Fox Family, featuring middle child Angela whose older twin brothers pick on her and her friends. (Angela also has a baby sister, Lulu who gets on her nerves.)
Or The Brady Bunch Movie (1995) where big sister Marcia often patronizes middle sister Jan. Marcia implies she doesn’t believe Jan about having a boyfriend, and shoots down a few of her ideas. She also delivers this line:
Or what about the scene in Matilda (1996) where her older brother is throwing carrots?
Or in Spy Kids (2001) where mean oldest sister Carmen calls younger brother Juni “butterfingers” for not being able to grip the monkey bars?
There’s also a Disney TV show depicting a mean oldest sister, Candace and that’s Phineas and Ferb. Candace can often be controlling and likes to get her brothers in trouble.
There are a few Nickelodeon TV shows that depict oppressive older siblings: Victorious! depicts a selfish and mean oldest sister. The Wild Thornberrys has oldest child Debbie who constantly calls little sister Eliza names.
But those are the only examples that come to mind. In my opinion, mean oldest siblings are vastly outnumbered by mean youngest siblings in mainstream media.
There’s also a trope of parents ignoring their younger child in favor of their more important older one, like in the ABC show My So-Called Life, or in Nickelodeon TV show Hey! Arnold, where younger sister Helga’s parents ignore her in favor of their perfect oldest child, Olga.
But that’s the thing: It’s often depicted what’s most oppressive about older siblings it’s that they’re too perfect to compete with. That’s what’s going on in Pretty Little Liars when younger sister Spencer Hastings competes with older sister Melissa. At first, it seems like Melissa has a domineering personality, but Spencer more often acts as bad guy. She kisses her older sister’s fiancé (ending their upcoming marriage), and plagiarizes her older sister’s essay. That’s also what’s going on in The Brady Bunch behind middle child Jan’s famous tagline “Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!” Everything is always all about her older sister because she’s so perfect.
Some might argue that casting middle children as bullies is not necessarily protective of oldest children — it’s just that, because middle children are a dying breed, they get to be the bad guy. Middle children, in all the examples listed above, also act as annoying younger siblings. Some might say the youngest child is off-limits to criticism, too.
But in all the examples mentioned above (Lizzie Bennett…, Wizards…., Bones…..,Years….) the oldest child is especially depicted as either hero or underdog, or both.
For the most part, Hollywood — and the world — has cast the oldest child as hero, saint, and underdog. And the younger sibling as villain.
Regardless of media interpretations, in my real life, I always felt like of course we middle children had it the worst. Both pestered and taunted, both not important enough and not cute enough, both occasional babysitters and never taken seriously, and ignored on top of it all, life sure had cut us a raw deal.
But one day, when I was about 12, I took out The Birth Order Book for the umpteenth time, and flipped to a random section in the back. There, near the bottom of the page, I read some words that turned my world upside down.
“No birth order is ‘better’ or more desirable than another.”²
“Wait….WHAT?!” I remember thinking. “No way! I thought being in the middle was the worst.” But I had to admit that, in a way, it made sense. From that day on, I saw the world differently.
When I was growing up, it annoyed me that oldest siblings really liked to toot their own horns (“I was the oldest!” “As an oldest child…” “Being the oldest…”). Their confidence in putting forth their issues is not proof they have it the worst. Youngest children suffer too, but I would often find they would have to hint at their struggles. I remember my grand-aunt Margaret telling us, on a few occasions, “See? It’s tough to be the youngest!” (She’s my grandfather’s younger sister, and the youngest of three.) I would often hear youngest-child acquaintances drop hints like, “You know . . . being the youngest isn’t as easy as everyone says it is…”
But I think last-born children still have a leg up on another type of child.
Only Children Have it Tougher (Than Most People Think) Too
If you asked a younger version of me to describe an only child, Angelica from “Rugrats” would come to mind. (Especially this scene.)
When I was growing up, I knew only children were just like Angelica: spoiled and self-centered, completely under-equipped for life because they never had to share. And it wasn’t just the not-sharing thing— I was taught only children were guilty of all sorts of sins: Their parents put them first, so they never put others’ needs before their own. They never had to negotiate with siblings about anything, so they always got their way. They lived in a world where it was all about them, all the time. They were selfish, narcissistic, maladjusted, and unlikeable.
However, being an only child has its pros and cons. Only children don’t have a live-in monster they occasionally want to murder, but they also don’t have a built-in playmate, confidant, and lifelong support system. They may get their parents’ undivided attention, but that hyper-focus can feel suffocating. Only children also bear super amounts of pressure, because there’s no one else to fall back on. They’re the sole ones to carry out parents’ expectations, give their parents grandchildren, or take care of their parents in old age.
I know several only children who tell me they often hear, “You don’t seem like an only child!” A lot of data agrees. The environmentalist and journalist Bill McKibben, in his 1998 book, Maybe One covered some of it in research he gathered through various studies: Only children don’t get divorced any more frequently than people of other birth orders. They tend to be just as popular with their peers. Their self-esteem is just as high, or even higher than that of kids with siblings.³
Findings like these have been communicated to the public in a few major ways. In 1981, the New York Times ran a piece about the untrue stereotypes of only children. In July of 2010, Time Magazine published a front-page story on “The Only Child Myth,” blasting apart stereotypes that only-born children are spoiled and self-centered.
The public at large is slowly coming around to the idea that only children aren’t spoiled.
But the question remains: Why did we ever characterize only children as “spoiled”? Having only one child was — and often still is — a huge stigma. If the belief is so wrong, how come it became so pervasive? There are a few theories that have been put forth. But first, we need to go through some history, because it’s important to understand how family size has worked until now.
A Brief History of Family Size
For as long as humans have existed, multiple children were unavoidable. Birth control didn’t exist. People started procreating when they were young and fertile. Mortality was high, and people needed to have a lot of children so a few would survive into adulthood. People lived agrarian lifestyles and needed many children to work the farm. In short, for all human history, you were practically guaranteed not just one, but several children.
But over time, family size started to decline. The biggest drop happened from 1800 to 1900, when the average number of children per woman fell from seven to three and a half. There were a few reasons why. “Children became more expensive to care for and less helpful around the house once public schooling became available. At the same time, women were freed up from all-day children-rearing, allowing mothers to enter the paid labor force,” according to an article for Live Science. It therefore became much more beneficial to keep family sizes small. Even before the birth control pill (which the FDA approved in 1960), couples found ways to limit their family size, if family-planning booklets from the era are any indication.
By 1900, it became much more possible than it ever had been to have only one child. Eventually two groups were born:
Group 1: Families with multiple children.
Group 2: Families with one child.
It was around this time only-child stereotypes came about. It was still uncommon to have only one, though. While couples tried to keep family sizes small, it was still a lot more likely you would be part of Group 1 than Group 2, what with family planning not being 100% effective, and people still marrying relatively young. So who (or what) started stereotypes about only children?
Granville Stanley Hall
Many point to Granville Stanley Hall, an American researcher from the 19th century, whom some call the father of child psychology, to explain the stereotypes about only children. Hall published a lot of studies in his day, but the one drawing the most conclusions on only children was published in 1896 entitled, “A Study of Peculiar and Exceptional Children.” Actually, the paper itself was authored by E.W. Bohannon, a graduate student of Hall’s who analyzed the data Hall provided.
Hall’s data, by the way, is complete drivel by today’s research standards, and McKibben says as much in his book: “It obviously violates every rule that any modern social scientist would observe. It is anecdotal, lame-brained, and meaningless.”⁴ Hall gathered the data by sending out a questionnaire to several college professors in different states, asking them to report on unique children. One of the biggest conclusions Hall draws is that only children are overrepresented in the study. They make up 46 of the 1,045 total cases, “a number entirely out of proportion to that found among children generally. The only child in a family is therefore very likely to be peculiar and exceptional.”⁵
A year later, Bohannon expanded on Hall’s research, requesting his own case studies on only children from across the nation. This time, the children were grouped by their health, relation to school, play and social life, and their mental and moral peculiarities. The data was then included in a paper entitled, “The Only Child in a Family,” published in The Pedagogical Seminary in 1898. From this data, Bohannon concludes only children don’t get along with others, don’t do well in school, and make up imaginary friends.⁶
In the decades that followed Hall’s and Bohannon’s studies, a lot of literature popped up on only children, much of it citing their data. Researcher Norman Fenton discusses the literature in a 1928 article called “The Only Child” published in The Pedagogical Seminary and Journal of Genetic Psychology. He discusses materials written for parents and children in the decades before in the article, which cited Hall’s study and said things like, “The only child is greatly handicapped. He cannot be expected to go through life with the same capacity for adjustment that a child reared in the family with other children can be.”⁷ The year before Fenton’s paper was published, the popular magazine Liberty ran an article on only children showing a picture of an only child on a throne, scepter in hand, and family bowing down to him.⁸ In other words, by the early 20th century, only child stereotypes were in full swing.
However, something about Granville Stanley Hall being the sole originator of the only child myth doesn’t add up. Hall found only children were “odd,” but not so much the stereotypes about them being spoiled, selfish and maladjusted. It seems those stereotypes were tacked on later. It has also seemed odd to me that an entire, worldwide stereotype could be attributed to just one person, even if the person was influential for his time. So if Hall is not the originator, what is?
Shaming and Feedback Loops
We need to rethink the origin of the only child myth. It’s not likely the work of one 19th century researcher. What’s going on feels like a tactic by a different name, one that has recently come into the spotlight: Shaming.
“Shame researcher” Brené Brown describes shame as “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of acceptance and belonging.”⁹ And it can often be used as a weapon of control.
You may have read So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed, a 2015 novel by journalist Jon Ronson about online shaming. An active Twitter user, Ronson had at first seen the good that could be achieved by using social media to hold others to account for mistakes. However, he realizes over time something more disturbing happening with online criticism. In the book, Ronson questions if shaming is truly about holding the powerful to account, or if another, less altruistic motive is at play. In an excerpt you can find online, Ronson writes,
“I watched these shame campaigns multiply, to the point that they targeted not just powerful institutions and public figures but really anyone perceived to have done something offensive. I also began to marvel at the disconnect between the severity of the crime and the gleeful savagery of the punishment.”¹⁰
The disconnect between crime and punishment speaks to the fact that shaming is not about righting a wrong, and if there is a goal, it’s stroking one’s ego. While targeting powerful institutions and public figures could arguably bring about needed change, targeting a not-so-powerful individual in a vicious (and haughty) pile-on speaks more to a sense of amplifying one’s personal power. Ronson implies the shaming becomes so vicious because its very nature makes those who partake in it feel righteous, and justified in their actions.
Throughout his book, Ronson searches for the driving force behind online shaming. What, if anything, makes online shaming so vicious? After going through numerous theories, he finds the answer: feedback loops. A feedback loop is a process by which a system’s outputs are cycled back as inputs. They can be found all over the place: from engineering to business to biology and they work either to balance a system (like with negative feedback loops), or enhance its outputs (like with positive feedback loops). What’s going on with shame campaigns, according to Ronson, looks very much like how a positive feedback loop operates.
One place where almost everyone has experienced a feedback loop is on the road. The “Your Speed” sign, used as a traffic calming device, flashes red when drivers speed. According to an article by Thomas Goetz, the signs were used in the city of Garden Grove, California after numerous tactics failed to get drivers to slow down, and they were very effective. The signs tell drivers nothing they don’t already know, and they aren’t attached to a clear negative consequence, like a ticket. So it was confusing they were so successful.
But maybe not when you understand how it operates. Like all feedback loops, the signs involve four stages: Evidence, relevance, consequences, and action. A driver drives down the road, and the signs are equipped with radar to collect data on the driver’s speed. This is the evidence stage. Then there’s relevance: The driver’s speed is visually displayed in direct comparison to the legal speed limit, showing the driver where they stand. If the driver is speeding, the sign flashes red. This is the consequence stage. Flashing red shames a driver, reminds them of the consequences of speeding, and inspires them into action, the final stage.
In response to the sign flashing red, up to 80% of drivers will slow down, and be rewarded by the sign no longer flashing. The driver’s slowing and the measurement of their new speed marks the close of the loop, which then continues from the beginning. The loop of reward and shame work together to control a driver — by giving them emotional control over the outcome.
The process explains two important concepts regarding online shaming: Why people participate, and why people don’t stop it once it’s begun. The first concept can be explained by the rewarding aspect of the feedback loop: shaming others makes people feel righteous, having shown their awareness and sensitivity, and earns them acceptance into the group. It also encourages them to continue to express their opinion.
The second concept is explained by the “flashing red” part of the feedback loop: you run the risk of looking and feeling like a bad person should you disagree with the dominant script, and being shunned. The magic secret of the feedback loop system, according to Goetz’s article, is people don’t feel like they are being controlled. Rather, the loop motivates people to act by using their own internal desire to feel like a good person.
Feedback loops with social media shaming
The best way to illustrate how the feedback loop applies to online shaming is to take a look at the infamous Justine Sacco tweet. On December 20, 2013, Justine Sacco, a PR director at InterActiveCorp, before boarding a plane to South Africa, tweeted:
“Off to Africa. Hope I don’t get AIDS. Just kidding. I’m white!”
Her tweet at first went unnoticed. Then journalist Sam Biddle posted her tweet to Gawker, which made it garner more attention — much more. During her 11-hour flight, with her phone turned off, Sacco was thrust into the international spotlight and became Twitter’s top story. Hundreds of thousands of people tweeted their outrage at her, and called for her to be fired. Shortly after, she was.
But hold on.
Something about the outrage felt off to many people, even if they didn’t speak up about it at the time.
On one hand, the outrage was justified. The tweet was a mistake. It was racist, insensitive, and poorly worded. While a joke, the tweet made light of a serious situation, and although you could tell Sacco was trying to call attention to an injustice, her comment came off as belittling the party to whom the injustice is being done. Twitter users saw her comment as yet another example of a white person oppressing people of color. Pressing send on the tweet speaks to Sacco’s ignorance, some might say.
However, another truth exists, which seems completely at odds with the first. The tweet was intended to criticize — not reinforce — white privilege. Sacco was trying to call out white ignorance. The tweet’s tone was even intentionally outrageous — like a comedian making a ridiculous statement to make a point. If the context had been more appropriate — had the words been spoken by a cartoon character in a politically-minded TV show, or as part of a sketch by a comedian, it likely would not have been offensive.
Because Sacco was not a comedian, but a PR executive, some might say she is the furthest person removed from being allowed to make such a remark. However, Ronson writes in his book it didn’t take him more than a few seconds to figure out the tweet’s intention, and some might say it speaks to your ignorance if you misconstrued the message.
Then there’s a final truth: The Twitter storm was an overreaction. Before pressing send, Sacco was an unknown, private citizen, with about two hundred Twitter followers — a minuscule following in comparison to even a moderate-sized account. Within 11 hours, though, she became the number one worldwide Twitter sensation, with people expressing their disgust at the tweet and demanding she be fired from her job. One person’s offensive tweet had resulted in a massive pile-on, and devastating consequences for that individual.
The massive response was the result of a positive feedback loop, according to Ronson — a loop that human beings operated themselves. Let’s use the “Your Speed” sign analogy to describe what happened. In this analogy, you are the car driving down the road, expressing your opinions. The posted speed limit is the “correct” opinion, decided upon by powers-that-be in society. The digital sign reflects the opinion you’re actually expressing, and it flashes red when you don’t match the posted speed limit. The flashing red is society at large, which has collectively agreed upon the “correct” speed limit. Before you even express your opinion, the sign reminds you of the “correct” opinion to express.
When you say Sacco is racist, you are rewarded for expressing that opinion, and the sign flashes a smiley face at you, allowing you to continue that opinion, and the loop continues. The feeling of righteousness encourages others to join in on the shaming, to be a welcomed member of the same club. If you express the other truth — that the tweet was not intended to be racist, the sign flashes red. You’re reminded of the consequences of your opinion: that you look ignorant and insensitive, and will no longer be accepted by others if you continue to express the opinion.
Why does society OK one truth and flash red at another? In other words, what decides the posted “speed limit” of society? If two scripts are equally true, you would think they’d cancel each other out, or two opposing teams would fight to the death trying to prove their side is right. There at least wouldn’t be a massive pile-on. It’s a big question. The simple answer is different truths carry different weights. Feedback loops adhere to power dynamics.
Sacco’s tweet caused offense because of a power dynamic at play: she was speaking from the point of view of the privileged party. When you do that, you come across as ignorant and insensitive. She was putting herself above everyone else, and pointing out how she had it better, which makes her a sinner.
Ronson points out he once made a similar joke on Twitter that did not cause offense. He said he was once taken to a holding room in an airport because his name sounded very similar to that of a hitman on the run. In the holding room, there was a sign saying no cell phone use was allowed. Ronson tweeted “I’m sure they won’t mind me checking my text messages. After all, I am white.” A Twitter storm did not ensue. Why not?
Ronson’s tweet was different because he was tweeting from a more humble position; he’s being treated as a criminal when he’s innocent. This situation could make him a loser, but he uses the opportunity to gain awareness of racial profiling — a big social problem that he wouldn’t otherwise be aware of as a white person. He also calls out those in power, by criticizing them on a public platform for enforcing the rules differently according to the suspect’s race. In doing so, he lifts up the oppressed while simultaneously taking down the bad guys. Those three traits: using his humble position to show awareness, lifting up the downtrodden, and criticizing the ones who hold the power make him a saint.
So we have one power dynamic: the saint vs. the sinner, with the former dynamic being the one we champion. To be a “saint,” you have to show your awareness and sensitivity for those not in power, or the every-person. Putting yourself above everyone else and saying you have it better makes you a sinner. But the saint vs. sinner isn’t the only dichotomy that exists.
Power dynamics can exist even when it’s not about right or wrong. Take, for example, the widely chided “Friday” music video made by then-13-year-old Rebecca Black. In March of 2011, Black became the number one trending topic on Twitter, after her music video drew worldwide mockery, suspected to be initiated by a Tosh.0 blog post and a tweet by comedian Michael J. Nelson. The consensus was clear: Black’s video was bad, making it deserving of parody after parody after parody. Much like with Sacco, nobody really stood up to the teasing. Why not?
The answer is also due to power dynamics, but different ones in this case. You would think it would be easy to defend Rebecca Black: She was just a kid, and people were being mean. Those should be righteous enough reasons to take down the haters. But ask anyone who was old enough to be on social media in 2011, and they’ll tell you it wouldn’t have worked that way. Defending Rebecca Black, they would have said, would have resulted in you looking like Chris Crocker, the person behind Leave Britney Alone. Although Crocker had valid points, their video led to them being widely ridiculed.
You don’t win against a bully when you call them “mean.” That makes you look weak and vulnerable. It is far better to call a bad guy “rude,” because you sound righteous, and make them the sinner. It wasn’t really possible to call people making fun of Black “rude,” or cut them down in any righteous-seeming way. Also, the teasing didn’t seem all that mean, so what could be the harm? (The teasing, by the way, did cause a lot of harm, and Black spoke out years later about it.) If you had rushed to Black’s defense, you would have seemed like the oversensitive, overdramatic, weak crybaby.
So there’s the other power dynamic: the winner vs. the loser. You want to avoid looking like a loser, but to do that, you can’t call yourself a “winner.” Remember, from Sacco’s example, when you call yourself a winner — and speak from the privileged perspective — you make yourself a sinner. To avoid looking like a loser, you also call yourself a saint. And to call someone a sinner, you need to look righteous, not weak. As we can recall from Black’s example, calling those who criticized her “mean” would have resulted in you looking weak and vulnerable. To call someone a sinner, you also need to be a saint, not a loser. “Saint” trumps both loser and sinner personas.
We could graph the four personas in a line. “Saint” would fall right in the middle, between the loser and the sinner. The saint is the every-person. Their tagline is “I’m one of you.” They help society function better. There are three ways they do this (there are actually four, but we’ll get to the fourth one later): lifting up the vulnerable, making their own vulnerable traits righteous, or taking down the bad guys, the sinners, located to the right of them on this line. (And sometimes they do one or more simultaneously.)
The sinner, on the other hand, causes harm to others. They’re on the far right of this line. They contribute to society’s dysfunction. They say, “I’m above you.” A “sinner” may not truly be harming others, but if it’s perceived they are, we’ll accuse them of doing so — especially if it makes us saints in comparison.
Right above the sinner, branching off in the other direction, is the winner. A winner has enough resources, and is strong and powerful. They thrive in society. They say, “I am enough.” You want to be a winner, but you don’t want to call yourself one. As we learned from Sacco’s story, calling yourself a winner makes you a sinner.
On the far left is the loser. They believe “I’m less than you.” A loser is weak, vulnerable, and lacks resources. They struggle to survive in society.
Black’s and Sacco’s stories exemplify the personas that make others shun you: the sinner or the loser. Everyone’s trying to avoid both — and be saints and winners instead. The delicate games people play to avoid being sinners and losers, and make others avoid those labels, serve as the impetus behind controlling others. It is even possible for the “saint/sinner” and “loser/winner” dichotomies to collide.
Shaming and jealousy
It’s not just on social media where shaming exists. Well before the internet came to be, you may have heard about (or experienced) one of the best examples of using shame to control others — particularly an entire group of people: slut-shaming. The official definition of a “slut” is a woman who has a lot of sexual partners. However, the word evolved to mean lots of different things. “A girl can be a slut [. . .]if she sits with her legs open, wears baggy clothes, wears tight clothes, talks in slang, gets into fights, or shows too much PDA,” according to an article in TIME Magazine, quoting an interview from Rachel Simmons’ book, Odd Girl Out.
The insult is a socially acceptable way to cut down a rival, and in this way, slut-shaming sublimates jealousy among women for male partners. You feel like a loser if another woman gets the guy you want, so you cut her down by making her a sinner, a.k.a. a “slut.” A good example of this in the media is in the movie Mean Girls (2004), where Cady, while narrating what is happening at a Halloween party, screams out “slut!” when she sees what she thinks is Regina stealing Cady’s crush, Aaron by kissing him.
The movie contains lots of other examples of slut-shaming, with the characters calling each other “sluts” for wearing lingerie for Halloween costumes, or flirting with their crushes, or for just being a person they don’t like. The movie is a reflection of what was happening in mainstream culture at the time.
In real life, researchers have found slut-shaming has little to do with a woman’s actual sexual behavior. That fact alone might not surprise you — you might remember people throwing the term around pretty freely. Here’s a fact that might, though: researchers found the practice often occurs along class lines. That might not make sense at first. If you want to win more male partners for yourself, you’d probably want to cut down your biggest competitor. But when you think of the label “slut” being used to police social class boundaries, it does make sense. You get away with oppressing a member who is not in your social clique, and reinforce dynamics that already exist to get what you want.
Slut-shaming serves two purposes, often simultaneously: to make someone else seem less desirable, and to appear more virtuous yourself. “Calling someone of lower status a slut is actually a sexual liberator,” according to an article for Psychology Today, “Night after night after night [higher-status women] can do almost whatever they want with whomever they want. As long as they call what other people do sluttish, they seem to be virtuous themselves.” Slut-shaming is not about directly controlling someone else’s behavior, but creating hierarchies — appearing “better” than other people because that superiority enables you to get away with doing what you want. If you are the sinner, then my behavior must be righteous.
Slut-shaming and only-child shaming look eerily similar to each other. If slut-shaming is about jealousy and competition, then only-child shaming might be, too. One sociologist, Judith Blake, speculates as much:
“Children born into large families who complain of lack of privacy and the constant need to adjust to other people may well be told by their parents that conditions in small families ‘spoil’ children, making them self-centered, aloof, and overly intellectual.”¹¹
Blake’s theory makes sense. The long list of criticisms people were taught to believe about only children (not sharing, getting their way, living in a world where it was all about them) correspond with lots of commonly experienced sibling problems: sharing, dealing with a sibling who seems to always get their way, feeling shirked for their parents’ attention, and lack of privacy. Surely, only-child shaming was about parents of multiples making their children feel better about sibling problems, right?
I think Blake is on to something, but I think she’s missing part of the puzzle. If only-child shaming is like slut-shaming, then it’s the result of not just jealousy, but also competition. I also think she has the wrong culprit. And to understand who is to blame, we need to look, of all places, at the other birth orders.
Birth order and feedback loops
In the world of birth order, it’s not just kids with siblings who are jealous of only children. Oldest, middle, and youngest children have their fair share of jealousy towards each other, too. And if shaming others is about jealousy, competition, and control, those dynamics are at play with the other birth orders.
Jealousy and competition exist, simply put, because limited resources exist. (If there were such a thing as infinite resources, there would be no need for competition.) Sometimes those resources are tangible things, and sometimes they’re intangible, like time or attention. The more resources you attain, the greater your chances are of survival. Everyone wants to be a winner in the game of life, but we can’t always get what we want. As evidenced by the practice of slut-shaming, when people can’t win, they come up with sneaky ways to come out on top. Jealous games can work to boost ourselves up and tear others down. In a civilized society, we don’t get away with blatantly tearing others down (by physically harming others), so shaming tactics can act as a socially acceptable way to do so.
There are five premises we’ve established about shaming. Premise one is people are motivated to shame others to earn acceptance into a dominant group by showing awareness and/or sensitivity and avoid being shunned. Premise two is to avoid being a sinner, you need to make yourself righteous; the saint. Premise three is to avoid being a loser, you cannot be a “winner,” but also a saint. Premise four is power dynamics dictate what is shame-worthy and what is righteous, and those power dynamics can be the numbers, along with the personas themselves. Premise five is the entire process takes place according to feedback loops, with the digital feedback sign of society (which is us) rewarding you for adhering to accepted scripts, and flashing red when you don’t.
Oldest children “tooting their own horns” is evidence of a feedback loop at work. The problems they talk about ad infinitum — harsher discipline, more pressure, extra chores, babysitting, being the guinea pig, and pesky younger siblings — they repeat because for so long, society has green-lighted them as righteous. The reason is clear: Oldest children were here first, reached adulthood first, and made their voices heard first, loudest, and most often. They decided their hardships made them saints, not losers, because their struggles help the family function, aid their more vulnerable younger siblings, or take down the bad guys. They therefore were able to set the tone — think of their scripts as the “speed limit” on display above the digital feedback sign. The power dynamic for so long worked in their favor.
Then middle children followed their lead. Having younger siblings, middle children can agree with a lot of scripts oldest children put forth. When oldest children talk about being the babysitter, or watching younger siblings get away with murder, or dealing with younger siblings being annoying, or watching younger siblings get more and better things than they did, middle children can tag along, for two reasons. The first is agreeing validates their frustrations, and makes them saints, not losers. The second is it makes the “digital feedback sign” of society flash them a smiley face, thereby welcoming them into the righteous club of “older sibling” having shown their awareness for the plight of that group.
Some might argue this proves nothing, and it’s simply the case older siblings bear a worse lot than the youngest child. But there’s another element in society’s language that points to a feedback loop, and that is society’s preference for the term “youngest child,” as opposed to “younger sibling.” I knew as a middle child there was a stark difference between me and anyone who was the second-born of two children. You would never refer to both of us as “younger siblings” — I was a middle child, the latter a youngest child. The feedback loop is why.
When older siblings refer to “younger siblings,” people take offense more easily; that language divides society into two opposing teams. Instead, they refer to the “youngest child” getting away with murder, or getting more attention, or being a pest, or being spoiled. Doing so implies the existence of the middle child, and reminds everyone listening to be aware and compassionate of the plight of the dominant group. Middle children also benefit from referring to “the youngest,” because doing so ropes them into the more dominant group, making them an unequivocal saint, as opposed to a member of the “younger siblings,” where their sainthood status would be in doubt. If language matters, what’s going on is not people asserting reasonable jealousy, but constructing hierarchies to support certain scripts and keep the feedback loop going.
In line with supporting certain scripts, what is at play with slut-shaming is also at play with dubbing the youngest child the sinner— we look righteous ourselves when we shame another person. In addition to highlighting all the things they do for their younger siblings, older siblings criticize the faults of the youngest child. They accuse the youngest child of getting out of work, of getting away with murder, of getting more and better things than they got, of getting more attention, of thinking it’s all about them, and of being the terrorizing pest both because it validates their jealousies and because it makes them look virtuous in comparison.
That power gives older siblings a certain protection: You can’t call an older sibling a bully, or selfish, or attention-seeking, or any other sin all humans are guilty of, because the older sibling has established a script they are the righteous ones (for a number of irrefutable reasons), making them off-limits to criticism. The shaming enables older siblings to get away with getting (and doing) what they want. By calling the youngest child the sinner, older siblings escape being sinners themselves.
It is not the case oldest children have the corner on suffering. But in order to make a younger sibling a saint, you would have to go completely against the established script, and frame it as the younger sibling lifting up the older one. Such scripts sound similar to, and would clash with oldest child scripts today.*
Younger siblings serve as scapegoats for older siblings (while we’ve said it’s the oldest who takes the blame). Younger siblings worship the ground older siblings walk on, and act as cheerleader while they do all the Big, Important things in life (while we’ve said the oldest child acts as caregiver). Younger siblings serve as the older sibling’s puppet and student with which to build their self-confidence (while we’ve said the oldest is the guinea pig). Younger siblings use their feisty personality to protect older siblings from mean people (while we’ve said older siblings protect younger ones). Younger siblings keep older siblings informed on new lingo, pop culture, and happenings (while we said the oldest gives life advice). Younger siblings act as a buffer between parents and older siblings when older siblings want to be left alone. Younger siblings cheer older siblings up by distracting and entertaining them. Younger siblings act as the little helper for older siblings when they paint their room, or move into their college dorm. Younger siblings keep family traditions alive (like Santa Claus and the Easter bunny) for older siblings to continue to enjoy. Younger siblings serve as the depository for any items older siblings want to get rid of. But these scripts have not (yet) come to light. Why not?
It’s “good” (supposedly) to cast yourself as the saint, right? You would think these scripts wouldn’t make the digital display sign flash red, and, if they’re true, there’s no reason for them to not be in the current zeitgeist. But being a saint via lifting up a more vulnerable party only works when the numbers are right. You cannot even attempt to cast someone as more vulnerable than you when you are overpowered by a larger group saying it’s you who needs protection. It’s righteous to stand up for a third party; it makes you a saint. When two equally-matched powers point the finger at the other as most vulnerable, they both become vulnerable.
Younger siblings could also call the oldest a sinner: The oldest child gets more attention and likes to be the center of attention. The oldest child is selfish. The oldest child gets to be more important. The oldest child is the favorite. The oldest child gets more privileges. The oldest child is a bully. When you express the unpopular opinion oldest children don’t have it all bad, or the younger sibling suffers, too, or that hey, the oldest child is not perfect and can be the bad guy, you lose. You risk looking and feeling like a bad person, and isolating yourself, having shown your ignorance and insensitivity toward the dominant group’s suffering, the first premise of shaming. The sign flashes red. Evidence for the younger-sibling script therefore never reaches the initial stage of the feedback loop, and you get reeled back to a safer place by agreeing once more with the dominant script.
Later-born children could not rise up against established scripts; they were already set. Although middle- and youngest children once outnumbered oldest children, their collective experience did not overpower that of the oldest child. Middle children agree with too much of the oldest child’s plight. They therefore join in with the oldest when complaining about the youngest, for all the above listed reasons. That’s an important point to remember about youngest child criticisms (spoiled, pesky, babied, and self-centered) — they must be byproducts of the feedback loop. Those scripts about the youngest child are not possible without the existence of the middle child. Without the middle child, the loop breaks and there is no feedback.
Feedback matters because it makes the difference between validation or the lack thereof. The difference between a loser and an underdog is the underdog has shown their ability to be “one of us” despite their hardships or setbacks. Oldest children have been relying on middle children to be in this together while watching the supposed advantages of the youngest child. Middle children, in turn, have been relying on the scripts of the oldest and piggybacking off of them to become a saint. Without the middle child, there’s not a “one of us,” but more of an “us vs. them.” The oldest child says, “I’ll show you my hardships,” while the youngest child responds, “I’ll raise you mine.” Now both can’t win. They’re both losers.
Some might say I’m forgetting something: Middle children exist in a category outside of older siblings, and have their own scripts attached to them. They’re “born too late and too soon,” they’re squeezed for attention, they’re ignored, they’re unspoiled, they have realistic expectations of life, and they’re the peacekeepers and negotiators of the family. These scripts seem unique to the middle child position and even clash with the hardships of the oldest, especially the first script. If we say middle children were born too late (for the perks and privileges of being the oldest), doesn’t that run contrary to the script that the oldest child is the saint? Isn’t that therefore proof of there not being a feedback loop?
Here’s the thing: these scripts are carefully crafted so as not to offend the oldest, even the one about middle children being born too late. The oldest child’s perks and privileges are often explained away as concessions for having to do more chores and act as supplementary parents to younger siblings. Middle children are “ignored,” because the oldest child bears harsher discipline and more pressure. . . which falls in line with middle children having more realistic expectations. Middle children are the least likely to be spoiled because it’s undeniable they receive hand-me-downs, but the oldest is really the one who deserves a gold medal for the crosses they have to bear. There’s a reason we call the middle child position the “hardest one to pin down” —it’s because they’re really a pawn in the game to get everyone to pick the older sibling side. Middle child scripts don’t go against the feedback loop, but work with it.
Then there’s another counterpoint. It is conventional wisdom the birth order truly bearing the worst burden is the oldest daughter — they are especially expected to do more chores and act as supplementary parents to younger siblings. Clearly this is proof they really do have it the worst, right? If oldest sons had it just as bad, there would be a similar script for their side. Maybe there is no feedback loop.
To that, I say as a middle daughter I often felt a similar expectation — to be the babysitter, or drive my younger siblings around, or do more chores when my younger siblings couldn’t. It’s just that on top of that, as a younger sibling, I didn’t have the added concession of claiming the first designated kid-car as my own, or have a big deal made of my firsts, or get to be the leader all that much. The “oldest daughter” claim to fame is another power dynamic at work, that of championing the oppressed gender, women, as opposed to the dominant gender, men.
The Ultimate Culprit Behind Only-Child Shaming
What does all of this mean for the only child? If we take what we’ve learned from the first three birth orders, those lessons apply neatly in this case. Let’s take a look at some of the labels applied to onlies: “spoiled,” “self-centered,” and “maladjusted.” They all express disapproval — and look very similar to ones applied to youngest children.
We’ve concluded youngest child criticisms are the result of a pile-on in a positive feedback loop — a loop initiated by older siblings’ jealousy and competition. To avoid feeling like losers and looking like sinners, oldest and middle children dub the youngest child the sinner. In doing so, they dub themselves the saints, and cancel out both loser and sinner personas. It follows something similar is going on with only child scripts.
When we say “youngest child,” it implies the existence of oldest and middle children. When we say “only child,” its corollary is kids with siblings. If the same thing is going on with only children, we have to ask who benefits from both validating jealousies and getting away with competitive behavior. Who is trying to avoid feeling like a loser and looking like a sinner? It’s not the parents who benefit, because they’re not the ones competing. (If anything, they have a vested interest in their kids not competing with each other.) It’s people with siblings — oldest, middle and youngest children. Stereotypes against only children didn’t come from parents.
People with siblings themselves started, and perpetuated, only-child shaming.
I believe there is one driving force at the core of only-child shaming, and that is sibling rivalry, the name for the jealousy, competition, and (sometimes intense) fighting between siblings. If kids with siblings are competing with only children, they’re competing to be the “better” group. And there’s nothing more detrimental to the dignity (and supposed superiority) of kids with siblings than sibling rivalry.
Almost no family of multiple children escapes sibling rivalry. According to an article by Kyla Boyse, R.N., “It is a concern for almost all parents of two or more kids.” If you need proof of how intense sibling rivalry can be, you need only read the first page of Siblings Without Rivalry, a best-selling parenting book that came out in the late 1980s.
“From the time they opened their eyes in the morning till the time they closed them at night, they seemed committed to a single purpose — making each other miserable.
“It baffled me. I had no way to account for the intensity, savagery, and never-endingness of the fighting between them.”¹²
Siblings battle — and lose battles — with each other (who gets the front seat of the car, who gets to watch their show on TV, who gets all the hot water, etc.), which hurts their ego. The competition can get more intense, with siblings one-upping each other by teasing, provoking, embarrassing and annoying each other. Shaming only children helps kids with siblings look like saints, not sinners as they compete with each other, and validate jealousies by calling themselves saints, not losers.
Only children don’t have it all good. They can feel like losers in comparison to kids with siblings, too: they can be lonely, they withstand super amounts of pressure and the hyperfocus of their parents, and they don’t have a lifelong support system. If only children can be jealous of kids with siblings, and people combat jealousy with shaming, what is stopping only children from shaming kids with siblings? There’s one obvious point: kids with siblings outnumber only children. But that’s not the main reason why.
Only-child jealousies toward kids with siblings don’t make themselves saints instead of losers. In trying to express their jealousies, only children still look weak and vulnerable, even the jealousy about them bearing more pressure. The oldest child’s pressure is about them setting a good example for younger siblings. The only child’s pressure is about them wishing they had a sibling to distract their parents every once in a while: their parents’ hyperfocus can be overbearing, which is too much to handle at times. Their jealousies are therefore not a threat to the sibling side of the story.
There’s something else that does make the digital display sign flash red. To understand what it is, let’s look back at the first feedback loop. Remember, in that one, the younger sibling side of the script doesn’t reach the initial stage because their side of the story sounds ignorant and insensitive to the older sibling side — their stories sound too similar to the other. Oldest siblings call themselves saints and youngest siblings sinners to escape being losers and sinners. Youngest children could do the same, but the numbers, and the existence of the middle child, have prevented them from doing so thus far. What sounds ignorant and insensitive to kids with siblings?
It’s any time an only child criticizes those with siblings for throwing jabs at each other. Whenever I would overhear an only child make a comment along those lines, and express bafflement at the savage way we barbarian kids with siblings can treat our siblings, the response from those with siblings is, “but you don’t know what it’s like…!” And that is the “flashing red.”
Kids with siblings can look rather undignified as they jockey for position. They also look callous. Shaming only children cancels out both “loser” and “sinner” personas by making them look virtuous — the saint — in comparison. Just like you can’t call an older sibling a bully, or selfish, or attention-seeking, because of the righteous scripts they’ve established, you can’t call a kid with a sibling a monster because they’ve established a script they are the righteous ones. Therefore, only-child shaming exists exactly because of sibling rivalry, and acts as a decoy for siblings to get away with competitive behavior. Kids with siblings criticize only children to avoid looking bad themselves.
As further proof only-child shaming exists exactly because of sibling rivalry, we must examine why only children have not been able to scrub themselves of the “sinner” label. It doesn’t just have to do with numbers. There’s another reason: the only child script doesn’t sound nearly as righteous as the kids-with-siblings script. If only children were to argue they are better than kids with siblings, they would say being an only child makes you nicer and more civilized due to not having to compete as much. They would also say the lack of competition enables them to thrive more in life, due to having more resources. Those scripts don’t sound righteous, but condescending, and make them the sinner.
To not be a sinner, an only child can only say, “I’m not a sinner because I’m a winner,” and it doesn’t work that way. The digital display sign flashes red, signaling the insensitivity of the only child, and their script cannot reach the initial stage of the feedback loop. If the only child’s jealousies are not a threat to the superiority of kids with siblings, but their lack of experiencing sibling rivalry is, then only-child shaming exists because of sibling rivalry.
But some might say there is a righteous script — for parents of onlies, at least. That script revolves around the idea that parents of only children have saved their child from the onslaught of indignities, and often disrespect, that can come at the hands of siblings. But that idea — that having only one means saving your child from sibling disrespect has not quite taken off. Why not? Maybe only children really are spoiled . . . or maybe there’s another power dynamic working against that script.
When parents of onlies say they saved their child from disrespect, it makes them righteous, but not their kid. Saving someone else from hardship is virtuous, but being “more protected” yourself is not. It still sounds condescending. That’s why kids with siblings still make only children the sinners (and themselves the saints). It saves them from being a loser when they call someone else the sinner. This is further proof only-child shaming came from people with siblings, not parents.
Only children may not be any more protected from disrespect than are kids with siblings. Parents can be bullies. Given that’s the case, maybe criticisms against only children have some merit, and are not driven by sibling rivalry. But here’s the thing: Even before sibling rivalry results in disrespect, it often results in indignity. It means looking like losers as you scream at each other over who gets the front seat of the car. (Or the remote. Or the last piece of pizza.) Siblings are equals. Parents and children are not. Kids with siblings therefore need to scrub themselves of the “loser” label as well to counteract the negative effects of sibling rivalry.
Another counterpoint: all children engage in power struggles — and lose them — with their parents. From chores, to homework, to wanting to do something and your parents telling you no, all children have lost a parent-child battle. Therefore, only-child shaming does not come from sibling rivalry, some might say. The only child’s ego is not any less wounded than the sibling ego.
But the parent-child relationship is inherently imbalanced. Children depend on their parents for survival — for food, clothing, shelter, and safety. Children lose battles against their parents, but they’re supposed to be submissive in another respect because they depend on their parents to meet their needs. It doesn’t make losing hurt any less, but it does make that relationship different. Losing against someone you’re dependent on is different from losing against an equal.
Some might say only children can lose against their parents over things they want, too. For the most part, though, parents are supposed to put their kids first, and not interact with them as equals. Throughout most of childhood, kids and parents don’t share the same interests or spaces, and don’t have very many battles over TV shows or the front seat of the car. If only children lose against parents over things they want, it doesn’t compare to sibling losses.
It might not seem believable that children, as small and underdeveloped as they are, could control an entire narrative. However, it makes sense. As one perceives the passage of time, childhood makes up half one’s life. As children grow up and once they are grown, they reflect on their childhoods, and come up with narratives to define and categorize their life so far. Naturally, jealousies and competition arise between different categories, and that’s where the shaming comes in. In other words, it’s not about parents making kids feel better — but children making themselves feel better. And constructing hierarchies to elevate their club, and demote the opposing team.
The Old Bias — And The New One
There’s one last thing we’ve gotten wrong about birth order, and it’s not about personality or who’s virtuous and who’s sinful. There’s a hidden hierarchy of who has it best, and who suffers most:
Oldest, middle, youngest, only.
Those are the birth orders ranked from most to least desirable. Oldest (good), middle (OK), youngest (undesirable), only (very undesirable). Not because anyone “has it easy” per se, but because those are the positions ranked from most validated to most shamed. Oldest children rule the roost on the birth order hierarchy. Middle children follow their lead, but cannot agree with a script that goes against the grain. Youngest children have the entire first feedback loop working against them, but they at least have a leg up on only children. Only children have the second feedback loop working against them, and have a leg up on nobody.
The way the numbers have worked until recently is oldest and middle children outnumbered youngest and only children. Excluding a blip during the Great Depression, when the average number of children per household was 2.22, the two-child family only started to make up a plurality of families between 1976 and the mid-1990s. In other words, until roughly thirty years ago, the numbers were pretty evenly split among the birth orders: a small portion were firstborns, a small portion were middle-borns, a small portion were last-borns, and a smaller portion were only-borns. These dynamics played a huge part in reinforcing the Birth Order Bias. However, it is not going to stay that way.
Family dynamics are changing. Middle children like myself are kind of a dying breed, and a new kid is taking our place. Forty years ago, in the United States, about one in 10 children were only-borns. Today that number is approaching one in four. Two-child families now form a plurality of families, at 41 percent. With those changes come some big changes to the Birth Order Bias.
Let’s start with changes to the first feedback loop, the one that pits older siblings against the youngest child. The disappearance of the middle child means the feedback loop breaks. There’s no longer enough people to bolster the script that the oldest child is the saint. With older siblings and younger siblings reaching parity, there is no longer a primary righteous script, but two equally-matched powers competing for Most Worthy Birth Order — making it impossible for either position to attain the title. This means being an older and younger sibling become equally undesirable, because neither position can entirely cancel out “loser” and “sinner” personas.
Which brings me to the next feedback loop, the one that pits kids with siblings against only children. Group 2 is not “happier” as a whole than Group 1. Parents and children can have just as tumultuous of a relationship with each other as siblings do. You could probably find the same proportion of only children who would tell you, “I wish I had siblings,” as you would find kids with siblings who would say, “I wish I were an only child.” Some might argue the fact that kids with siblings still outnumber only children has more to do with most parents wanting for their children a built-in playmate and lifelong best friend (while understanding that best friend might at times be their worst enemy), and not so much fear their only child will be spoiled.
What you’re looking at, however, is the inertia of the system. It is normal now for parents to have two or more children, but society is slowly moving forward with another philosophy. There’s no doubt some parents get lucky and end up having two (or more) children who mostly get along. But many others don’t. Many parents have kids who are constantly fighting. As soon as a parent decides to have at least one child, the risk calculus for whether that parent and child will have a good relationship with each other is the same whether they are members of either group. Moving from Group 2 to Group 1 involves an extra layer of risk not all parents want to take on.
Some parents will embrace this philosophy: if your happiness depends on a roll of the biological dice, the wiser thing to do is to not roll the dice. We’re going to see more people choosing to have one child. Group 2 will grow, but because neither group is happier as a whole than the other, Group 2 will not outnumber Group 1. At least not right off the bat. But only children increasing — and middle children continuing to disappear — will have huge implications for both feedback loops. Let’s look at each case separately to start with.
Case 1: middle children go extinct
When middle children disappear, all sibling positions start to lose. For oldest kids, middle children provided both buy-in and a buffer. The buy-in meant they were in this together when watching their younger siblings get away with murder and get out of work, the buffer meant for all the rest of it (the pressure, guinea pigging, etc.) their struggles made them the leader of the pack, and younger siblings couldn’t cast them as vulnerable party in return. For youngest kids, middle children meant agreeing with older sibling scripts would show their awareness and sensitivity to the saints in the system (and should they try to retaliate with their own scripts, it wouldn’t work). Middle children solidified the feedback loop. Now, everything has changed.
Oldest kids no longer receive support for expressing their vulnerabilities, and sound like losers instead of saints. If younger siblings were to agree now, they wouldn’t be showing awareness and sensitivity, but making older siblings feel like losers, which keeps the system stagnant and doesn’t help either party out. When younger siblings talk about their own vulnerabilities (hand-me-downs, being less important, etc.), they bring out the “sinner” traits of the oldest — as well as making themselves sound like losers. If younger siblings tried to become saints themselves by lifting older siblings up, there are now two equally matched powers who are doing the same to the other, making both vulnerable. The sibling feedback loop, which supported the oldest child, has gone defunct.
This means the only child’s role is changing. Previously, only children agreed they were sinners because it would show awareness and sensitivity to saintly siblings, but it’s starting to not do that. Siblings are vulnerable to each other. Only children agreeing they’re sinners doesn’t change that. Instead, as we move from one system to the other, the only child is slowing down as a sinner and calling more attention to their own difficulties, because siblings are both calling out their own. You don’t usually gain from being a loser, but if everyone else is a loser, being one yourself shows awareness and sensitivity.
Oldest kids used to look to middle children for buy-in with their scripts. Now, they have all but disappeared and the ones that do exist can no longer agree — younger siblings have attained a significant enough amount of people to diminish that support. Oldest kids could also look to only children, and they would agree when older siblings would talk about the youngest getting away with murder (or any other jealousy) because it would signal their awareness and sensitivity. In the future, it won’t do that — thanks to the disappearance of the middle child, the only child would be reinforcing the oldest’s “loser” persona. It feels to the oldest as if they are left alone, with no one to support them.
At a certain point, the oldest child, the formerly most dominant position, and only child meet in the middle. Knowing they can no longer receive support from the only as a saint, the oldest instead is inspired to ask the only about their difficulties, and to listen. A fellow firstborn child, much of the only child’s loser traits (pressure, more chores, etc.) either match those of the oldest or, for a trait like loneliness, bring out their “winner” traits in comparison. The system starts to “flash green” for oldest kids when they focus on the only, making them sound less vulnerable.
Along with calling out their “loser” traits, only children are slowly becoming more dominant because they’re losing in fewer directions. Because only children can no longer reinforce the oldest as the saint like they used to, it means siblings are losing to each other and the only child; only children are just losing to siblings. Only children are picking up speed and gaining power while siblings are slowing down and becoming more vulnerable. This dynamic brings out a new script for the only.
It’s, “I’m so lucky I don’t have to worry about siblings.” It’s their winner script out loud, but they’re not bragging. Rather, they’re signalling their awareness and sensitivity to themselves about their own more privileged experience (in a certain sense) in comparison to that of siblings. A future only child would feel ignorant and insensitive if they didn’t say it, like they’re unaware of their own privilege (in one respect) and looking down on those who have less. The only child is starting to change direction. They used to show deference to saintly siblings; they’re now showing sympathy to vulnerable ones.
But siblings, for the moment, don’t want to accept their support. When only children say this script out loud to siblings in general, it sounds condescending to them — they’re used to being saints and still outnumber only children. The only child’s new script causes them to double down on their “saint” traits, and still regard the only as a sinner. Because of this, only children start to change direction and go their own way, whispering this new script to themselves.
But the oldest, who has an alliance established with the only and a history of receiving their support, has noticed the only child’s new script: “I’m so lucky…” They also notice the only moving faster and picking up speed, leaving them and their sibling in the dust. The oldest knows two things: the new only would benefit from feeling more righteous and included, and they themselves would sound more righteous if they used the only child’s support. So the oldest changes direction, and goes after the only child, bringing out the only’s new script in response to the oldest’s “saint” traits. This makes the oldest feel more empowered and leads to a new important finding for both oldest and only child.
They can be saints to each other. Using their formerly recognized saint traits in response to the only’s new script, the oldest can make the new only feel included and sound more righteous. The only can make the oldest sound righteous, not vulnerable. They both, in short, can help the other move faster. They both realize if they remain in the old system, the oldest stays a loser, the only a sinner, and neither party can help the other out or make the system flash green. The new exchange works to empower both of them.
The only child is slowing down as the winner/sinner. They used to say, “I like being an only child!” and claim themselves a sinner in respect to saintly siblings. Their role is turning into something different. They’re now bringing up their own “loser” traits to sound sympathetic to vulnerable siblings, and humbling their “winner” script into a “saint” script to show deference to their plight. The oldest, leading from a history of an alliance with the only, is using both scripts to make themselves sound saintly, not vulnerable to their younger sibling.
Similarly, the youngest is slowing down as a sinner. Them agreeing with the older sibling’s scripts (getting away with murder, etc.) is no longer working to make the older sibling sound saintly. Unlike the only, however, they are not becoming a winner or saint instead. They, like the oldest, are still losing to both their sibling and only child, and they would need their older sibling to accept vulnerability to them to become a saint. Rather, they and their sibling are devolving into losers to each other in the old system. The only sees this happening. And, coming from their own former placement as the sinner, they are in a place to make the youngest an offer.
The youngest is still attached to the oldest, still following their lead, and senses the oldest no longer prompting their sinner scripts as much. Instead, they see the oldest becoming more empowered and no longer sounding as vulnerable, thanks to the new alliance established between oldest and only. Wanting to meet up with their sibling — who is becoming more powerful and leaving them in the dust — the youngest meets up with oldest and only again.
This is when the only makes to the youngest their offer: the chance to relinquish them of their role as sinner. At this point, while the only is using their winner script to help out the oldest, they are still a little bit of a sinner to siblings in general — while also being more dominant because they’re losing in fewer directions. The exchange makes the youngest feel stronger and more empowered now they and their older sibling are vulnerable to each other. The youngest is realizing it’s helping them both — only and themselves — move faster and get unstuck. They realize they need to change their focus to the only, instead of the oldest, to help the system move faster.
But it’s not true all around the youngest wants to stay a sinner. They could be a saint, too, but that would mean making the only familiar with their plight, also in exchange for the only’s new script. Before the youngest can even try to do this, the oldest comes up and meets them both. It becomes clear to the youngest the oldest is working to make the only child’s new script righteous, and is the one who made the only’s new script that way first. This gives the oldest a slight power advantage for what they’re about to do next.
They stop teaming up with their sibling to criticize the only and accept full vulnerability to the new only child. When this happens, this bars the youngest’s access to empower the only child’s new script in exchange for their own saint traits, and the youngest becomes the least dominant party. The reason the oldest could work to empower the only child’s new script was because of a history of the only child being a sinner. Once the only is no longer a sinner, their new winner script becomes the most dominant one, and the oldest can use it to be a saint to their sibling. The fact the youngest is a sinner is now implied rather than directly stated, and the youngest looks to the only after the oldest repeats their scripts.
The long-standing connection the oldest and only have with each other — which is partly built off the support the youngest has given the oldest all this time, finalizes the relationship between oldest and only. The oldest always has a power dynamic working in their favor: a long history of their scripts being most supported. The pressure, chores, babysitting, discipline, and guinea-pigging have for a long time been supported by both only and youngest. The youngest child’s saintly side has not. When the oldest and only seal their relationship with each other, it makes it so the youngest child’s side will never be supported, and never regarded as saintly.
The oldest now has two parties attached to them in different ways. They have the only, who they’re relying on, but who’s also relying on them to sound saintly. They also have the youngest attached to them, who they must (now indirectly) criticize to sound saintly in the first place. The plight of the oldest is like that of the middle in the old system: they could criticize both parties, only-born and last-born, but would choose not to. It wouldn’t do them any favors — they would still be a loser and sinner all around. They still express their jealousies, but this time with the knowledge the only child — and them alone — is supporting them. This makes them vulnerable to the only child, but righteous to their sibling.
If the first is in the middle, then the middle — the “OK” position — is first. Only children won’t be prompted to become saints by making their vulnerable traits righteous (which was the goal of the oldest child and isn’t possible for them), but by offering their support to a vulnerable group in a way that works with their experience. Just like the middle child could work with, but not be better than the oldest, the only child works the same way. They act as buffer and buy-in. The buffer this time is acting as a third party between two vulnerable people. The buy-in is humbling their own beneficial traits as they relate to the sibling experience. The result is moving the entire system forward.
Why has the only child’s “winner” trait — not having to worry about siblings — turned into a “saint” trait? As it turns out, making winner traits righteous is possible, but depends on the following conditions: saying “don’t,” and power dynamics that are such so that it’s spoken to a vulnerable, not righteous, party. Saying “I don’t. . .” implies “you do,” and in this case validates the hardships of a weaker party. Siblings’ winner traits, on the other hand, can never be made righteous, because they can’t say “don’t” regarding sibling relationships. Their winner traits, when spoken aloud, just reinforce only children’s “loser” traits.
An important point to keep in mind is both groups are losers (and winners) now. Only children criticizing the bad behavior of those with siblings would not make them saints — they would sound ignorant and insensitive because only children do not have siblings themselves. But as it turns out, there’s something else only children can do. Taking their cue from the undignified behavior of kids with siblings, only children will start to say, “I don’t have to compete.” They have come across the fourth way to become a saint: helping the sinner save face.
If sinners, by definition, contribute to society’s dysfunction, why would you help them out? Wouldn’t that make you the bad guy? As it turns out, there is one case where it is OK to help the sinner save face, and that is when the sinner’s behavior is necessary for their survival. It also means the sinner is operating from a loser, rather than winner standpoint.
Today, if only children were to say they don’t have to compete, that phrase would sound like bragging, but in the future it won’t. It will sound sympathetic. Future only children will come across as condescending if they don’t say it — like they’re haughtily judging the behavior of those with siblings. Now, they need to recognize the sinner’s behavior as vital to their survival. If they don’t, they don’t care about their fellow human.
Case 2: Only children reach parity with, or outnumber, siblings
What if only children matched the amount of, or outnumbered kids with siblings, but middle children continued to exist in equal proportion to oldest and youngest siblings? What happens then?
Let’s look first at the oldest’s scripts. Because only children, whose numbers have grown, have more resources and thrive better, the former scripts of the oldest (the pressure! the chores! the babysitting! the guinea-pigging!) revert back to loser scripts, because they describe a family system no longer part of the every-person’s experience. Only children wouldn’t buy into them, or if they did, it would be in a way that would be lifting up a loser, not bolstering the oldest child’s saintly qualities. Those responsibilities of the oldest don’t help society function better now, but keep oldest children back. But would their siblings buy into them?
Probably not. Oldest kids, not wanting to sound vulnerable out loud, would instead look first to only children and form an alliance with them instead of with the middle child, because the only child helps them sound more righteous. Middle kids would be like the youngest child in the other case: neither saint nor sinner, and in any case relying on the only child. Youngest kids, because they’re outnumbered, would be seen as a sinner, but would still report their scripts to the only, not oldest.
In that system, all siblings will have lost their power to criticize only children. Because oldest kids are relying on only children, not their siblings, to validate jealousies, they sound vulnerable to only children, and so do the rest of their siblings. In that system, because oldest kids lose to only children first, it immediately cancels out any chance other birth orders have to win the only child over to their side.
Those are the two theoretical conditions that make only children win: middle children virtually disappearing, which makes the sibling feedback loop go defunct because siblings lose to each other. Or only children reaching a sufficient enough amount to make it so oldest-child scripts turn vulnerable instead of saintly. In the first case, only children win because older siblings are losing to younger siblings. In the second case, only children win because of a cascading effect starting with oldest children losing to only children. In reality, a little bit of both cases will happen.
What if siblings disappeared? In that scenario, only children may be able to completely cancel out their “loser” persona as well. You can’t be jealous if there is not a different experience to compare to your own. The human race would be set to die out, but only children would have their heyday for the last generations of its existence.
For the rest of humanity however, siblings completely disappearing is unlikely. Twins, triplets, etc. will probably always exist. Imperfect birth control and continuing an unintended pregnancy may always exist. Stepsiblings and half siblings will probably always exist. The human race may never completely forget the concept of having a sibling. So it’s unlikely only children will ever cancel out their “loser” persona.
Instead, future only children will share a plight similar to that of the middle child today. They won’t be able to validate their jealousies against kids with siblings, just like middle children can’t validate their jealousies against oldest siblings. They won’t be able to criticize siblings either. But they will serve as saints and mediators to siblings in general, who can no longer escape being sinners and losers to each other or to the only child. The only child position will become the second-most desirable placement out of all available placements in human history — a decent leg up from their position today.
There will be no most desirable position in the new system. No one can be a perfect “saint” anymore. Oldest and youngest child will be tied for last place. They look like sinners and feel like losers to each other, and they can no longer win against the only child. Middle children may never completely go extinct for as long as the human race exists. But, even they will lose, because regardless of which sibling script they agree with, they will also be a loser and a sinner, because no birth order can attain the saint title. Because siblings no longer have an ironclad hold over the “saint” label, they look like sinners (as they compete) and feel like losers (as they lose battles with their siblings). So now it’s: Only (OK) and oldest, middle, youngest (all undesirable).
Something worth noting is the family placement which has truly never won is the last-born child. They’ve never been a fully fledged saint, and they will never escape the “sinner” label. Their placement has always been undesirable, which runs completely contrary to the conventional wisdom. They might deserve the award for having the very least desirable birth order in the course of human history. Pour one out for the youngest child.
Counterarguments
There are counterarguments to the feedback loop theory: Society has always moved forward from conservative ideas to more liberal ones, and from less sophisticated ways of doing things to more sophisticated ones. Humans have never liked anything different from the norm. Senior members of any hierarchy pick on junior ones — and junior members criticize senior ones in return. Those reasons, some would say, explain stereotypes (and the loosening of them) against only children and criticisms against youngest children.
Those people would stress — again — siblings outnumbering only children has to do with most parents wanting for their child a playmate and lifelong support system. But only child- and youngest child stereotypes must be regarded in a broader context, because those counterarguments falter when we look at the roles those particular positions will play in the future. And siblings outnumbering only children — which will not last forever — also has to do with the feedback loop.
Youngest child stereotypes cannot be explained as them being different from the norm, because they have never been any scarcer than middle- or oldest children. They can also not be explained as the result of more conservative beliefs, because in a world where it is virtuous to have a sibling, that is not possible without a youngest child. While they could be explained as senior members criticizing junior ones, even this argument will not make sense in the future.
Whereas in the past, youngest kids were rewarded for agreeing they were sinners, in the future, younger siblings will have to keep mum about being a sinner because it won’t do either sibling any favors. It will not enable them to help the system flash green. They also won’t gain from criticizing their older sibling. In fact, no one will be able to criticize another person in the new Bias, at least not without the support of another.
Siblings will sound weak and vulnerable when they criticize each other (“you have no idea how hard it is to be me!”), as well as ignorant and insensitive (“actually, the reverse is true…”). Only children will sound ignorant and insensitive when they criticize siblings. The oldest child will have to take their criticisms about their younger siblings to a third party, the only child, who will validate based on their own experience, not the oldest child’s experience. In a system where senior and junior members exist simultaneously, and no one wins from criticizing the other, the conditions speak less to a hierarchy and more to a system where certain qualities need to be amplified.
When society moves on to new ideas, it will often regard yesterday as a time of better morals and as more flawed today. The reverse will be true for only children. They were spoiled yesterday, and unworthy of belonging, but most relied upon to keep the system functioning in the future — while not really being a “saint” themselves. Because while they’ve dropped the sinner label, only children will not breathe a word of their own virtues. They’re not “better” than kids with siblings — that would be arrogant and insensitive. They instead work to minimize their wins against siblings’ losses.
Speaking of minimizing their wins, they’ll also be calling more attention to their vulnerable traits as time goes on, not their sophisticated ones. They will be doing so because the sibling feedback loop has ceased to elevate vulnerable sibling qualities, and they must try to match that vulnerability. The only child has always been “more sophisticated” in one sense, but more vulnerable in another, via not having a built-in playmate in the form of a sibling, and they cannot be lifted up. In the future, the only child will be required to voice aloud both “winner” and “loser” personas to show awareness and sensitivity — both “sophisticated” and “unsophisticated” traits.
Society will also celebrate new ideas, seeing old ideas as backwards, and the new way of doing things as far superior. But the old way and the new way don’t usually meet up together to help each other out. For oldest and only children, however, they will have to rely on each other to keep the system functioning. The old has met the new: The oldest child’s “loser” traits meet the only child’s “winner” traits so both become righteous. Additionally, the only child’s “loser” traits are also being amplified to minimize sibling vulnerability. And it’s the only child’s very winner trait that would have sounded arrogant and insensitive in the past, and would have been disregarded by the oldest.
Speaking of winner traits, nostalgia often revolves around the idea that “back then” had more substance than “today.” (“They don’t make them like this anymore!”) When it comes to the idea of birth order in the future, it’ll be clear the idea had no substance. The concept won’t validate jealousies the same way it used to. Everyone will be vulnerable in their own way. Proudly exclaiming you’re an oldest or middle child won’t fix that. Saying you’re a sinful only or youngest child won’t show the same awareness and sensitivity. What siblings will look to instead is the only child’s script of not having to deal with siblings to accomplish the same goal — as well as only children’s “loser” traits. In the future, it’ll be clear the whole concept of birth order was really about jealousy — specifically, the jealousy of siblings. The idea had no substance.
When only children outnumber kids with siblings, it will be clear siblings — oldest, middle, and youngest inclusive — are all vulnerable to each other without the only child’s interference — while being winners to the only child. The family positions, with all their pros and cons, have remained the same over the years. What has changed are the numbers, and along with them, the power dynamics and scripts people say out loud, and to which party they say them for validation. It’s one thing for ideas to change, or to not like differences, or to pick on the new guys. It’s another thing entirely for the newest member of the hierarchy, the only child, being the one most depended on, and for that party to be a vulnerable party themselves.
Only children have always been winners and losers, regardless of time period. In the past, they were shamed for their winner traits. In the future, it is their very winner trait they’re required to say, or be regarded as insensitive if they don’t. If their very winner trait that used to be shamed is now relied upon, then it forms the basis of both feedback loops.
In the past, only children showed their awareness and sensitivity by relating to the oldest’s firsthand experience (“the youngest gets away with murder,” “the oldest does all the chores…”). In the future, doing that would reinforce the oldest’s “loser” persona, and make the only child seem out of touch because of looking more sophisticated in comparison. To accomplish the same goal in the future, the only has to relate to their own firsthand experience of not dealing with siblings. If one firsthand experience has been replaced by another, then the previous firsthand experience has lost its amplification.
People often regard the past as a simpler time, where individual roles were black and white. (“Men were men and women were women!”) This belief can be more perspective than reality. In the future, when we compare it to the past, it will be very clear individual family roles — with all their pros and cons — have switched alliances. The formerly least powerful position, the only, is now being relied upon in a vulnerable way by the oldest, the formerly most dominant position. Middle children, if they do exist, will be cast as sinful younger siblings, where they used to be saints. Regardless of complexity or simplicity, alliances will have clearly changed.
If we were to ask ourselves why youngest and only children were seen as sinners, while oldest and middle children got to be saints, the most reasonable explanation is competition and jealousy were at play. It makes sense. Human beings compete with each other (as evidenced by slut-shaming). Siblings compete with each other too — on both a micro and macro level. Everyone wants to be regarded as Most Worthy, because it validates jealousies and enables us to get away with competitive behavior — which is all vital to our survival.
The fact the Birth Order Bias exists indicates people must agree with one side or another, otherwise everyone loses. Middle children, who can agree with both older and younger sibling scripts, win when they pick a side and agree with older sibling scripts — at the expense of invalidating their own jealousies — and it is better for the whole system when they do. We want the system to be unstable — for there to be a bias — because it means a majority of people will escape being sinners and losers. Otherwise, everyone’s a sinner and a loser, and the system remains stuck.
When middle children can no longer keep the feedback loop going, the oldest child will find an ally in the only child, whose virtues will function a lot like the middle child’s did. They won’t make themselves superior to, but work with the sibling experience. They also won’t be able to criticize siblings. They will help the sinner save face, which is almost the opposite. And they’ll be doing so because they need to recognize the validity of another group’s competition for their survival, and show their awareness to a vulnerable group’s plight.
Only children might always feel like losers to kids with siblings, but their losing will end there. Kids with siblings are losing in two directions now, being unable to validate their jealousies to each other, and having to rely on the only child, while only children are losing in one. If you’re having to make a choice based on what makes you lose less, then it’s not a question of values, but power dynamics. It’s clear which side is more desirable, and even more people will choose to have one child.
“Only children don’t have to. . .” will be the new “I was the oldest…” script, which used to reign supreme in the first feedback loop. It’ll be greenlighted because it’ll now signal the only child’s compassion and awareness (rather than haughtiness). It’ll keep oldest kids from being losers and sinners to their siblings out loud, and brush away siblings’ undignified behavior in the process. These changing scripts, and their meaning, will be due to new power dynamics, not new ideas.
So-called sibling virtues: negotiating, sharing, considering others’ needs, and not being self-centered are virtues regardless of time period. The data show now, and it will become clearer as only child numbers grow, that siblings never had a corner on them. Rather, they acted as gimmicks to detract from rather sinful sibling behavior, and make kids with siblings feel better about sibling battles and losing those battles. In fact, those very virtues, when siblings talk about them in the future, will sound weak and vulnerable, not righteous. And it will be those very traits that inspire only children to discuss their own vulnerabilities in the future, rather than agree they’re sinners like what they did in the past.
The new feedback loop, once it exists, won’t really magnify being nice and civilized, or having more resources, but the condition that leads to those qualities: not dealing with siblings. This is not a virtue, but a state of being. Only children will be “just fine” in and of themselves, but will play a part in the broader system — lifting up kids with siblings, who have become vulnerable to each other, and to the only child, while explaining their own more dignified, and less competitive behavior in a sympathetic way. Only children, meanwhile, still retain their “loser” persona in not having a built-in playmate in the form of a sibling. This is very different from how it worked before.
Today, kids with siblings become saints by touting their own virtues and tearing only children down. In doing so, they cancel out both “sinner” and “loser” personas. In the future, once only children form the majority, they will become saints by calling attention to what they don’t have, and still maintain their “loser” persona. If, at no point in time, do only children ever become saints by speaking to their own virtues, or tearing siblings down, it means kids with siblings were shaming only children out of a desire to stroke their own ego all this time. It means only-child shaming was about jealousy and competition, and so was shaming the youngest child.
The Final Takeaway
All this leads to another argument:
Only-child shaming was never about only children; it was about the jealousy and competition among siblings themselves. Both groups, while they coexist, are jealous of each other. But they have very different ways of relating to each other when they’re in charge. If, once only children rule, they speak in terms of the sibling experience and don’t breathe a word of their own virtues, then the first feedback loop — the one that said “only children are spoiled” — was about the sibling experience. When the old script gets replaced with “only children don’t have to compete,” it means kids with siblings had to justify their jealousy and competition among themselves all this time.
At first, that same conclusion might not seem to hold true with how siblings relate to each other. Older and younger siblings, who are jealous of each other, relate similarly to each other when the middle child disappears: by criticizing the other, and touting their own virtues. That’s what we’re starting to see today — in TikToks, Instagram Reels, Twitter threads, and other places on social media. The same social media sites show that oldest children, who so often repeat their own scripts, are receiving more pushback when they do so. We’re starting to see neither older nor younger sibling attain the “saint” title. But all that depends on middle children disappearing. Before the middle child disappears, there’s a repetition of oldest-child scripts and a pile-on on the youngest, and we get “youngest children are spoiled, pesky, babied, etc.”
Given that “only children are spoiled” wasn’t about only children, it follows something similar was at play with “youngest children are spoiled.” While siblings are jealous of each other, and every human has their flaws, criticisms about the youngest weren’t really about the youngest. They were about the majority of siblings who already existed (oldest- and middle children) wanting to escape being losers and sinners to each other. The youngest child, being born last, was a convenient scapegoat and collateral damage in that goal.
We will soon find casting labels on each other does not work, because, in a system with equally-matched powers, it won’t give us the validation we need to feel like less of a loser or not look like a sinner. As soon as the middle child disappears, or only children match the amount of siblings (or a combination of both conditions), the oldest child will stop sounding virtuous with their scripts, and will stop criticizing all other birth orders, and will have to look outside themselves to a third party, the only child, the one position that used to be most despised. If the once most-despised position is now most desirable, all because getting rid of our own insecurities no longer works in the current system, we can conclude labels like “saints” and “sinners” is due to competition, jealousy, and feedback loops among the birth orders.
We have the following logical argument:
All only child stereotypes were because of sibling jealousy and competition; therefore all youngest child stereotypes were because of sibling jealousy and competition.
Both groups are winners and losers in their own way, but the new system will celebrate the only child. Just like the current Bias celebrates middle children agreeing with older sibling scripts (at the expense of their own jealousies), the new Bias will favor being an only child over having a playmate and lifelong support system. You could call only children “semi-saints” now, as they find righteousness by helping siblings out — just like middle children are so long as they agree with older sibling scripts.
One last thing: there is no link between birth order and personality. Being born first, middle, or last has no bearing on whether you’re a conscientious hard worker, or mediator, or charming entertainer. All kids deserve that freedom, to be themselves without being tied to a label. That casting off of labels should include “saints” and “sinners” too.
A future with mostly only children is our best bet for that happening. While only children are “semi-saints,” they’re only “better” than siblings in the sense that they can help siblings escape labels to each other that they can no longer work to escape on their own through an arbitrary hierarchy. We’ll also no longer define children by something that was out of their control — where they were placed in their family.
A future like that looks pretty bright to me.
Works Cited
- Leman, Kevin. The Birth Order Book: Why You Are the Way You Are. Baker Books House Co., 1998. p. 267.
- Leman, p. 288.
3. McKibben, Bill. Maybe One. Simon & Schuster, 1998. pp. 38–41.
4. McKibben, p. 26.
5. Bohannon, E. W. , “A Study of Peculiar and Exceptional Children,” Pedagogical Seminary 4, no. 1 (1896): 3–60.Ronson, Jon. So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed. Riverhead Books, 2016.
6. Bohannon, E.W., “The Only Child in a Family,” Pedagogical Seminary 6, no. 2 (1898): 475.
7. Fenton, Norman, “The Only Child,” Journal of Genetic Psychology 35 (1928):546–47.
8. McKibben, p. 26
9. Brown, Brene. I Thought It Was Just Me (but It Isn’t): Telling the Truth About Perfectionism, Inadequacy, and Power. New York: Gotham Books, 2008. p. 5.
10. Ronson, Jon. 2015. So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed. London, England: Picador.
11. Blake, Judith, Family Size and Achievement (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989).
12. Faber, Adele, and Elaine Mazlish. 1987. Siblings without rivalry: how to help your children live together so you can live too. New York: Norton. p. 2.
*The idea for being the “less important” kid, as well as numerous other ideas for how younger siblings help their older siblings was inspired by the listicle, “15 Things Younger Siblings Don’t Know Their Older Siblings Did For Them” by Ella Cerón.
This piece is dedicated to the author’s five lifelong best friends: Katy, Stephanie, John, Michelle, and Nicole.