13 Going on 30 Helped Me Define Manhood—and Adulthood—on My Own Terms

I was ten years old when the iconic film 13 Going on 30 debuted, and back then, the idea of turning 30 felt bonkers. At that point in time, my life was centered around worshiping Destiny’s Child, playing with action figures, and making color-coordinated Christmas lists. I’ll admit that I was an early adopter of stan culture with a variety of pop culture phenomena, including this coming-of-age story of a young girl who’s magically transported to her 30th year of life only to find out it wasn’t what she hoped for. I was always unsure why I was so transfixed by this film, mainly because Jenna Rink, a privileged white girl, and I, a young Black boy from the East side of Detroit, had virtually nothing in common. But as 13 Going on 30 celebrated its 20th anniversary shortly after my own 30th birthday this year, I realized that Jenna helped prepare me for my 30s more than any self-help book could, and the film as a whole helped me define masculinity on my own terms.

Growing up, I yearned to see Black, queer men in the media navigating life and love in their 30s. I wanted some sort of blueprint on how I could navigate those experiences when my time came. The ideas that I’d developed around manhood and masculinity were mainly rooted in fictional, heteronormative depictions of men who didn’t adequately capture my unique experiences. I felt drawn to characters like Clark Kent and Carlton Banks, but due to our differences in race or sexuality, the relatability stopped there. But with 13 Going on 30, I connected with the story of someone who felt ostracized in her formative years. I loved the movie so much I even asked my mother for the “fun & flirty” edition of the DVD.

The author, Kenneth Williams, as a child.

Funny enough, years later, my life paralleled the film in some ways. Jenna’s initial shock at her future self’s highly-decorated career, which she’d thought was unattainable, stuck with me. If you told me I’d become an entertainment journalist, interview four out of five members of Destiny’s Child, and be whisked away to beautiful destinations worldwide for work, I wouldn’t have believed you. The same surprise Jenna felt when she stumbled across a signed photo of Madonna in her office is how I felt after interviewing my personal heroes like Mary J. Blige, Kash Doll, and Trina. It made me realize how our inner children can continue to guide and influence us in our life’s journeys. Your 30s don’t have to be serious; they can be fun. Your adulthood is what you make it. However, I also learned that it’s okay to live a completely different life than the one you envisioned as a kid.

Despite achieving success as a high-powered editor, Jenna ultimately craved the lifestyle she attempted to leave behind (or “what used to be good,” as she says in her Poise presentation). Similarly for me, the glamor started to wear off, especially given the fraught state of the industry. I felt inspired to be an entertainment journalist by characters like Jenna Rink, or Moesha, when she interviewed Maya Angelou. Ross Matthews was the first queer journalist I saw that made me want to do this. While I am grateful and feel blessed to do what I do, my dream has also expanded. I want to help creatives of color best showcase their work on their own terms. It’s one of the reasons why I launched my consultancy last year. I saw a void in the way that marginalized but talented creatives faced hurdles in gaining access to coveted spaces, so I created my own business where I can use my gifts to help others best utilize theirs. 13 Going on 30 taught me that pivoting doesn’t have to be scary. In fact, Jenna decided to pivot when the life she dreamed of living no longer served her. And in her new vision for Poise, she wanted to feature real, everyday women in the magazine because she saw pivoting the brand as an opportunity not just for herself, but also for other people.

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I used to think my life’s purpose was to work my way up the ladder and prove that I, too, could find success despite not having the privileges and opportunities of my non-marginalized peers. That’s changed these days as I realize that I want to continue to highlight the nuances of what it means to be Black and queer while helping to usher in a new norm of manhood that previously felt out of reach for me. I’ve lived on the margins of the margins my entire life, as someone who’s navigated the intersections of Blackness and queerness and being plus-size. While I was blessed to be raised by a village of fabulous, resilient women, there was a paucity of male role models in my life. I was forced to create my own definition of what masculinity can and should look like. It initially felt like an insecurity to not have a father figure in my life like my peers did, but looking back on it, I am grateful. It forced me to understand that my own journey through manhood is no less or better than anyone else’s. I’m proud that I am now the man that I needed to see and be loved by as a child.

Kenneth Williams at his 30th birthday party this year.

I realize now just how important it was as a kid to see a 30-year-old trying to figure out her new reality (it really does feel as sudden as it was in the film) while juggling this multitude of emotions that come with it. Just like with manhood, there’s no blueprint to being, let alone succeeding, in my 30s. It’s an ever-evolving journey. While Jenna Rink and I differ on virtually every front including race, class, gender, and sexuality, we do connect on the basic human level of desiring happily ever after, no matter how many times the definition of it might change. I hope that I continue to lean into the art of pivoting when I realize that my goals and dreams have shifted. I hope that future generations of odd, quirky Black boys, who’ve been forced to create their own solar systems of self-love to protect themselves from the world’s cruelty, can do the same. I hope I can help make sure that changes for the next generation of 30-year-old men who desire to be represented. And I’ll be thirty, flirty, and thriving while doing it.