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In the age of influencer culture, when we are bombarded with curated images of small-waisted women with $300 lashes, giving a nod to mediocrity brings a much-needed chance to exhale. Life can’t all be about YOLO (you only live once, in case you didn’t know) and seizing the day. The day is hard to hold onto. And it costs too much.
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The Dull trend is akin to the “F**k-It List”, a meme that has people gleefully declaring the things they will never do again. My list includes taking young children to the Sydney Easter Show, and allowing any other human to approach me with a tub of hot wax in their hands.
With the cost of living forcing outdoor adventures to be replaced with days in, and the number of influencers being exposed as the biggest hot messes of us all, I’m more than ready to embrace activities that aren’t worth posting about. A piece of sandwich bread, toasted with butter. An afternoon spent building LEGO, with absolutely nothing to show for it. Enjoying the sound my car indicator makes before I turn into my own driveway. These things are dull. But they make me happy.
I’m pushing as well for a Dull Children’s Club, to celebrate kids who spend their Saturday mornings cutting up pieces of paper for no reason. I’ll join, and post about my youngest child’s preference for a “nice quiet day”, his general disinterest in sport and the fact that we both had Weet-Bix for breakfast, just like we do every other day.
The pressure to do, create, achieve and experience while spending a small fortune every week on fuel, ingredients, products and admission tickets has left us tired and broke. It’s why the rise of Dull Clubs is actually the most exciting thing I’ve seen happen in a long time.
Clea Jones is a freelance writer who wears a size 9.5 shoe and makes decaf instant coffee at home.
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