why four stars is a fail

We recently stayed at an Airbnb which was quite lovely, except the doona was too thin. For me. I run ice-cold, so I like bedding that is thick, cosy, close to suffocating. My husband nearly blew that doona off with his nose whistle. However, I’m aware not all people like to be entombed when they sleep, so our host probably didn’t think to provide for it. I shrugged it off for what it was – just life.

But then, as is the modern world, the app asked me to leave a review. And then I got an email asking for a review. And a second email because I ignored the first one. So before someone turned up on my doorstep clipboard in hand, knocked on my car window at the lights or chased me around the supermarket until I gave a star rating for the one night I stayed in someone else’s house, I caved and gave my host a very healthy four out of five stars.

Which, according to my horrified 15-year-old daughter (who knows things about the modern world that I don’t), ruined that Airbnb host’s life. Because did you know that in the digital world, four stars is considered a fail? It was at that point I felt myself move one step closer to opting out of the modern world.

It’s bad enough that every service we use, every restaurant, plumber, grocer or app, demands praise like a needy toddler, but it has to be five stars or death. Which is madness to me. Not only does it undermine the reviews, rendering them meaningless (which five-star appraisal is genuine?), it creates a dangerous culture that worships perfection.

Now, I’m fortunate that I’m not afflicted with perfectionism. In fact, I have lived my whole life embracing the imperfect. When it comes to being average, I’m very talented. When other mothers were Helicopter Parenting, I invented That’ll Do Parenting. My house is a mess and I don’t care. “Done is better than perfect” is my motto for everything from my work to my hair.

But I have witnessed the cost of perfectionism in people I love. Trying to meet impossibly high expectations can lead to extreme anxiety, self-loathing, fear of failure, unwillingness to take risks and, worst of all, the exhausting masking of our mental health, even to the people closest to us.

My sketch-comedy show received a one-star review – from a sports reporter. Sorry, mate, not enough tackling for your taste?

JO STANLEY

So I’m dismayed by the notion that there can be no margin for error. Or even differing opinions because, let’s not forget, reviews are inherently subjective and arbitrary. I learnt this years ago during a fringe festival when my sketch-comedy show received a one-star review – from a sports reporter. Sorry, mate, not enough tackling for your taste?

As review requests kept bombarding my inbox, I got so riled up I spent a week handing out star reviews of life and everything in it, just to process my rage.