Last night I fell down a Pinterest rabbit hole and didn’t claw my way out until gone 1am.
I found myself ‘pinning’ for my life – movie typography, film posters, Barbra Streisand when she was young – there’s now a board for most topics. I feel completely frazzled.
Pinterest isn’t a new thing. In fact, it’s pretty much everywhere. I’ve signed up a few times but invariably abandoned it, dismissing it as too twee for me. And it can be – the ‘Pinterest lifestyle’ is something I throw at people as a thinly veiled insult – but it’s also a very handy tool.
I think I was just scared that this very thing would happen – that I’d become obsessed. Now I’m tending to my boards like a beautiful, organised allotment. I’m landscaping dreamy imagery and shirtless photos of Tom Holland like Percy Thrower up in here. (Damn, that reference shows my age).
Villanelle from Killing Eve – oh her wardrobe has a patch of its own. Aubrey Plaza, grab a pew girl. Classic Horror? Get over here.
You get the picture. In some ways it’s a dangerous game. If you spend enough time there, a lot of the aesthetics blend into one. All the decor is perfectly lit, perfectly co-ordinated – nothing like a real apartment. Nobody I know has fifteen thick woollen throws on their futon.
What I’m trying to say is, I’m having fun but I’m quite close to feeling bad that I haven’t hoovered for two weeks (three) and that I don’t have enough tea lights in the utility drawer. Don’t even get me start on the picture perfect beauty of everybody, I’ve had to actively seek out women who look more like me to balance things.
So this new hobby is not without its dark side, like most things – and should be used responsibly. That said, I’ll probably never sleep again but I will have the coolest image garden at my fingertips, dozens of happy places in which to frolic.
Shit. Maybe I should delete the app again.
You can find my profile here. If you want.