I’ve had a longstanding fascination with ‘life aesthetics’—those glossy magazines and catalogs that offer a glimpse into a seemingly perfect existence. From the serene pages of Sunset magazine to the stylish layouts in Real Simple and the carefully curated offerings from Pottery Barn, I’ve found myself captivated. The arrival of Ikea’s annual idea book has often prompted me to cancel plans. Even the local lumber circular and that quirky catalog filled with flowing garments and Buddha-themed decor have provided me with a dose of inspiration. And let’s not forget Pinterest, a veritable paradise for anyone seeking endless ideas for flower arrangements, upcycled fashion, or even pickle recipes.
Over the years, my obsession with life aesthetics has imparted some valuable lessons. For instance, a recent edition of Sunset enlightened me that a camping trip isn’t complete without a signature cocktail, preferably one featuring artisanal bourbon delivered from a quaint Oregon town. I had naively assumed that a six-pack of beer chilled in a river sufficed, but now I know better.
For much of my life, “being well-dressed” simply meant ensuring that my undergarments weren’t visible and that my shoes matched. No more! I’ve come to realize that the round-toe nude ballet flats in my closet shorten my legs, necessitating an upgrade to pointy-toed versions. Thanks to Real Simple for that life-changing tip! The illusion of an extra half-centimeter of leg length truly has altered my perspective.
Then there are my freckles, which after hitting 40, have undergone a harsh rebranding as “age spots.” Thankfully, a strict five-step skincare routine, complete with a chemistry lab of ingredients, promises to minimize their appearance. While I may be unrecognizable without my “age spots,” it seems crucial to conform to this aesthetic—otherwise, why would there be a four-page spread dedicated to it?
Without my life aesthetics, I wouldn’t have learned that every electronic device in our home is a potential germ factory. After visualizing the poor graduate student tasked with quantifying the “fecal matter” particles launched into the air with each toilet flush, I was horrified. I promptly committed to spending two hours each week cleaning my devices instead of, say, indulging in a novel or taking a leisurely walk on the beach.
There was a time—something I’m not proud of—when I showed up to a picnic with a hodgepodge of leftovers from my fridge: half a carton of cherry tomatoes, some tortilla chips, and a half-eaten tub of hummus. After a little self-reflection inspired by my life aesthetics, I realized that if I wanted to impress, I should at least bring pressed vegan banh mi instead of simply plopping down an old beach towel to sit on.
The allure of glossy images in these publications is undeniable. I yearn for a life that mirrors those flawless portrayals: perfectly arranged throw pillows, a flattering lip color, and the latest trendy ramen truck. In moments of weakness—often during a second glass of wine—I convince myself that whipping up homemade pea and mint ravioli, requiring 13 ingredients yet somehow taking only 30 minutes, or donning a $200 skirt will magically transform my life. This desire intensifies when my son insists he doesn’t need a shower, despite the unmistakable odor of last week’s bean burritos lingering in the air, all while I’m surrounded by a mountain of back-to-school forms and Cheerios scattered across the floor.
I find myself longing to be part of that picturesque scene: a diverse group dining on smoked duck and sipping a grapefruit-rosemary concoction in a sunlit meadow. But let’s face it—it’s an illusion. It’s akin to a fairy tale for adults. Sure, I could attempt to craft my life into that vision, but it would require quitting my job, abandoning my hobbies, and evicting the three delightful (yet chaotic) people I share my home with. And while my job has its perks, I cherish my hobbies, and I’m quite attached to those three humans. Chasing that Pinterest-perfect life is utterly exhausting, especially when it detracts from the things that truly matter.
Thus, I’m embarking on a journey to break free from this relentless pursuit of perfection. Much like a diligent 12-stepper or a mindful Buddhist, I’m starting with the first step: acknowledging the problem. My life aesthetics keep me trapped in a cycle of unending desire and consumption in search of an unattainable ideal, and this pursuit does not bring me joy.
Now, I must figure out my next steps, which I’ll contemplate once I finish preparing the fire-roasted poblano sauce for the enchiladas inspired by that perfect food blog post. Baby steps, folks. Baby steps.
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In summary, my fixation on life aesthetics has led to a constant, exhausting chase for perfection. It’s time to take a step back and embrace the beautiful chaos of real life instead.