As the year turned, I found myself reflecting on my relentless pursuit of what I like to call “life aesthetics.” I’ve always been drawn to visually stunning sources of inspiration: magazines like Sunset, the pages of Real Simple, and the dreamy Pottery Barn catalog. The arrival of Ikea’s annual idea book has led me to cancel plans in excitement. Over the years, even the humble Dixieline Lumber circular and various clothing catalogs filled with bohemian styles and wall art have managed to appease my cravings. And then there’s Pinterest, the ultimate paradise for life aesthetics, offering an infinite supply of whatever captures my fancy: floral arrangements, upcycled fashion, patio designs, and even pickle recipes.
This obsession has imparted some valuable lessons. For instance, a recent issue of Sunset magazine enlightened me about the necessity of having a signature cocktail for camping trips—ideally one made with craft bourbon that can only be shipped from a quaint Oregon town. I had naively thought that bringing along a six-pack of beer to chill in the river was sufficient.
For most of my life, being “well-dressed” meant that my undergarments were hidden from view and that my shoes actually matched. But now, thanks to the ironically titled Real Simple, I’ve realized that the round-toe nude ballet flats in my closet are doing me a disservice by making my legs look shorter. It’s high time I upgrade to pointy-toed options for that illusion of length!
And let’s not forget my freckles, which have now been rebranded as “age spots” after hitting 40. Thankfully, I can reduce their visibility with a complex five-step skincare routine involving ingredients that sound more like a lab experiment than a beauty regimen. I might even become unrecognizable without my “age spots,” but clearly, this is vital information, as evidenced by the four-page spread dedicated to it.
Without my life aesthetics obsession, I would remain blissfully unaware that our household devices are potential germ factories. Once I got over the image of a grad student calculating how much “fecal matter” is sprayed into the air with every toilet flush, I became horrified at how many germs surround us. I promptly committed to spending two hours a week cleaning these devices instead of indulging in the more leisurely activities I once enjoyed, like reading or beach walks.
There was a time, and I’m slightly embarrassed to admit it, when I showed up to a picnic with a random assortment of leftovers from my fridge: half a carton of cherry tomatoes, some tortilla chips, and a half-eaten hummus. After consulting my life aesthetics sources, I realized that I should have brought pressed vegan banh mi at the very least, or even better, my portable smoker to recreate a West Coast clambake on beautifully rustic picnic tables!
The issue lies in the glossy images of perfect lives. I yearn for that aesthetic: cushions perfectly arranged on my couch, the ideal lipstick shade, or the latest trendy ramen truck. During my less rational moments (often after a glass or two of wine), I convince myself that preparing elaborate meals (like homemade pea and mint ravioli that requires a daunting 13 ingredients but somehow only takes 30 minutes!) or donning stylish outfits (a $200 skirt that looks fabulous!) will somehow transform my reality. This feeling intensifies when my son tries to avoid showering, and I can smell him from across the room, amidst the chaos of an unkempt dining table piled high with back-to-school paperwork and Cheerios—though I can’t recall the last time I even bought them.
I dream of being in that picturesque photo of a diverse group enjoying smoked duck and sipping on grapefruit-rosemary cocktails in a sunlit meadow. But it’s just that: an illusion. A grown-up fairy tale. Sure, I could create such a life if I quit my job, abandoned my hobbies, and sent packing the three delightful mess-makers I share my space with. However, I find value in my work, enjoy my hobbies, and have a fondness for those three chaotic humans. Attempting to mimic the perfection seen on Pinterest in the few moments I have left after prioritizing what truly matters in life is exhausting.
Thus, I’ve decided to step back from this obsession with constant self-improvement. Like any good 12-step program or mindful practice, I’m starting with acknowledging the problem: my fixation on life aesthetics keeps me on a hamster wheel of doing, wanting, and buying, all in pursuit of an unattainable ideal, which brings me no joy.
Now it’s time to figure out my next steps, which I’ll contemplate after I finish making the fire-roasted poblano sauce for the enchiladas that caught my eye on a food blog designed to impress tonight’s guests. Baby steps, right?
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In summary, as I navigate my journey of breaking free from the allure of life aesthetics, I’m learning the importance of accepting my reality. Embracing imperfections and focusing on what truly matters might just be the key to a fulfilling life.