the dull women's club

on the feminine urge to live a slow life

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The dull women's club

These days I rarely go on Facebook, but I’ll pop on my feed whenever I’m craving good, old-fashioned hometown entertainment. Usually, I discover who’s newly married, with child, or experiencing a life crisis/milestone that must involve 500 of their closest friends. Also, it’s one of the best places on the World Wide Web to properly “stalk” someone — always for important research purposes and for a friend, of course. 

During a recent check-in, the algorithm blessed me with a post from the page Dull Women’s Club (Original). I was immediately intrigued, finding the whole concept to be hilarious, ironic or not. I can only describe it as a Boomer- and Gen X-coded internet haven where women can unapologetically celebrate the mundanity of everyday life. The page was created in December 2023 as a joke and already has 1 million members.

After a few scrolls, I realized this community is attempting to embrace “the slow life,” or an existence that focuses on the here and now, just like myself and other Zillenial cusps. They just have a slightly different vocabulary and aesthetic for it. 

“Hey look, you flesh machines, life can really be this easy AND fulfilling”

The concept of a slow life has definitely been around for a while. I’ve especially noticed it trending online in recent years, revolutionized by modern girlies and discussed in holistic health publications. Outside of this demographic, it seems to be overwhelmingly coveted by anyone immersed in the post-pandemic American workforce, whether they know it or not.

Clearly, the desire to stop and enjoy the present moment while also sharing that moment with others is not unique. There’s a strong, mutual yearning to be like, “Hey look, you flesh machines, life can really be this easy AND fulfilling.” Surprisingly, though, I think the DWC successfully and unexpectedly captures a crucial trifecta of the slow life younger crowds seem to overall be missing: the unedited, the boring, and the wholesome.

As I’m writing this, the latest post, shared 23 minutes ago by Lynda, says, “I love dipping into a brand new jar of peanut butter. Who’s with me on this?” It has 55 reactions and 16 comments. “Crunchy!” “Love me some fresh Jiff!” Below it: a portrait of Tania’s pet salt water crocodile, Bubbles; Josephine’s neighborhood flowers; JoAnna’s cross-stitch blanket for her 8-month-old grandson; Sandy’s backlit kitchen selfie featuring a hair turban and cat-patterned PJs, captioned, “I’m perfect for this group!” 

I don’t want to make this an “us versus them,” “older versus younger” thing between the Dulls and the Slow Lifers. But there are differences in approaches, and it’s not just tech savviness. To be fair, both productivity culture and internet culture are more rampant than ever, blurring the lines between work, recreation, and rest for twenty- and thirty-somethings. Sometimes, all there really is to do in the slow life camp is fantasize and resist, often simultaneously.

Slow as an act of rebellion against a society that says fast is the only way

A slow life is portrayed on social media like a dream: farmers market trips, saturated produce and fresh bread, candlelit dinner parties, sundresses and hillsides, wrinkled white bed linens beneath hinged windows, curtains waving from the salty sea air down yonder. It’s reading paperback novels written by women with deep thoughts and being a woman who thinks deeply. It’s wandering around art-adorned cities and sipping reasonably priced drinks out of tiny cups. It’s captured by grainy film and shared in reels and framed on your kitchen wall. It’s taking a risk to chase after true happiness and purpose; it’s an act of rebellion against a society that says fast is the only way. 

I see it in memes of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs with “create art” and “make delicious meals” written in as peak self-fulfillment. My Instagram explore page has been overpopulated with “regular after 6 pm activities” slides that feature the most bare minimum yet deeply relatable/romanticized/dramatized pastimes. And I can’t seem to get away from the minimalistic “dreaming of a slow life” print that’s become a symbol for “little luxuries.”

A slow life feels aspirational because the competing desire to get out there in the world and do everything makes it seem impossible to fully achieve. No matter where we fall on the introvert-extrovert spectrum, there’s always the societal whisper of “go, go, go,” and it lays out two options: protest or follow.

Credit: @sotce

The desire to keep shaking the snow globe and watching the pieces as they swirl and resettle is so real. I think the stillness and the movement are both important. As Whitman also famously says, “Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)” We’re all humans trying to figure out how to create lives that feel right.

So with that, find meaning, breathe, and be — maybe even breathe slowly and be a bit dull.

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who wrote this?
This is edish of culture vulture was a guest post by Emma Kumagawa who writes the The Warm Glow.

Emma is an LA-based creative who uses the internet and art to better understand the human experience.

Find all her other stuff here!

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if you’re a pop culture/ internet writer and you feel like you’ve got something to say that fits with our culture vulture vibe, send me a draft to luce@shityoushouldcareabout.com and I’ll see what I can do 𓆩♡𓆪