Are you on Pinterest? As I am with all social media platforms except for Tumblr, I am obsessed with all that Pinterest holds. I have several boards myself, which I pin to mostly from my phone. And then I use Pinterest on my laptop to plan how I want my life to look and taste. A series of successes at this led me to believe I was a young, poor, Martha Stewart with a penchant for chevron patterns and carb recipes. I posted my Pinterest successes on Instagram, in a series I dubbed, “Pinterest is my bitch.”
But today, the tables have turned. A Snickerdoodle recipe has changed everything. I am now Pinterest’s bitch.
I can’t make these fucking cookies. And now that I think about it, my fall harvest scape (yes, I am making a fall scape) is a shitshow of junk I found at Target, the self-tanner that some mommy blogger WHO MAKES LEATHER OBI BELTS FOR BABIES swears by is leaving streaks on my legs, none of these “life-hacks” work, and infinity scarves make me look fat(ter). Pinterest promised me so much, and has now reminded me at how bad I am at being the perfect 2003 Midwest American woman I never knew I wanted to be until a poppyseed quick bread recipe and a “Fall Afternoon Shopping Outfit” told me to.
More than any other lifestyle site or magazine or personality, Pinterest promised me a perfect home world of my own creation. I am complicit in telling myself that I will never have a cute enough house, haircut, or Hollandaise sauce because I am the one pinning this shit and feeling fabulous about it. Oh, a bicycle holding up a bathroom sink? Yep. Totally going to happen.
NO BETH. It’s never going to happen. No matter how sophisticated I am and how many millions Eve and I sell Slow News Day for, I will never have a bicycle holding up my bathroom sink.