Dear Auntie Sue,
My partner’s gone full lifestyle blogger. Ever since they read an article called “Embrace Slow Living or Die of Capitalist Burnout”, they’ve been refusing to do anything at normal speed.
They now make breakfast over the course of three hours using something called “intuitive oat soaking”. They talk about “mindful folding” while taking half a day to hang two towels, and I haven’t had a proper meal since June because they believe in “waiting for the right moment to cook”.
The telly’s been unplugged “to reduce overstimulation”. The washing-up is “a ritual, not a task”. And last night they spent 45 minutes staring at a turnip in what they called a “root vegetable meditation”.
Auntie Sue, I’m tired. Not spiritually, just physically. I need a cuppa and a quick spaghetti hoop. Not a fermented teabag ceremony and a soba noodle mood board.
How do I convince them that sometimes life just needs to be lived… at a normal bloody pace?
Yours impatiently,
Danny, 34, Spotland
Dear Danny,
Oh love, I feel your pain. “Slow living” started as a wholesome rejection of burnout culture. It’s now just an excuse for people to sit in linen and never do the hoovering.
Your partner isn’t embracing mindfulness, they’re holding the kettle hostage while chanting about the soul of courgettes.
Here’s what you do:
- Speed ambush. Start doing things really quickly. Hoover while flossing. Chop onions like you’re in a hostage situation. Set alarms labelled “Time to engage in frantic pasta boiling”. They’ll either snap out of it or think you’ve become performance art.
- Introduce chaos. Invite a toddler round. Any toddler. One with sticky hands and loud toys. Slow living dies the second CBeebies comes on at full volume.
- Tell them the oat milk’s gone off. Watch how fast they move then.
You deserve a life that includes clean forks, tea that doesn’t require a vision quest, and a dinner that wasn’t grown, dried and hand-massaged over six lunar cycles.
Yours briskly,
Auntie Sue
