If you’re on TikTok, you’ve certainly seen countless slideshows of aesthetic pictures and screenshots of call logs set to Radiohead’s song “No Surprises”, proclaiming “I’ll take a quiet life.”
I have to take a moment to appreciate the irony here: “No Surprises” is about being unhappy with how society pressures people to live, working “a job that slowly kills you,” yet the trend celebrates having a typical, mundane life, but I digress.
Disregarding this minor discrepancy in creative visions, these videos are extremely wholesome. Among other things, posters share pictures of cats, waterfalls, stacks of books, nature, and moments with friends.
Somewhat akin to the “romanticize your life” trend that flooded TikTok in 2020, the online “quiet life” is rooted in aesthetics. While some may call these fads materialistic or shallow, I think that movements like these are glorious.
Whether you share your quiet life online or not, taking a moment to savor your life is far more important than actually having a quiet life. Some influencers receive hateful comments when partaking in this trend, and I somewhat agree with the argument that their lives are anything but quiet. However, I simultaneously argue that you can make a quiet life whatever you want it to be, even if it truthfully isn’t quiet.
As someone accustomed to living a quiet life, I know that there is often shame associated with being a homebody, as social media glorifies lives bustling with constant social functions. Conversely, glamorizing having a small social circle and preferring a night-in reclaims the act of leading an only moderately social existence.
For me, a quiet life consists of the little things- mandatory dinner with my friends, getting ready in the morning, studying in the library, and picking out a killer outfit every night. Nothing about this existence is considerably special, but that’s what makes it beautiful.
I get shamelessly giddy at the thought of returning to my room at 8 to put on comfy clothes, eat a snack, and watch Netflix. I would rather perish than sacrifice my 9:30 bedtime.
There is something indescribably blissful about walking to class admiring the ivy and the fallen leaves with a cup of tea warming your hands or listening to a podcast while folding laundry.
Would my life be more satisfying if it was filled with functions and social interactions? Possibly. But, at the end of the day, when I consider all of the miniscule elements of my day-to-day life, I can’t help but beam with content. I love my quiet life.