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Thursday, August 20, 2026

People Are Tired of Optimising Everything

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Searches for “analogue hobbies” rose significantly in 2026. Vinyl is back. Disposable cameras are selling. Book clubs and walking groups are quietly booming. Gardening, baking, crafting, and jigsaws are having cultural moments. None of this is a coincidence, and none of it is nostalgia. What is happening is more specific: a growing number of people are stepping back from the logic of constant improvement — and discovering that doing something slowly, badly, and without an audience feels better than doing everything efficiently.

What Optimisation Actually Costs

The default mode of contemporary life is improvement. Track your steps, measure your sleep, optimise your diet, build your personal brand, manage your calendar, hit your targets. These are not bad impulses individually. Accumulated across every domain of daily life, they produce a particular kind of exhaustion — not the tiredness of too much work, but the tiredness of never being off the clock of self-management.

There is a shift happening, moving away from a temporary digital detox to a more overarching lifestyle change. What we’re seeing is a cultural response to digital burnout, AI fatigue, and the loss of intentionality. It is 2026, but many people are talking about 2016 — a moment before the attention economy fully colonised daily life, before every hobby became a potential content stream, before rest became something to optimise.

As explored in The Quiet Expansion of Algorithmic Life, the systems designed to make choices easier have also made it harder to be offline, unfocused, and unproductive without a sense of waste. Slow living is, in part, a response to that architecture — a deliberate refusal to let the system set the pace.

The Analogue Renaissance

The trend, dubbed the “analogue renaissance,” reflects a backlash against the ubiquity of AI-powered devices, with people opting for traditional crafts, physical books, and non-digital hobbies to reclaim control over their time and mental space. Surveys indicate that 35% of US adults now limit screen time intentionally, up from 22% two years ago, with participants citing “AI overload” as a key factor.

The activities gaining ground are telling. Crocheting, cross-stitch, needlepoint, and knitting — sometimes called “grandma hobbies” — are trending across social media platforms in a category of content that has outgrown its ironic framing. Jigsaws are cool again. Sourdough never went away. Hands-on hobbies are returning with renewed purpose. The common thread is not the activity itself but what it provides: a defined task with a visible outcome, a beginning and an end, and no notification at the finish.

Running clubs and walking groups have seen enormous growth — not oriented around pace or performance, but around movement, fresh air, and conversation. These are not fitness products. They are social infrastructure in analogue form, doing the work that third places once did and that apps have largely failed to replicate.

It Is Not About Slowing Down

The framing of “slow living” can be misleading. The people taking up pottery, growing vegetables, or joining community choirs are not withdrawing from life. Many of them are highly productive in their professional domains. What they are doing is compartmentalising — protecting certain hours and activities from the logic of optimisation.

In 2026, lifestyle slows with purpose. After years of optimisation, productivity, and curated perfection, the appetite shifts toward presence, autonomy, and texture. Living well becomes less about spectacle and more about meaning: how we spend time, who we spend it with, and what we allow to remain imperfect. Slowness is no longer a luxury — it is a boundary.

That last formulation is important. A boundary, not a retreat. The slow living trend is not anti-technology — it is anti-total-colonisation. People are curating their tech use, using AI where it adds value but reclaiming human elements elsewhere. The gardener who tracks their seed yields on a spreadsheet is not being inconsistent. They are making a decision about which parts of their life get optimised and which parts get to stay messy.

As explored in The Amateur Is Back — and This Time It’s a Choice, the decision to do something without monetising it, without an audience, without measurable improvement — is becoming a form of deliberate resistance to the default logic of digital life. The slow living trend is the lifestyle version of the same impulse.

When Slowness Became Status

There is, inevitably, a tension in the slow living movement’s cultural ascent: the moment a lifestyle becomes aspirational, it attracts the machinery of aspiration. Slow living content — linen tablecloths, sourdough on wooden boards, hand-thrown ceramics — circulates heavily on the same platforms the movement is notionally pushing back against. The content often revolves around tasks and hobbies such as gardening, upcycling furniture, and making a proper cup of coffee.

As explored in Luxury Is No Longer Rare. Access Is., the things people signal status through change with each generation. Owning objects has given way to having experiences. Experiences are giving way, in some circles, to the conspicuous absence of busyness — the demonstration that you have the time, the space, and the intention to do things slowly. The slow life is becoming the new status symbol precisely because it is what the optimised life lacks.

That irony does not invalidate the underlying impulse. The desire to bake bread without filming it, to grow tomatoes without tracking their yield, to walk without a route or a pace — these are genuine responses to a genuine exhaustion. Whether the culture industry can absorb that desire without converting it into content is the question the movement has not yet answered.


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Kay
Kay
The reporter/editor based in London

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