re: special interest fatigue
Last month, my friend Tulip wrote the blog post "special interests withering away" and it spoke to a lot of struggles that I have also been going through for the past couple of years. At first, I was just going to focus on the makeup community broadly, but my head feels like it is buzzing with a lot of different thoughts on special interests, community, and depression.
Despite spending the vast majority of my free time online since I was a teenager, much of that experience has been as a fly on the wall. When I first got into makeup, I read blogs, lurked forums, scrolled through reviews, imagined what shades I would pick out for myself... but I didn't actually engage with anyone. The same thing was true for my adoration of Sims 2 Let's Plays, which I read regularly on Live Journal. As much as I wanted to take screenshots and compose my own Legacy Challenge Story, it either didn't cross my mind to actually share them with other people or I was too intimidated to try, worried that, despite sharing the same fondness for storytelling, that they wouldn't like mine specifically.
As an adult, however, I have craved community more and more. And, at times, my special interests have led to me connecting with others. During the pandemic, I got really into A Link to the Past Randomizer races. I grew up watching my older brother play the game over and over, slamming his controller into the floor when an enemy would catch him off guard, laughing behind him when the death sound effect would kick in. So when he started racing Randomizer, it was such a powerful nostalgia siren call... and I ended up watching as much, if not more, rando races than he did.
Likewise, makeup has led me to a discord server where I have made some truly special online friendships that I cherish a good deal. I've become pen pals with someone, received packages in the mail from others, and everyone helped me through one of the darkest moments in my life (not trying to be dramatic - just honest.)
While I don't mind that these communities are relatively insular, I do get wary when I feel burnt out on the interest itself. I have only worn makeup a handful of times this year when I used to have the energy and inspiration to wear colorful, graphic adornment on the regular. With my work schedule changing, I haven't been able to watch my brother and our mutual friends race quite as often.
And for other interests, my imposter syndrome looms over me. How can I share my sketches and connect with other artists when my little scribbles are so much less interesting, less original, less refined than what everyone else does? Not to mention the productivity and hustle that often dominates these spaces. I get it. Everyone needs to make a living. But it does get exhausting when everything becomes an advertisement over a conversation.
How can I can share my love for toys when I'm not really a collector, but just someone who thinks things are neat and wants to talk about that? In fact, that push for consumption - more makeup, more toy lines (especially blind boxes!), more art supplies, more games, more more more) makes me feel pushed even further out of the way. It's nobody's fault. It's the way capitalism manifests in social spaces. But it makes me feel exhausted, disconnected, and feeds this part of my brain that says "maybe don't even try."
Lately, I've really been craving creation. I want to write, draw, paint. A lot of these feelings of "no, you aren't allowed" come from within based on my own assumptions, my own complexes about my abilities, but I also feel that online spaces have changed so drastically over the years that it's hard to share these interests in a meaningful, earnest way. To feel truly seen and understood. Maybe that's asking too much of people you know too little about. But it would be nice, I think.
This year, I want to resuscitate my interests, connect with other people, even just one person, really. I can feel myself shrinking when I let go of my passions and, with the "great" start we have had to 2025, I'm going to need every ounce of joy I can find.