The Bohunk and I have been making weekly trips down Highway 61 to Duluth to set up our new residence for two geriatric loners and their pets. She does most of the driving, which is a new trend after half a century of wedded bliss. I sit in the passenger seat and start ranting whenever I need to disrupt the peace.
Last week, we followed a late-model pickup truck, which, like most vehicles, slows way down on the curvy parts and speeds up on the passing lanes. So I started to rant about the pickup truck fad we’re living through. Once used as work vehicles to haul tools and cargo and occasionally fitted to haul campers, many of the trucks I see today haven’t hauled much more than a set of golf clubs in suburbia. Still, they are among the most popular of vehicles sold today–another of the unending series of fads fed by new, shiny things.
More than just fleeting trends, fads reflect something fundamental about humanity. I just don’t know what.
My golfing buddies in Las Vegas were into movies, especially the popular releases. I rarely darkened a theater door, had no interest in the latest and greatest, and rode solo (or with the occasional fourth) in my cart, blissfully unaware of their deep conversation about who deserves an Academy Award.
Fads come and go. From flagpole sitting and dance marathons in the early 20th century to hula hoops, lawn darts, and pet rocks, people are drawn to fads like moths to a lantern.
In the late 90s, the Beanie Babies fad was all the rage. The Bohunk, along with her cohorts, used to watch for Mark, the UPS driver, showing up at the Ben Franklin store down Wisconsin Street, steps from BrewHaHa. They were tipped off by the store staff to know what day the new shipments were coming. They’d spread the word to their co-conspirators and all descended to see the boxes unpacked and buy whatever unique “Babies” were there. Becky was caught up in the excitement, buying dozens of these little creatures, hanging onto them long past the fad expiration, hoping they would retain their value. In the end, the hundreds of dollars we spent on that fad were a bad investment.
Of course, we weren’t alone. Fads give us a sense of belonging to something bigger than ourselves. They can be a novel, exciting, even positive way to escape the drudgery of real life. Think of the Ice Bucket Challenge for ALS, which raised a ton of money for ALS research and many videos on Facebook. Fads offer a temporary escape, a chance to step out of our routine and into something new and exciting.
Social media thrives in fads, and has its examples of how they come, and go. Starting with SixDegrees.com in 1997, and continuing with Friendster, MySpace, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, we see that even social media fads don’t last. Do you still have a pet rock or a MySpace account?
Another fad that causes me to grind my teeth is the asking of “What are the must-sees/must-dos” that people post on the socials about their planned travel destination, whether that be the North Shore and Boundary Waters or my once-hometown of Las Vegas. In this age of over-tourism, those questions seem to take all the fun out of traveling. They turn what should be an adventure or an exploration of the new and different into a checklist of popular spots, often leading to crowded and over-hyped experiences.
Having spent many of my adult years living in tourist destinations, I’m hyper-sensitive to travel fads. The quote that always inspires me, from baseball legend Yogi Berra, perfectly encapsulates the paradox of over-tourism. It cites a scenario where a place becomes so popular that its very popularity deters some, what I call sane, people from visiting.
Yogi said, “Nobody goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.”
I encourage the must-see/must-do crowd to make their own way and find unique, personal, and memorable experiences. The hype of the must-see places often outweighs reality. Moving around, talking to locals and other travelers face-to-face, and shopping or dining in the out-of-the-way spots is an authentic way to travel.
The urge to be part of the in-crowd drives people to join in the latest fad. Now that I’m an old man, I avoid fads. And I feel pretty good about that.
If you’ll tolerate some advice, it’s to find joy in genuine connections, personal discovery, and experiences that resonate with you.
Are you ready to join a crotchety old man in rejecting fads?
