In defence of slowness in a fast-paced world
Honestly just take your time
Not until I travelled to another city did I realise how fast I walk. Last month, I came back to London after a few days in Spain and noticed a shift in how I speak and how I carry myself. The moment I stepped into London Luton Airport, it was like a switch flipped inside me. Everything suddenly felt like it was dialling up to 2x speed.
Have I always been like this? Was I born this way? Honestly, who can tell? Maybe spending most of my twenties in London shaped me more than I realised. Maybe it’s the city’s rhythm that makes everything and everyone move at breakneck speed. Maybe it’s the rat race where everyone sprints towards an invisible finish line. So everyone walks fast. I’m not complaining, but I sometimes wonder if I’m defined by it. What are we all trying to outrun?
The argument is that if you’re not quick enough, opportunities will be lost. If you’re not quick enough, people will crucify you for it. If you’re not quick enough, you’re not really a Londoner. But then, who are you?
You move fast because you’re expected to. You’ve got places to be: work, the tube, drinks, maybe a picnic in the park. You need to look like you’re in motion. You can’t stop and be still. Sometimes you are lost, but you have to keep moving anyway. There is a sea of people on the street, and nobody bats an eyelid if you are lost. People have their own routes and destinations, their own dashed dreams and undeterred optimism. Some people are lost, too.
You could say it’s the city – its pace and pressure, its people and its caricature of productivity. You could think and say and talk about so many things that are external forces. But you contribute to it, take part in it and uphold it. You can’t say it’s not because of you. Because, in part or in whole, it is.
You could blame the world you live in – the capitalism and hustle culture, Instagram and instant gratification. You could argue and write and discuss how your attention span has been damaged by social media and technology. But you’re also there and part of the fabric. You refresh the feed and chase the rush. You can’t say it’s not because of you.
So maybe the question isn’t why, but what are you going to do about it?
The thing with being chronically online (which, frankly, I haven’t decided is a good thing or a bad thing) is that I witness three to five internet-wide discourses every single week – more, if I dig deep and charge my phone enough. The subjects can be anything from Sabrina Carpenter’s album cover being “a disgrace to feminism” to Pedro Pascal’s arms. In a society that worships productivity, these discourses are neither productive nor provocative.
One of the latest internet discourses is how slowly Sarah Jessica Parker speaks (people noticed it when she was on the Call Her Daddy podcast). People complain that she takes too long and pauses too much. Apparently, that’s now a crime according to the court of TikTok. I wonder why people think it’s unacceptable. I wonder if people think.
It points to one thing: we’ve somehow lost our patience. We listen to podcasts on 2x speed, watch a movie recap instead of watching the very movie. Rushing and rushing. We scroll past anything that doesn’t hook us in the first five seconds. We consume everything in a rush. I am the worst culprit of all, and it’s time I had a word with myself.
Slowness, however (and not to sound too philosophical about it), is an act of defiance. In a world that rewards (prides itself on) being fast-paced, slowness is a politically charged act that defies the norm. Slowness can almost be seen as a criticism of the society we've set up. We're all expected to work quickly and then consume media quickly so we can get back to working. Slowness rebels against this.
Slowness asks us to pause, to think, to construct our thoughts rather than blurt them out. It is neither efficient nor profitable. But it might be more human.
TikToker @koliyanne points out that, for example, slowness has always been an act of defiance in cinema: the way a camera lingers, a gaze held for a beat too long, an unresolved silence. Even the quiet return of YouTube or the rise of “long-form content” or people flooding to mass reading parties might be a sign of something shifting. After years of watching our attention spans dance away on TikTok, we’re finally craving the stillness and slowness again.
It doesn’t serve the algorithm. But maybe it serves you.
It’s uncomfortable, though. It doesn’t signal productivity. It doesn’t fill the space. It doesn’t make you look like you’re winning. But maybe that’s the point – and maybe it’s time we’ve had a word with ourselves.
It’s not so easy, but I’m learning that not every pause is wasted time. Sometimes it’s the time you need to catch up – not with the world, but with yourself.