The Regretsy lifestyle
In case you’re unaware because of some recent cave-dwelling or general ignorance, there’s an amazing blog/site called Regresty. The fundamental concept of it is finding the horribly tacky shit that people are selling on Etsy and mocking it. It’s not an entirely new concept, of course, and mocking tacky shit is something that certainly predates any site on these here intorwebzes.
Yet I love Regretsy. I rarely look at Etsy and when I do, it’s mainly seeing if I can find anything so horrible as to be able to suggest it to Regretsy. I’m that sort of person. I will trawl through page after page not looking for something that I want, but something that defies all logic of human taste. It’s a variation on the glass being half empty.
I realize, though, that I live my entire life like this. I look at signs not for the content, but for a grocer’s apostrophes that might allow me to feel superior in my grasp of grammar and punctuation. I relish in photos of mangled has-been celebrities and their botched plastic surgeries. I enjoy seeing the boy racer cars with the ridiculous spoilers and body kits damaged by speed bumps and potholes. In my roster of most-read blogs, only a small percentage are read because they provide any semblance of quality content that’s at all interesting to me.
My whole outlook on life is a Regretsy lifestyle. By and large, I ignore the good stuff and focus in on the errors of judgement. It’s not just stupid things, though. Shows like Rude Tube, and its analogue predecessor America’s Funniest Home Videos, bore the shit out of me. Accidental slapstick is boring. A badly written blog is hilarious.
I think it comes down to intent. None of the many hours of nutsack smashing videos were intentional (well, I’m sure a few of them were… there’s a fetish for everything, you know), so there’s nothing comic about it. It lacks the tragedy. On the other hand, when somebody puts time and effort into something, only to have to end up being utter shit, that’s one of the funniest things around. The same goes for all those heart-wrenching documentaries about how somebody is really just a normal person, like everyone else, they just like to have sex with a building. I don’t watch those for some greater understanding of the human condition; I watch them, as most people must, because the person is a fucking loon and they think they’re normal and it’s fucking funny.
Does this make me a bad person? Probably.
It also makes me a perfectionist (to varying degrees). If I know there are people out there like me, who will jump on the slightest mistake and mock it for days, weeks, months, years, then of course I’m going to worry about fucking up. I can just imagine families gathering around to see how I’ve erred. It’s a lifestyle that, because I do it, forces me to be better.
Of course, it also makes me a bitch. I fully understand that I come off like a horrible person most of the time. Sometimes I pause before passing comment, thinking that it could be my chance to change my way of life. I could be a better person. I could change into somebody nice. I could be supportive of my fellow human beings and exude positivity. I could be good.
Then, without fail, something like this presents itself to me.