Why Boredom Is Sexy: The Return of the Slow Burn in Literature, Life, and the Art of Doing Absolutely Nothing

 

It’s Wednesday, and somehow it already feels like the end of a very long week. Honestly, it’s felt like a long year, and it’s only May. I’m not just tired. I’m exhausted. Mentally toasted. Running on fumes. Scrolling myself numb while nursing an overpriced espresso in a minimalist café that smells faintly of sandalwood and ambition.

And if we’re being honest, isn’t that most of us?

Still, something interesting is happening beneath the noise. Not a protest exactly, not a manifesto, but a shift. A quiet rebellion. It’s unfolding in the margins of novels, in the pauses at dinner tables, in the space between one message and the next. The age of constant stimulation may have peaked. The slow burn is making a comeback.

You can see it if you look past the five-second reels and the algorithmic panic. It’s there, smoldering.

Boredom, that thing we were trained to outrun, is back. And strangely enough, it’s never looked better.

The Art of the Long Game

In literature, the slow burn is having a real moment. Not the kind that explodes into drama three chapters in. I’m talking about tension that stretches. Romance that unfolds gradually. Plots that take their time. Stories that trust the reader enough to linger.

We’ve grown tired of instant chemistry and tidy resolutions. We want friction. We want layered characters and conversations that crackle before they combust. Think of the ache in Normal People. The quiet unraveling of Conversations with Friends. The dreamy dislocation of a Murakami novel, all jazz bars and lonely souls and the occasional mysterious cat.

The beauty of the slow burn is that it asks something of you. Patience. Attention. Willingness to wait. In a world where everything arrives with a tap, choosing to linger feels almost radical.

Waiting has become a luxury.

Boredom Is the New Black

Philosophers and psychologists have been trying to redeem boredom for years. Some call it the birthplace of creativity. Others say it reveals who we are when the noise falls away. Social media slaps a filter on it and calls it a mood.

But strip away the spin, and boredom is simple. 

It asks you to sit still. No notifications. No endless stream of other people’s lives. Just your own thoughts, wandering wherever they please.

For me, it often happens in Paris. Late afternoon in the Sixth. A café with indifferent service and chairs that wobble just enough to be annoying. I sit by the Seine and let my mind drift. I don’t chase ideas. I let them find me.

And they do. Stories surface. Characters start talking. A sentence takes shape and then another. Given enough time, something begins to ferment. The mind needs space, the way dough needs air. Leave it alone, and it rises.

Slow Is the New Bold

This shift isn’t limited to books or daydreams. It’s seeping into how we live. Not as an aesthetic trend, but as a quiet refusal.

More people are stepping off the treadmill. Some leave glossy job titles behind for work that feels tangible. Others choose smaller apartments, longer dinners, and weekends without plans. They swap FOMO for JOMO and stop apologizing for it. While someone else is optimizing their morning routine, another person is rereading Proust in bed with no intention of being productive.

Slowness isn’t laziness. It’s discernment. It’s choosing depth over speed, substance over spectacle. It’s romantic in the truest sense, not sentimental but deliberate.

So What’s the Point?

Maybe it’s this.

Rush is losing its shine. Reflection is coming back into style.
Boredom isn’t a flaw in the system. It’s a feature.
Stories that make you wait tend to stay with you longer.
Slowness isn’t failure. It’s a choice.

And patience, in its own quiet way, is powerful.

The next time you find yourself with nothing to do, resist the reflex to fill the silence. Let it stretch. Pick up a book. Open a notebook. Or just sit there and see what surfaces.

Let the moment warm slowly. Let it simmer.

I, for one, am looking forward to a weekend with very little on the agenda. A little bored. A little restless. And completely unhurried.