There is nothing wrong with turning something you love into a side hustle, posting your progress online, or taking your hobbies seriously. In fact, it is pretty cool when something you enjoy becomes something bigger. But somewhere along the way, we started feeling like a hobby needs to be useful to count.
When was the last time you did something for absolutely no reason? Not for your résumé, not for an internship, not for a grade, and definitely not because someone told you it would “look good.” Just because you enjoyed it.
Somewhere along the way, hobbies got promoted to unpaid internships. Photography is now a portfolio. Running is a marathon training plan. Art is an Instagram page. Writing is a Substack, and reading apparently needs a Goodreads goal so we can prove we read 17 books this year instead of, you know, just reading.
Even relaxing has become suspiciously productive. We watch a movie and call it “taking a break before getting back to work.” We go for a walk and track our steps. We pick up a new hobby and, within five minutes, are wondering whether we should turn it into a skill, a certificate, or a business.
This is especially ridiculous at university, where everyone seems to have three internships, four leadership positions, and a hobby that somehow demonstrates “initiative.” You mention that you like painting and someone asks whether you sell your work. You say you play badminton and suddenly you are being asked about competitions. Apparently “I just like badminton” is no longer a complete answer.
We have become so used to measuring whether our time is useful that doing something useless can feel vaguely irresponsible. An hour spent learning guitar feels productive only if you might perform one day. Watching five episodes of a show feels guilty unless you call it a “mental health break.” God forbid you spend an entire Sunday in bed binge watching Netflix with no intention of categorising it.
The funny thing is that being bad at something used to be part of the fun. You could pick up a hobby, be terrible at it, improve a little, get bored, abandon it for six months and come back when you feel like it. There was no need for a five-year plan.
Hobbies are supposed to be one of the few parts of life where nobody is keeping score. You do not need to be good at them. You do not need to post them. You do not need to put them on LinkedIn. You certainly do not need to explain how they have “enhanced your transferable skills.”
Maybe we should let some things be gloriously pointless again. Not everything needs to make us smarter, fitter, richer, or more employable. Sometimes the best use of your free time is doing something slightly ridiculous purely because it makes you happy.
And yes, that counts as a hobby!
By Rhea Jain
