quit ogling at words on a page and start fucking reading

i don't think self-proclaimed "thought daughters" actually have a single original thought floating anywhere in their minds

i am angry. impotent, even. it seems as though too many people these days value the label and aesthetic of being a reader more than the actual reading itself.

take this girl i know, for instance, who dedicates her entire personality to being a “reader.” she enjoys going on three-minute-long tirades about the newest book she’s bought and takes pride in reading the largest amount of words in the shortest amount of time. “finished this 600k word book in two hours! on to the next! can’t wait!” though most people would take a moment to be impressed and move on, i can’t shake this feeling that if i were to ask her what she thought of the book—what she gained—i’d be met with nothing more than surface-level commentary on the characters, their actions, and their drama. so, i ask myself, “what the hell is the point of reading all these books if your only commentary on them is that you read it?” the answer appeared to me as quickly as it came: reading is in. reading is chic. “thought daughters” are the new it-girls. by the time reading is lame again, their books will begin to collect dust and be a memory of another trend passing us by.

when the thought daughter, joan-didion-loving, pinterest-board-obsessed archetype first appeared on my feeds, i thought it was a great opportunity for people, especially young women, to get into literature. reading is a wonderful hobby, and in this economy, a necessary weapon to carry in your holster. it is unfortunate to say i couldn’t have been more wrong. with the appearance of thought daughters came the uprise of people who turned reading into a commodity. a currency. the more books you read, the more well-read you seem, the cooler you become. which would be true if these people were actually well-read. NEWS FLASH! being an intellectual has never been about quantity of the books you’ve read. reading a bunch of books and never thinking about them afterward does not make you well-read. it makes you a fool that emptily stares at words on paper. if you read just to read, congratulations! you’ve just accomplished about as much as someone who doomscrolled on instagram reels for an hour. at least doomscrollers (more often than not) can admit they haven’t gained anything from scrolling.

books are the physical embodiment of the human experience. they are not just the author’s thoughts and feelings, but a way for the author to solidify these thoughts and feelings—their experiences—into time. books have meaning. their words carry weight that goes far beyond the bounds of the pages. if your thoughts after reading a book are limited to these bounds, you have missed the point entirely. books are supposed to make you think and feel. if you think it was a bad book, why? did it spark an emotional reaction within you? why? do you think the author meant to do that? why? why not? with every book, fiction or nonfiction, there should always be questions to ask and thoughts to ponder—there is no such thing as reading just to read. otherwise, why would the author take the time to write the book? why would you have taken the time to read it? you might as well have scrolled on tiktok where your brain can really be empty (with zero effort!).

we are meant to spend quality time with books. books are a conversation between an author and a reader, and oftentimes, we must read a book more than once to really take everything in. and the beauty of books is that you can respond to what the author is saying and interact with them. dog-earring a page is like telling the author, “hey, this was a really memorable page” and annotations act as your own responses and additions to the conversation. if it’s a good book, you’ll find yourself thinking back to it time and time again, the same way you would think about a conversation you once had ages ago while you’re taking a shower. and by no means does this have to be an “intellectual” or difficult read like dostoevsky or foucault. in times i am in a slump or feeling unmotivated, i reread “The Little Prince.” a children’s book. a book that discusses life and makes me want to create with the same endless wonder i had as a child.

so, no, you are not a thought daughter solely because you’ve read “My Year of Rest and Relaxation.” no, you are not a thought daughter because you dropped $300 at barnes & noble on the latest booktok recommendations. and no, you are certainly not a thought daughter because you have a pinterest board titled “literature” that consists of corny quotes and aesthetic photos of bookshelves. you wanna be a thought daughter? stop trying to adhere to the aesthetic of one and start doing some actual thinking.

my point is, i am really sick of performative readers. they take the meaning out of reading and throw it out the window to appease a superficial label that will be forgotten in a few months time. and please don’t bother going into the comments spewing some “intellectual-elitism” bullshit at me. i am not being elitist or exclusive. if you’re able to read this rant of mine, you’re able to pick up a book. go to the library.