Sunday journalling prompt

What’s your cleaning style?

Scroll to the bottom for: US (Chautauqua) speaking dates • July’s True Stories Book Club

---

Earlier this week, I fell down an Instagram rabbit hole. It was not my usual vibe. The Reels that I tend to be served fall into a handful of stable categories: kittens (often falling asleep at unexpected moments); corvids doing clever things; cooking videos, predominantly offering recipes for clever ways with cauliflower (try as I might, I cannot transmit to Instagram that I’m obsessed with aubergines instead); garments that make my credit card pulsate (damn you, Instagram!); reptile content, which is Bert’s fault. 

In this instance, though, I was offered a video of a woman cleaning what was clearly an already spotless house. She wiped down kitchen cupboards and dusted the tops of shelves; in one frame, she appeared to be vacuuming her window panes. All the while she did it, she told us in a voiceover that she makes sure she fits in all these essential chores each week, and that we can too. She can help us. We, too, can have a spotless house. 

My first response was to want to smash things. As I scrolled down her feed, I couldn’t help but notice the absence of any man ever carrying out a single task in this clear-surfaced wasteland of hope. The whole thing was a meditation on the completely unnecessary, tedious practice of female labour, the self-abnegating perfectionism of middle aged women. It made me so furious that I couldn’t look away. 

Of course, I’ve now ruined my algorithm forever. 

But after a while, I began to get curious about my own response. What did it say about me that I was so incensed by the mere act of cleaning? What business of mine is it that a stranger wants to have a tidy house, and that other strangers want to learn from her? If this person says that cleaning gives her joy, then who am I to doubt her?

I began to suspect that my response said more about my own, very personal attitude to cleaning, than anything more universal - a mindset that I’ve deliberately adopted in order to make more space for writing than household maintenance. It entails a careful division of household labour that was negotiated long ago, a brilliant cleaner (I strongly believe we should be honest about these things), the occasional blitz, and the turning of many, many blind eyes. It makes my mother wince, but it works for me. It’s all about priorities. 

So this week, I thought we might delve into our own, very personal, cleaning styles.