For most of this year, I’ve felt like the world was pressing down on me with the weight of a thousand headlines. Climate crisis, genocide, global inflation, forced starvation, AI disruption, collapsing democracies, and Jonathan LaPaglia being dumped from Australian Survivor. Sure, we can put our phones down, but they’re always there, buzzing like demons in our pockets. It’s hard to find joy amid polycrisis. It’s harder still to be silly.

But lately, I’ve been thinking about silliness. Not irony or sarcasm. Not memes as a coping mechanism. I’m talking about honest-to-goodness, squealing-with-laughter, flop-on-the-floor silliness. The kind that kids embody effortlessly, before their self-consciousness hardens like a shell. Before they’re taught that silliness is something to be outgrown.

I was lucky enough to grow up in a supremely silly household. I recall being locked in a vicious pillow war with my sister. Mum walked in just as I landed a killer blow. Feathers filled the air. My sister froze mid-return as we both stared at Mum, who was generally allergic to mess. We braced for the inevitable, then Mum launched a pillow at my face and, suddenly, it was a three-way battle.

When I turned 19, Mum gave me a plastic milk bottle with the same use-by date as my birthday. She once re-wrapped the same book she’d bought Dad the previous Christmas and waited until he opened it and performed the role of thrilled receiver – before breaking the news that she’d already given him a year to start.

But Mum wasn’t the sole source of silliness. Dad never blinked when required to play Pretty Pretty Princess. For the unfamiliar: it’s a board game where you collect plastic jewellery – earrings, necklace, bracelet – until someone ultimately wins the tiara. My father, a grown man with a moustache and ’90s leather briefcase, would sit cross-legged on the floor, modelling each piece like a Disney princess in a fever dream. He committed.

Kids understand that play is serious business. Pretending to be a unicorn or insisting the floor is lava isn’t a distraction from reality, it’s a way of shaping it. Adults, on the other hand, have internalised the lie that dignity is incompatible with absurdity. That being taken seriously means taking everything seriously. Often it is only in the presence of children that adults feel permission to return to silliness.

My father, a grown man with a moustache and ’90s leather briefcase, would sit cross-legged on the floor, modelling each piece like a Disney princess.

JAMILA RIZVI

As a parent, I try to lean into silly. Occasionally, I succeed. Last year, we took a trip to Port Douglas with extended family and friends, including my mother, my mate Nicole and her son. It was a gloriously lazy holiday. Most days we moved between the pool, and the best food near the pool. The only exception was our evening stroll for ice-cream, which became increasingly controversial as the holiday went on.

There were three ice-cream joints on the main street, but only two mattered, and they formed the battleground for a fierce feud between the kids. Nicole’s son and mine took opposing sides. There was no room for compromise.

By week’s end, they were trading barbs, lobbying the adults for support, even trying to sway my four-month-old nephew. We had to split into groups to avoid two long queues. Eventually, I decided to respond not with mediation, but escalation. I drove to both ice-cream shops and bought one scoop of every flavour. After a sweaty walk to the supermarket for supplies, I set up a full-scale tasting competition with numbered spoons and blindfolds, plus a voting chart covering taste and texture.

Was it ridiculous? Absolutely. Logistically unsound? Yes. Extravagant and unnecessary? Without question. Were the kids truly locked in a ruthless battle of wills? Not really. In fact, I made up that story to save face because the confrontation was actually between two adult women: Nicole and – you can’t tell me you’re surprised – my mother.

But also? It was perfect. Because silly is not the opposite of smart. Silliness is one of the sanest choices we can make. Playfulness and creativity aren’t frivolous extras; they’re core components of resilience. Silliness won’t solve global catastrophe. But it can be a balm. In a world that profits from our anxiety, choosing play is quietly radical.

So, here’s my humble plea: be silly. Dance like your knees don’t crack. Sing in the car with the windows down. Throw the pillow. Wear the tiara. Yes, the world is on fire. But we’re still here. And we can either spend our days pretending we’re not afraid – or run into the chaos with a feather boa and a kazoo. I know which one I choose.

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