The Dull Women’s Club – the most exciting thing since men thought of it

It happens all the time on Facebook; if you linger too long over an image or post, the algorithm will serve the same content to you relentlessly. This was the case with the Dull Men’s Club, a public group with more than 1 million members that slowed my scrolling down when it popped up during the Christmas holidays.

The female unit: There’s never a dull moment in the Dull Women’s Club.Credit: Marija Ercecgovac, The Sydney Morning Herald

After the group piqued my interest, my feed turned into a steady stream of “safe excitement”. A post about a whiteboard being given away at work. Someone’s medium-sized coin collection. A detailed explanation of palynology, the identification and study of pollen grains.

The author, Clea Jones’ Facebook post to the Dull Women’s Club.Credit: Facebook

After a little research, I found the Dull Men’s Club website, which explains that the group “Celebrates the Ordinary”. It isn’t a movement – because dull men prefer to stay put. Oh, and their favourite colour is grey.

Then, a few days ago, joy of joys, a Dull Women’s Club surfaced in my feed. Formed in December, the group already had about 580,000 members the last time I looked. There is another “club” that goes by the same name, a private group with a skin-coloured bra as its cover image.

From the Dull Women’s Club Facebook page.Credit: Facebook

The first post I read was from Charlotte in Adelaide (Australia’s dullest city, according to her). She wrote: “I’ve had two major life events in the last 6 months. I bought a new mattress, one of those ones that comes in a box. I also switched to almond milk in my store-bought coffees.”

Dull women highlight achievements such as having the same job for 32 years, and they post blurry, make-up-free selfies. Charlotte delivers the groundbreaking statement: “My favourite day of the week is payday, my budget stays the same every week but I re-do it anyways.”

It’s so curiously uplifting.

In the age of influencer culture, when we are bombarded with curated images of small-waisted women with $300 lashes, giving a nod to mediocrity brings a much-needed chance to exhale. Life can’t all be about YOLO (you only live once, in case you didn’t know) and seizing the day. The day is hard to hold onto. And it costs too much.

The Dull trend is akin to the “F**k-It List”, a meme that has people gleefully declaring the things they will never do again. My list includes taking young children to the Sydney Easter Show, and allowing any other human to approach me with a tub of hot wax in their hands.

With the cost of living forcing outdoor adventures to be replaced with days in, and the number of influencers being exposed as the biggest hot messes of us all, I’m more than ready to embrace activities that aren’t worth posting about. A piece of sandwich bread, toasted with butter. An afternoon spent building LEGO, with absolutely nothing to show for it. Enjoying the sound my car indicator makes before I turn into my own driveway. These things are dull. But they make me happy.

I’m pushing as well for a Dull Children’s Club, to celebrate kids who spend their Saturday mornings cutting up pieces of paper for no reason. I’ll join, and post about my youngest child’s preference for a “nice quiet day”, his general disinterest in sport and the fact that we both had Weet-Bix for breakfast, just like we do every other day.

The pressure to do, create, achieve and experience while spending a small fortune every week on fuel, ingredients, products and admission tickets has left us tired and broke. It’s why the rise of Dull Clubs is actually the most exciting thing I’ve seen happen in a long time.

Clea Jones is a freelance writer who wears a size 9.5 shoe and makes decaf instant coffee at home.

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