Although I was born on the cusp of Gen Z, I identify with a lot of millennial stereotypes. I have social anxiety, a baby pink Away suitcase (totally worth the money, IMO), and I'm addicted to my phone. Recently I've fallen into another trope newly associated with my generation: I've become a plant mom.
I'm certainly not alone in this obsession. In 2016 more than 5 million millennials took up gardening for the first time, according to the National Gardening Survey. And in 2017 the number of 18- to 34-year-olds who bought plants reached an all-time high. Altogether, the gardening industry raked in a record $47.8 billion last year. It could be Instagram or a growing interest in our health as more studies are confirming the benefits of houseplants, but plants are now as much a millennial status symbol as Glossier and weighted blankets.
My journey started slow, a succulent here and there to make my college dorm feel more homey. When I moved into my first apartment, I adopted a tall leafy plant that I found on the street. In hindsight, this was probably a terrible idea, but what first-apartment decoration really ever is on point? Now in my current place, cacti and small palms line the windowsill in my living room. Flowers from Trader Joe's cover my kitchen table, bedroom, and living room. A bodega bamboo plant sits on my dresser among my collection of perfume bottles and vintage ashtrays, and a planter shaped like a young pope holds an ivy plant on the window by my bed.
With every big, waxy Monstera leaf or pint-size succulent that flickered across my feed, my inner green thumb ached.
Before I knew it, my house held almost as many plants as pairs of shoes, and I couldn’t pop into a bodega or Trader Joe's (two of my favorite spots for affordable plants) without leaving sans greenery. To be completely honest, the reason I first become a plant hoarder is the same (embarrassing) reason I make most of my decisions these days: Instagram. I follow more models and It Girls than people I know in real life, and it no longer felt like enough just to dress like them, I wanted to live like them too.
With every big, waxy Monstera leaf or pint-size succulent that flickered across my feed, my inner green thumb ached. I didn't even know I had one, in fact, until literally all I could think about were plants. How would a cactus look in that corner? Ooh, what about a palm over there? I wondered as I aimlessly scrolled away, designing in my head to try an emulate the apartments I lusted over online. For every selfie posted with a lush green leaf in the background, I picked up another bouquet in hopes that it would make me more like the person I wanted to be.
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