Why I Detest Scrapbooking
I recently made a scrapbook as a gift for a friend. I know, it caught me by surprise, too. I'm not the crafty type. I'm more the "Doesn't Snapfish do that kind of shit for you?" type. Frankly, my time is worth so much more to me than what I would usually invest in photo album/binder chock full of goofy photos, ticket stubs, predesigned borders and fluff. But my friend was worth it. I knew she would treasure the gift and I knew, right or wrong, that she would value it even more if I made it myself instead of simply uploading the photos to Snapfish and basically dialing the thing. Because I knew literally nothing about scrapbooking, I consulted a friend who is crazy into scrapbooking. I don't mean a little enthusiastic about it. I mean dingo-ate-my-baby crazy. She has an entire room devoted to chronicling her family's every life event, achievement, holiday and fart. There are spools of ribbon, reams of decorative paper sorted by color, theme and pattern, an entire table devoted to cutting implements and a glue gun that could be used to build a house. When I first approached Beth and said I wanted her to help me scrapbook, she nearly expired from the bliss. She grasped my hands and said, "By the time we're done with this, you'll love scrapbooking. You'll be addicted to it!" Like any religious zealot, she was sure that I would be a convert. I was equally sure she was wrong. For the record, I was right. Try and Try Again I tried. God knows I tried. The hubby knows I tried. Even the recipient of the finished product knows I tried. I spent hours each evening over the course of several weeks trying to put together colorful collages that incorporated photos, mementoes and cutesy little charms and talismans from the crafting store. I sweated over layouts as though it were a fashion magazine. I used scissors that created geometric borders. I agonized over proper fonts. And Every. Single. Minute. Was. Painful. I am not crafty. Creating collages and balancing color don't come naturally to me, so I secondguessed every item on each page. I felt like I was being held hostage by my desire to give my friend a truly original gift that would remind her fondly of our weekend getaway every time she flipped open the cover. When I was done, I boxed it up, mailed it to her and waited with baited breath to see how she liked it. I was not disappointed. She was enraptured. She called me on the phone and discussed at length what she liked about each page. I felt guilty that the process of making it had been such a chore, so I analyzed my aversion to the Art of Scrapbooking and came up with a few good reasons Why. I. Hate. Scrapbooking. (Please don't send hate mail because I hate scrapbooking. I also hate sushi and techno-punk. I know many perfectly lovely people who are scrapbookers. I admire their dedication to their craft but I do not understand why they do it. It's me, not you. Let's agree to disagree on this and remain friends or at least continue to exchange cat memes.) Scrapbooking Pounds Memories Into Submission The very act of creating a scrapbook is basically a way to forcibly capture and structure the memories of what was a spontaneous experience, moment of joy or celebration. Why do we have to take the photographs and bind them up in ribbons, colored paper, glitter and other detritus? If the memory is important, a few photos will jog my memory. The rest is just trappings. And every layer of glue, glitter and gunk that is spilled across the page necessarily changes the memory. Scrapbooking rewrites the
event according to the scrapbooker. I prefer the softer edges that time gives to my memories. I want to recall them, turn them over in my mind and compare the story with others who shared the moment. Reducing it to an art project puts it in sharp relief, but that's a historical document, not a memory. Scrapbooking Is More About the Scrapbooker and Less About the Event My scrapbooking friend loves working on each scrapbook she creates. She makes them for her children, family members, friends and just about anyone she has a bond with. Bless her heart, she can't seem to stop. She soaks up the validation she gets from creating beautiful, artistic scrapbooks. But she invests so much of herself in them and spends so much time designing them; they are more a reflection of herself than of whatever event she is recording. They reflect her style, her color preferences, her artistic ability‌.the memories get lost in the details. Recipients ooh and aah over the scrapbook's workmanship, not the memories. Scrapbooking Creates A Sense of Obligation I can cop to understanding that having a scrapbook that chronicles a child's grade school years might be nice. Maybe a page or two for each grade, so you'd have one scrapbook by the time he moves on to junior high. But so many scrap bookers revel in excess. My friend actually has floor to ceiling bookcases that hold scrapbooks of literally every holiday and milestone in her family's life. A scrapbook for every year of school, every holiday (including St. Patrick's Day and Groundhog Dog. WTF? Groundhog's Day?), every dance recital, soccer game, play date‌.you get the idea. Beth tells me that when her children are older, she will give them their scrapbooks. What a burden! I'm pretty sure they will be sweating bullets wondering where the hell they are going to put the dozens of three ring binders she's prepared for them over the years. That first apartment out of college won't have built-ins for displaying their mother's creations, but they'll feel obligated to display these labors of misguided love. It will suck the joy right out of them and I'm pretty sure their friends will mock them while saying a prayer to the Gods of memory that their own Mom just gave them a shoebox of Polaroids. Scrapbooking Takes You Outside the Moment I've been to birthday parties, christenings and other milestone events with Beth's family. She spends an inordinate amount of her time running around with her camera, posing people, trying to get the perfect "candid" shot and imagining how it will all work out in her next creation. She is so busy making sure she gets the details right that she misses the event. She is outside the moment, never fully participating in the celebration because she's already thinking about how she'll capture it for posterity once she gets back home. I'm sure her kids would rather she play "Apples to Apples" with them instead of taking endless pictures of them playing. Being in the moment is so much better than recording it. So I'll stick with my thoroughly average looking photographs taken on my camera phone. Just like those grainy old black & white photos of my grandparents and parents when they were young, my photos aren't perfect or artistic. But those imperfect, faded pictures evoke a rush of memories and "remember whens" every time they are brought out of that old shoebox and passed around the table. And that scrapbook I so painstakingly put together? My friend and I have flipped through it once or twice, but we get to talking and it ends up shoved aside as we recreate our memories through conversation and laughter. No scrapbook required.