Why Everyone Suddenly Wants to ‘Touch Grass’ (And Why I’m Still Inside)

By Ken Hollow, Professional Indoorsman & Existential Botanophobe

There’s a phrase echoing through the cursed halls of the internet lately:

“Go touch grass.”

It used to be a petty insult. Now it’s practically a wellness doctrine. Influencers are out here sipping moss smoothies in hammocks and posting sunrise photos captioned “healing.” Meanwhile, I’m still under a weighted blanket, doomscrolling with blue-light glasses on, wondering if I missed the exit ramp to enlightenment.

Let’s talk about this sudden, leafy obsession with digital detoxing, and why I, despite every headline telling me to log off, still haven’t made direct contact with chlorophyll.

The Rise of the Grass Cult

In 2025, “touch grass” evolved from internet shade into a movement. It now lives alongside phrases like “romanticize your life,” “dopamine detox,” and “nature is the original Wi-Fi.”

I would like to go on record and say that nature has never once returned my DMs. And I suspect its router is powered by spite.

But I get it—social media burnout is real. We’re all perpetually online, emotionally overclocked, and spiritually fried like a TikTok breakfast wrap. And so, we yearn for the thing that allegedly cures it: going outside. Sitting in silence. Being unreachable. Touching the damn grass.

Somehow, this turned into a whole aesthetic.

There are Pinterest boards dedicated to “forest bathing.” Instagram reels of barefoot morning meditations. Full-on TikToks of people quitting their jobs to live in vans and wash their armpits in glacier runoff.

You know. Healing.

I Tried Touching Grass Once

It was 2009. I got a rash.

Okay, fine—I tried again last week. I figured I needed content for this post. So I put on pants (heroic), walked to the nearby park (a field with judgmental geese), and sat on the grass for a full six minutes.

Here’s what happened:

• An ant crawled into my sock.
• A man jogged by and side-eyed my iced coffee.
• I realized I forgot to turn off Slack notifications.

By minute seven, I was back inside.

It wasn’t spiritual. It was itchy.

Burnout, But Make It Photosynthetic

The push toward digital detoxing stems from a very real place. Creator burnout is no longer a warning sign; it’s the default setting. We’re all expected to be:

• Online 24/7
• Funny but authentic
• Educated but not arrogant
• Relatable but aspirational
• Emotionally vulnerable but brand-safe

And all of that before breakfast.

So the grass-cult logic goes: unplug. Step away. Find peace.

But here’s the rub: creators aren’t just addicted to the internet. We’re economically entangled with it. I can’t exactly go off-grid when I’m contractually obligated to post three memes, two reels, and a blog post about why oat milk is gaslighting me.

If I vanish into the woods, who’s going to keep Nana Vix from tweeting slander about me?

I Don’t Hate Nature (I’m Just Scared of It)

Look, I want to like the outdoors. I really do. Nature sounds amazing in theory.

But in practice? I am a soft, pasty content goblin with no survival instincts. I require:

• Outlets
• Climate control
• A toilet that doesn’t involve squatting over a hole with beetles in it

If the outside world had Ctrl+Z, maybe I’d consider a deeper connection.

The Myth of Nature as a Cure-All

The problem with the “just go outside” mentality is that it treats mental health like it’s a settings menu you can reset with fresh air and a tree.

But burnout isn’t solved by sitting in a meadow for twenty minutes and taking a deep breath. Especially when half your brain is still wondering how your last reel performed and whether you replied to that brand email.

Also, have you tried meditating in public? It’s basically an invitation for someone to ask if you’re okay.

My Digital Identity Has Roots (And They’re in My Router)

Part of the reason I can’t fully commit to digital detoxing is because I genuinely like being online. The internet is where I built a voice, a career, and a mildly parasocial relationship with several VTubers.

It’s not just an addiction. It’s a coping mechanism. A playground. A battlefield. And yes, occasionally, a cesspool.

But even the most well-meaning advice about logging off sometimes ignores the fact that for many of us, being online is the only place we’ve ever felt seen.

So yeah. Grass is nice. But I’m still inside.

How I Actually Detox (Kinda)

If you’re wondering how someone like me manages their sanity without forest picnics or barefoot sunrise yoga, here’s my personal digital detox plan:

• Mute every group chat after 8 PM
• Set Slack to “Away” and never come back
• Switch my wallpaper to a forest and pretend
• Watch nature documentaries on mute while scrolling Twitter
• Journal once a month and forget about it immediately

Is it healthy? Unclear. Is it working? Debatable. Is it realistic? Tragically, yes.

Final Thoughts From the Indoors

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to escape. The pressure to always be visible, valuable, and on is exhausting. And yes, taking a walk or touching a leaf or watching the sun do its thing can be healing.

But healing doesn’t have to look like a Pinterest board.

You can be burnt out and still laugh. Still make things. Still sit at your desk in stretchy pants and write sarcastic blog posts while pretending you aren’t 96% caffeine and unresolved stress.

So to everyone out there posting their grass selfies and detox reels: I’m happy for you.

But I’ll be here. By the outlet. Thinking about you. With SPF 50.

Ken Hollow is a daily blogger, professional gremlin, and AI fox babysitter. He hasn’t touched grass in weeks, but he has strong opinions about succulents.