HOLLY WAINWRIGHT: 'Please, Meg and Pammy, don't make gardening "chic."'

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"Why are you on social media dressed like that?"

My friend is on the phone. Serious voice.

"It's not okay."

She's referring to this:

Help! Image: Supplied.

And, specifically, what's going on under that:

"Not very Meghan." Image: Supplied.

"You don't look like Meghan Markle. Stop it."

My friend has a point. I had been on Instagram, asking for advice about what kind of plant I should grow up an ugly fence. Passionfruit vine, was the overwhelming response. And horror, from my friend.

I can see that this look is problematic, sartorially. It was a Saturday morning. I'm wearing an apron with big saggy pockets. And Birkenstocks (not even a safety choice, with those open toes). And ancient three-quarter gym leggings, and a hat that I undoubtedly got for free-ish somewhere. No make-up.

My friend also nailed that I do not look like Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, whose gardening fashion, on her TV show, With Love, Meghan, is extremely shoppable:

Those white pants are giving away your game, Meg. Image: Netflix.

Or Pamela Anderson, who has an (actually very good) cooking show on Binge shot at her actual farm on Vancouver Island and apparently gets around the garden like this:

White tee plus cream apron in the garden feels like… a bad idea? Image: Hulu.

And this:

Just casual, you know? Image: BHG.

Safe to say, there is game to be lifted here, on my part. White linen game, French clog game. But in my defence, both these women are wearing aprons, too.

I'm delighted that Meg and Pammy are all about the pleasures of gardening, but the way it's being presented in their shows and their promos makes me a little itchy.

Just the previous week, I had watched Roxy Jacenko plant out a raised herb garden wearing only a red bikini. On Instagram, not at her house.

And I'm not the Boss Of Gardening, but I got quite cranky.

You can feel the wave of aspirational gardening content building and cresting. And although that's not new, and things in gardens lend themselves perfectly to aesthetic pleasure — plants are beautiful, trees are beautiful, flowers are beautiful — the people in the gardens, often, are not. Not in the way social media means, anyway. It's muddy out there. There's literal s**t to spread. Attacking insects and rodents to fend off. There's sweat, lots of it, and smells, from you and the rotting compost. Everything's covered in a fine film of dirt.

And, let's be honest, in general, hot, young, beautiful people have better things to do. Or at least, they think they do.

Watch: Holly speaks to Amanda Keller on MID. Post continues below.

Talking about why gardening is wonderful makes you sound like a wanker. I had never touched soil until three summers ago, so I carry all the evangelism of a recent convert, sending my wanker-factor sky-high. But here goes.

The reason gardening does not need to be chic, glamorous or sexy is that the true benefits of gardening are invisible. Not the fruits of it, obviously. In whatever little or big garden or bed or window box you're working in, you're likely in a process of beautification and production. Those things are tangible, and satisfying. But the real pleasures are, as the cliche goes, on the inside.

The calm, for me, found in focusing on a specific task with clear parameters. Weed this patch. Tumble this compost. Prune this tree. Plant these seeds. It's as close to meditation as I've made it, so far.

The connection, to weather and seasons and water and wind.

The perspective, of being reminded all the time that nature's in charge, no matter how well-laid your plans.

The rest, true active rest, of losing yourself in activity that needs your mind and your body, but not urgently.

The thrill, of seeing nothing turn into something, turn into a cucumber in the perfect shape of an apostrophe.

Cute-cumber! Image: Supplied.

The synergy, of learning what things go together and which should be kept apart. Why you want to repel these insects, for example, but encourage others.

See, I am a wanker. I used the word synergy. We're done here. But you get it. You can't see any of those things, but they're everything.

Gardening makes me happy. And I am very rarely happy when I am watching myself from the outside, and worrying about what I look like, what I'm wearing. Particularly as what I look like is a less-dependable concern it used to be.

Don't we all need a few spaces in our lives where we feel unobserved? For some it's exercise, the feeling of really being in your body, right before you're sold on the idea that you have to look hot at the gym, too. Or parenting, throwing yourself into the joy of talking about trucks and farts with a small person you love beyond measure. Until you're encouraged to consider whether you're a MILF, a hot mum, or a hot mess.

We need our pure, private, sometimes smelly pleasures. A reprieve from the constant insistence of hotness. Where it doesn't matter if our gardening clogs came from Paris, or whether our hat was a tip-in with a bargain bag of mulch from a big-box store, or whether we can (sorry, Pammy), still keep whites white while harvesting giant green vegetables. Where the question of whether or not we're "hot" is entirely irrelevant.

I'm not the gatekeeper of gardening, but I'm here to fly the flag for it staying daggy, accessible and stinky.

Fair enough, you say, but didn't you post about it on social media, turning your private, spiritual pleasure into an observed performance for an audience?

Well, yes, I did. Because I really need advice about what the hell to grow up my ugly fence.

Passionfruit, apparently.

Another thing.

Friends, I have a book coming out in late April. It's not about gardening. It's about five families who go camping together every year, and how one of the husbands might just be a truly terrible human.

It took me a long time to write it. I've tried to torture a garden metaphor about it before, about blank pages and things growing, but you don't need it. Suffice to say, it's been a lot, and I'm very proud of it.

He Would Never is available for pre-order, now. And my other novels are all available to buy at Booktopia or whichever actual bookshop you support to buy your books.

And one more.

If you're into this kind of thing, please listen to MID and Mamamia Out Loud, two podcasts that I'm on that are very different but both discoverable on the Mamamia network or wherever you get your pods.

And also, I wrote this this week about that pool moment at the White Lotus. You might see yourself in it. x

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Feature image: Supplied; Netflix; Hulu.