This is the story of a pinteresting discovery gone bad.
May 12, 2011
I came across this picture today and it instantly appealed to me. It was one of the first things to catch my eye on a website I just recently became acquainted with called Pinterest.
Pinterest is all about viewing and sharing photographs. The nice thing is we’re not talking about endless streams of family vacation photos. The pictures on this site are things you want to see: gorgeous destinations and people, beautiful homes, delicious concoctions and confections, cool gadgets, quirky crafts. In short, it’s stuff you look at and say one or more of the following: “love that, cool, oooo! Shiny!”
Users of the site do something called “pinning.” It’s like a virtual corkboard. Like Twitter, you follow other users or boards that appeal to your sensibilities whatever they are. You create an account and then just browse…”repinning” things you find particularly cool on your own board or you can just browse the pictures without creating your own collection. It makes for a really wonderful distraction in the midst of what can often be very hectic days.
***UPDATE*** Okay, so I first discovered Pinterest last May and as you clearly read, was a big fan. But then, I started to lose interest in Pinterest. Now, suddenly it’s on the scene in a big way and so I thought I’d check it out again. The problem? I can’t and it’s been needling the hell out of me for the better part of the last week.
Pinterest is like a secret society. You need an invite. You need a password. I had all of those things, but damned if I can remember what the hell my password is. Sure, I could log on with Facebook, but I changed that password, so according to Pinterest, I don’t exist. This, despite the fact that they bomb my inbox daily with updates on photos of mine that have been “pinned” and “repinned,” they tell me of new followers and suggest I follow them back, but PSYCH! I can’t.
If this was a pinboard, this whole situation would be titled “futility” and be filled with pictures of things like women trying to get men to talk about their feelings or raking leaves under a tornado watch. I can’t crack the code and so, despite myself, I requested another invite. Ugh. I hate myself.
Pinterest. They really like to stick it to you.