Why Pleasure Is Not Frivolous Right Now

by Aaliyah Smith

@themiseducationofliyah

After a long week of classes, I sit in my room and let the noise hum in the background. My Alexa is lighting up with headlines. My phone won’t stop buzzing. I scroll for a little too long. It feels like everything is happening all at once, all the time.

And I decide I want ice cream. I have a sweet tooth, I can’t help myself. So I walk to the Whole Foods near my campus.

If you really love ice cream, you know it’s not random. It’s based on mood. Sometimes I want something sugary and loud, like a birthday cake flavor, sprinkles, all of it. Sometimes I want something subtle, almost floral. Something that feels like exhaling.

I passed the store brand. I pass Ben & Jerry’s (which I do love), and I go straight to Jeni’s.

Specifically, Wildberry Lavender.

It’s $9.19 for a pint. A pint. Which means I could finish it in one night if I really wanted to. With tax, it’s basically ten dollars. Ten dollars for ice cream.

And I don’t justify it.

I don’t stand there calculating what else I could do with that money. I don’t guilt myself about being a college student. I don’t turn it into a moral debate. I just pick it up and put it in my basket.

Because sometimes there’s a particular kind of guilt that creeps in when you allow yourself joy during heavy seasons. Like you’re supposed to be more serious. More restrained. More disciplined. But I’m learning that guilt is optional.

wildberry lavender…my goat…(cr. Jeni’s)

I go to school in D.C., which means the air always feels a little charged.

You can feel the proximity to power here. It’s in the protests that pass by campus. It’s in the conversations overheard at coffee shops. It’s in the way the news doesn’t feel abstract, but close, immediate.

And I love seeing people mobilize. I love seeing community show up for itself. That kind of collective care is powerful. But there’s also a constant awareness. A sense that something is always shifting.

Even if you don’t live in D.C., you probably know that shift.

Maybe it’s stricter laws where you’re from.
Maybe it’s not feeling safe in your neighborhood.
Maybe it’s tension in your household.
Maybe it’s instability in your friend group.

The details may vary, but the feeling doesn’t. 


And then we add our phones to the mix.

We scroll before we brush our teeth. We scroll before bed. We scroll in between classes. It’s not just doomscrolling anymore. Sometimes it feels like doom-living, carrying this low-level awareness that something, somewhere, is always on fire.

When you live close to the center of things, the noise feels louder. But even when you don’t, the noise still finds you.


And somewhere in all of that, joy starts to feel suspicious.

We start bracing for disappointment. We pull back from pleasure like it’s reckless. We hesitate before buying the ice cream, the matcha, the candle. We tell ourselves to be more serious. More disciplined. More aware. Pleasure starts to feel irresponsible, selfish, tone-deaf even. Like, we don’t deserve things that bring us happiness because the world feels tense. 

But at some point, I started wondering if pulling away from joy wasn’t a responsibility but depletion.

There’s an inner voice that shows up right when you’re about to make a small purchase. It sounds rational, almost mature. It reminds you that you should be saving money, that you have bigger things to worry about, that there are more serious matters than a ten-dollar matcha or a pint of ice cream. Sometimes it goes further and asks if the choice is shallow. If it’s indulgent. If it’s a little too self-focused for a world that feels like it’s constantly demanding your attention.


On the surface, that voice feels disciplined and aware. But sometimes it’s just fear dressed up as responsibility.


Because pleasure does not automatically equal apathy. Choosing comfort does not mean you are ignorant. And allowing yourself small luxuries (even unnecessary ones)  does not make you morally careless. In many cases, those choices are simply forms of self-regulation. They are small, intentional ways of creating steadiness when everything around you feels unpredictable.

We cannot show up fully for our communities, our classrooms, our families, or even our own goals if we are constantly operating from depletion. Denying yourself every form of joy does not make you more informed or more serious. It just makes you tired.

This is the part where I think you (yes, you reading this) need to consider your own non-negotiable.

Not a wishlist. Not a five-step self-care routine. Just one thing.

One thing you will choose for yourself, even when the week is heavy. One thing that brings you joy simply because it does. No productivity attached. No moral justification required.

For me, it’s that $9.19 pint of Jeni’s Wildberry Lavender. That’s my non-negotiable. I don’t debate it. I don’t downgrade it. I don’t wait until I “earn” it. If I want it, I get it.

But everyone’s version looks different.

I once watched a woman review an Aesop hand soap, the one that costs forty dollars and makes people raise an eyebrow. And instead of critiquing it through a “that’s ridiculous” lens, she talked about it through a pleasure lens. About how washing her hands felt elevated. Intentional. How scent can shift a mood. How something small can make a daily ritual feel less mechanical and more lived-in.

Not everyone will buy the forty-dollar soap. Some people upgrade from the store brand to Mrs. Meyer’s because the scents are softer and their hands feel better after (and I will tell you, it is that good). And that choice becomes its own kind of care.

That’s what I mean by non-negotiable. Not extravagance or putting yourself in debt, just intention.

I think about Carrie Bradshaw a lot when I talk about this. Throughout Sex and the City, she always had the shoes. Vintage, designer, impractical, beautiful. She probably couldn’t “logically” afford half of them, but when she walked in her Manolos, she felt like herself. Alive. Certain. That mattered to her.

For someone else, it might be perfume,  a scent you save for a new season because it makes you feel like a new version of yourself. Maybe it’s a lip balm that costs more than it needs to, but you love the texture. Maybe it’s a Saturday thrift ritual. Maybe it’s fresh flowers from Trader Joe’s every week.

We’re not romanticizing debt or encouraging recklessness. But I do think every person deserves a joy that is theirs.

A non-negotiable is the thing that reminds you you’re still inside your body. Still allowed to feel good. Still allowed to choose joy, even when joy isn’t the dominant mood of the world.

I’m a psychology major, so I’m always going to bring psychology into it whenever I can. Because truly, everything is psychology. So here’s a little pop psychology moment for you all.

When you buy certain things repeatedly, when you create these little rituals for yourself, you’re actually creating grounding. You’re giving yourself ritual-esque control. You’re building predictability in a climate that doesn’t always feel predictable.

Think about it. Maybe it’s the $25 lip balm from Sephora. Maybe it’s investing in that $40 Aesop hand soap every couple of months. Or me (and yes, I know this is a lot)  going back to Whole Foods every week for that $9.19 pint of Jeni’s. It’s a pint. I can finish it in two days if I’m being honest. Sometimes I stretch it to a week. But the point is, it’s consistent. It’s mine.

When you do this, though, you have to do it without shame. Because the second you layer shame on top of it, you introduce guilt. And when you introduce guilt, you’re subtly telling your body that self-soothing is wrong. That comfort is dangerous and it’s not proper to feel okay when everything else feels shaky.

That message sticks.

“And now there’s a smile on my face because I just had my favorite ice cream”.

You cannot advocate, organize, study, survive, or even think clearly from a constantly dysregulated nervous system. You just can’t. Chronic self-denial is not maturity, it’s exhaustion.

Implementing non-negotiables in your life isn’t escapism. It’s recalibration. It’s giving your body a chance to come back to center. It’s allowing yourself a pocket of calm when the world doesn’t feel calm. That small pocket is what keeps you fully functioning, babes. Fully present. Fully you.

So I come back to the ice cream, there’s no guilt attached.

I open the pint. I grab my spoon. I eat, eat, eat, eat, eat. When I’m done, I close the lid, put it back in the freezer, and move about my day.

And now there’s a smile on my face because I just had my favorite ice cream.

In unstable times, moments like that matter. They’re not frivolous. They’re not shallow. They’re not irresponsible. They’re how we stay human.

For those few minutes, I’m not thinking about collapse. I’m not thinking about productivity. I’m not thinking about assignments due or the pressure to always be “on.” I’m just tasting lavender.

And I’m like… yes. Well, yes.

Creating these small spaces for ourselves is necessary. I think one of the highest forms of self-love is  simple pleasure. It’s choosing joy without apology. Just allowing yourself to feel good, just because.