Words: Zara Palmer Watkinson, Illustration: Minna Pemberton
Zara Palmer Watkinson, our High Maintenance Women, wrote her observational column and ‘Eye Spy’ for ten years. In this edition, she looks back from the future, giving us advice on what to expect when Gallery is 40…
Well here I am—typing. With my actual fingers. Can you imagine? It’s been so long since I’ve touched a keyboard that I can barely remember where the letters are. But I daren’t risk using LUNA to dictate this. No, if I let her in on this little nostalgia trip, my ratings would plummet faster than Fort Regent did in the Great Sinkhole of 2038. Heaven forbid I should sound negative—my social wellness score couldn’t take the hit.
You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to actually type after years of just voice-noting everything. In 2044, we’ve all moved on to LUNA, who not only dictates but also corrects your tone to make sure you stay eternally positive. A bit flat today, Zara? Why not try rephrasing that with a gratitude lens? Oh yes, because being upbeat is now a legal requirement, especially as the ruling class is made up of socially-conscious Gen Z ‘thought leaders’. Gone are the grey-haired ministers of old; now we have ex-vloggers and environmental activists running the show. Politicians? No, they’re content creators with public office, posting their policy updates in #aesthetic carousels.
Of course, they’ve brought their favourite buzzwords with them—everything must be sustainable, inclusive and mindfully crafted. Ethical capitalism rules the island, with fast fashion banned and taxes slapped on anything non-biodegradable. Even the government’s new housing policy is zero-waste—every new flat is made from recycled TikTok content (or at least that’s what I think they said in their live-streamed press conferences).
Oh let’s not forget all the self-care laws they’ve implemented. I used to love a spa day, but in 2044? It’s wellness overload. Everyone is mandated to take a minimum of two mental health days a month (or risk a hefty fine), and your therapy bills are tax-deductible. Skip your weekly meditation, and your wellness score will tank, which now affects everything from your ability to book a table at Pêtchi Dunes to your tax band. After all, how can anyone be productive without a personalised ASMR session and a face mask?
And speaking of productivity, the traditional 9-to-5 is ancient history. Everyone’s a freelancer now —or a multi-hyphenate if you’re really on vibe. Ministers? They’re patching into the States Assembly from eco-pods, drafting policies between running their side hustles, usually some combination of NFT art, kombucha brewing, and selling digital detox retreats in the metaverse.
Anyway, back to nostalgia. Remember real lattes with frothy cow’s milk? Now it’s seaweed lattes or nothing. Cow’s milk is practically illegal—taxed so high you’d need a hedge fund to afford it, and we’re left sipping green sludge that tastes like you’ve licked the inside of a rockpool. It’s all terribly eco-friendly, but where’s the indulgence?
And shoes. Forget Louboutins. Now we’re all gliding around in HoverOn-Clouds, floating over the (Sin)King Street canals in total silence. Practical? Yes. Empowering? Absolutely not. No one feels fierce in a pair of eco-slippers.
Meanwhile, Jersey’s agricultural economy has… well, sunk, quite literally. Who needs cows when you can farm kelp? Now Jersey’s all about seaweed farming – acres and acres of floating algae farms bobbing where St Ouen’s beach used to be. It’s all terribly sustainable, but you can’t pretend you don’t miss Jersey Royals from a roadside honesty stall.
As for Gen Alpha, where do I even begin? Whose genius idea was it to name an entire generation Alpha? Oh right, that was us. And didn’t they just lean into it. While Gen Z is busy with ‘mindful living’ Alphas are upgrading their neural microchips and rolling their eyes at us. “Wait, you typed with your hands?” they ask, smirking on their AI hoverboards. “How… retro.” Gen Z hosts wellness retreats, Alpha’s out there building virtual empires, probably redesigning Jersey while we meditate ourselves into oblivion.
But here I am, typing away in my little AI-free corner, remembering the glorious messiness of life before the world got optimised to within an inch of its life. Because sometimes, darling, chaos is where the real magic happens.
