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Even the things that are supposed to be fun have to serve a purpose today. Hobbies must make us better, meals must make us healthier, rest must be earned. Fun itself has become performative – captured, optimised, shared. Endless self-improvement has turned even joy into work. True pleasure doesn’t need a reason. It’s staying in bed long after the alarm, eating something delicious without taking a photo of it, surrendering to the sweet art of doing nothing. It’s hobbies that soothe rather than impress. It’s rest – the ultimate luxury – reclaimed. It’s the fleeting moments we keep for ourselves, small rebellions against a world that demands productivity at all times. Like a cat basking in sunlight, it’s quiet indulgence for its own sake. This issue is for those private experiences that bring joy. For the small pleasures that exist only for us, not the ‘gram. Unshared. Unjudged. Unapologetic. Pleasure, pure and without purpose.