Have you ever heard of or used the term “cocooning?” Urban dictionary describes it as “retreating to the seclusion of your home (as for privacy or escape).”
I had no idea, but apparently I am a classic “cocooner.” I knew I like to hang out along at home, but I didn’t know it had a name. Apparently the term was coined in 1981 by marketing forecaster Faith Popcorn. Coincidentally, when I cocoon, I often consume popcorn, but I digress.
So, how exactly do I cocoon? Well, first of all, you know that feeling of joy when you finally land into bed at the end of a long day? Yes, you get it. Once I hop into bed, I’m cocooning. I will often bury myself under the covers with my iPad or laptop or a good book, often with my head also under the covers. You know, like we did when we were kids long after our lights were supposed to out and we were supposed to be sound asleep. I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing this since I was a kid – back then, I used an “itty bitty book light” to nest under the covers. (The link from Amazon is a much fancier one than I had!).
This past weekend I was staying in a hotel and feeling pretty down – residual stuff from a few weeks ago (see last few posts). I didn’t even mean to, but I began cocooning! I woke up in the middle of the night, nestled under the covers, with the hood of my hoodie pj shirt tucked around my head! Made me laugh!
Faith Popcorn is now exploring cocooning and millennials, as written in this online article. Faith describes cocooning as:
It’s about hiding out at home rather than going out, and it’s about maximizing your comfort when you are home and bringing parts of the culture inside. Think about “binge watching”—this is Cocooning in action. Rather than going out to the movies, we sit at home and endlessly stream an entire series all weekend long.
I imagine a lot of us cocoon nowadays – maybe not with your head buried under a hoodie like me – but certainly with binge watching House of Cards or the latest Netflix show. We curl up on the couch and settle in for a few hours of escape.
I enjoy cocooning. It gives me a sense of comfort that I likely used to get when I would emotionally eat during my 15-year battle with binge eating disorder. I’m glad I’ve found a benign way to find the same joy and escapism I found when overeating, but with little consequence other than a wasted afternoon.