8 hobbies Boomers think are cool that make everyone else cringe

Boomers built suburbs, invented brunch, and somehow navigated road trips with paper maps. But there’s a specific flavor of secondhand embarrassment that comes from watching them pursue certain hobbies with the confidence of someone who still thinks their Hotmail address is professional.

They’re just enthusiasts who haven’t noticed that some activities aged about as well as their “Keep Calm and Carry On” posters. Here are the hobbies Boomers embrace while everyone else experience full-body cringes.

1. Treating email like a civic duty

Your inbox isn’t safe. Boomers are still hitting “forward all” on warnings about poison Halloween candy and Bill Gates giving away his fortune. The subject line reads “FW: FW: FW: FW: IMPORTANT!!!” The font is purple Comic Sans. The content is a hoax from 1998 that Snopes debunked before Snopes needed debunking.

They genuinely believe they’re protecting democracy. “Just passing along in case it’s true!” they write, forwarding their 47th warning about gang initiations at Walmart. The email ends with “Send to everyone you care about!” And somehow, devastatingly, you’re on that list.

The kicker? They get personally offended when you don’t thank them for alerting you to the ATM scam that definitely isn’t happening but “better safe than sorry, sweetheart.”

2. Minions as life coaches

Nothing says “profound wisdom” quite like slapping your deepest thoughts on a cartoon pill with goggles. Boomers have transformed Minions into their personal Socrates, and these yellow harbingers of cringe haunt our feeds daily.

“Coffee is my love language!” declares a Minion in overalls. “I’m not arguing, I’m explaining why I’m right!” insists another. Posted with the caption “THIS IS SO ME!!!” as if they’ve just achieved self-actualization through animated banana people.

The Minion has become their emoji—but worse. Divorce announcements, colonoscopy results, passive-aggressive subtweeting of their own children—all delivered via the universal language of Gru’s helpers. Somewhere, Pixar artists weep into their MacBooks.

3. Metal detecting as performance art

Metal detecting could be archaeological—even noble. But Boomers treat every patch of grass like Oak Island, and they dress for it. Safari vests with seventeen pockets. Knee pads. A utility belt Batman would envy. All to find three pennies and a pull tab from 1987.

They arrive at beaches before sunrise, turning pristine sand into Swiss cheese. They interrupt picnics to scan beneath your blanket. They’ve mapped every local park like they’re planning D-Day. The finds? Fourteen bottle caps they’re convinced are “vintage.”

But the real treasure is their commentary. That corroded nail? “Could be Civil War era!” That Chuck E. Cheese token? “Foreign currency, very unusual!” They display these discoveries in shadow boxes labeled “Summer 2023 Finds” like they’re the British Museum.

4. Turning Facebook into stream-of-consciousness theater

Boomers treat Facebook like their personal Truman Show, broadcasting every thought to 847 “friends” they haven’t spoken to since Carter was president.

“Coffee tastes different today. Anyone else notice this?” Posted at 5:42 AM. Fourteen people will somehow engage with this content. By lunch, they’ve shared six articles about avocados (without reading them), accidentally gone live while trying to take a photo, and commented “ORDER CORN” on a Target ad.

They sign their Facebook comments. They wish their couch happy birthday. They share missing person alerts from 2012. Every medical procedure gets a play-by-play. “Headed in for my colonoscopy! Wish me luck!” No, Sharon. We don’t need this journey.

5. Hoarding tomorrow’s garage sale today

Boomers collect with museum-curator dedication and carnival-prize taste. Beanie Babies “for retirement.” Every National Geographic since Nixon. Thomas Kinkade paintings they insist are “investments.” Hummel figurines that are definitely coming back.

The guest room isn’t a guest room—it’s the Franklin Mint showroom. They have spreadsheets tracking values of collections worth less than the Excel license. They pay for climate-controlled storage for items no human has wanted since 1994.

“These will be worth something someday,” they say, gesturing at 400 Precious Moments figurines depicting children in vaguely religious scenarios. That day isn’t coming, but try explaining that while they’re showing you the “rare” one where the angel’s tears are slightly more translucent.

6. Cruise evangelism

They don’t take cruises—they join a floating cult. They return from seven nights at sea like they’ve found enlightenment, desperate to convert you to the Church of Nautical Buffets.

Family dinners become slideshow hostage situations. Four hundred photos of identical sunsets. Detailed descriptions of towel swans. They insist the crowds and seasickness are “overblown” while showing you videos of 3,000 people fighting for pool chairs.

They own merchandise from cruise lines you’ve never heard of. They’re “Diamond Plus members” with special lanyards. They plan their calendar around cruise schedules and honestly can’t fathom why you’d vacation on stationary land. “But it’s all-inclusive!” they plead, ignoring the forty hidden fees and the norovirus statistics.

7. Wine as personality replacement

Somewhere, Boomers decided that alcohol enthusiasm equals humor. “Wine o’clock!” “Coffee keeps me going until wine!” “My doctor said I need glasses—good thing I have twelve!”

The kitchen is a shrine to wine culture: signs reading “Wine a bit, you’ll feel better,” cork displays, novelty openers shaped like stilettos. They joined a wine club that sends overpriced grape juice monthly. They describe wines using words they learned from grocery store shelf tags.

They share memes about day-drinking like it’s quirky rather than concerning. “Mommy’s grape juice!” captioning a photo of a wine glass at 10 AM Tuesday. It stopped being cute when it became their entire Facebook personality.

8. Weaponizing pickleball

Pickleball was meant to be gentle—tennis for people whose knees have opinions. Boomers turned it into Game of Thrones with paddles. They show up in compression everything, $300 carbon fiber paddles, ready for war.

They’ve colonized every tennis court in America, converting them with the efficiency of urban planners. They have rankings, leagues, and blood feuds. Margaret hasn’t spoken to Linda since “the line call incident” of 2023. These grudges are real.

They claim it’s “great exercise” while barely breaking a sweat. They insist it’s “inclusive” while scheduling games at 10 AM Tuesday when everyone else works. They’ve turned a backyard game into their personal Olympics, complete with award ceremonies where everyone needs ibuprofen afterward.

Final thoughts

Here’s the secret hidden under the gentle roasting: Boomers are doing exactly what every generation does—desperately trying to stay connected using the tools they understand. They’re participating with outdated software, but the intent is pure.

Those chain emails? They’re trying to protect you. The Minion memes? They’re attempting humor. The aggressive pickleball? They’re building community. It’s sweet, really, in a “please stop replying all” kind of way.

Someday, Gen Alpha will mock us for still using Instagram, still saying “no cap,” still thinking our memes are fire. We’ll be forwarding whatever we forward, playing whatever we play, completely oblivious to how dated we’ve become.

The circle of cringe is unbroken and eternal. So we’ll keep deleting the chain emails, hiding the Minion posts, and feigning interest in metal detector finds. Because underneath the secondhand embarrassment is something else: love, wrapped in Comic Sans and good intentions. That’s what family does—we cringe together, but we keep showing up for the slideshow.