The photo is from Hermanus, South Africa. It might as well have said: Notice: Restaurant & bloggers, influencers and food critics below, please throw rocks or stones. We know Bob would. And probably a few others too.
Blogging. Just saying the word out loud today feels like admitting we still use a fax machine or burn CDs. It is one of those things that peaked two decades ago, quietly slipped away, and now mostly gets mentioned when someone over 40 asks if it is “still a thing”.
Maybe we do need a new word for it. “Blogger” makes it sound like we are about to recommend stationery from Etsy, post a blurry photo of a latte, and call it #blessed. Wordfluencer? Dinoblogger? Still sounds tragic
Still, it exists. Barely. But it is changing, taking on new shapes, and maybe making a quiet return—if not in format, then in purpose.
We live in a world of reels, swipes, and scrolling. Headlines are the new content. You get a little hit of dopamine just from skimming the first line and deciding you already know how you feel about it.
Reading more than a sentence or two? That is asking a lot. And if it has punctuation? Forget it.
Our brains are running at full media speed, filled with fast noise pretending to be knowledge. We take in so much, so quickly. It leaves us tired and mentally worn out without really knowing why.
We barely remember half of it. Just that the restaurant was “the best”—the best, Jerry. But why is it the best?
The word “blog” used to mean following someone with almost unhealthy devotion—daily updates, a mirror selfie, and a product they swore changed their life—for about 24 hours.
Then came Tumblr and Instagram—and everything shifted from slow scrolls on the sofa to fast swipes on the go.
So what the hell are we doing? Honestly, we are not sure what to call it anymore. But it feels closer to blogging than anything else—slow-consuming, like the Slow Food movement. And that idea, strangely, makes sense to us. They protested against a McDonald’s at the Spanish Steps. Ours just comes with punctuation.
One thing for sure, you will never see us squeezing food with newly painted fingernails in an Instagram reel or on YouTube. Just what we experienced in that moment, written down and shared. Whether you like it or not—that is your opinion.
Either way, it is our voice. And you can always go back to the unicorns shitting pink sparks at every scroll. The best restaurants, the most amazing hotels, oh my god it was soooo good. Like a cow going in for milking.
We started Iternitty years ago as a way to keep track of the places we visited together—mostly for ourselves. Our private memory bank we share with you. And we still go back and read our own posts.
We remember what it was like. We talk about it. It brings back memories. We laugh—even at the bad ones. Like Koyn in London. Even a bad restaurant visit can turn into a favourite story.
The first posts were terrible. Some probably still are. But then something unexpected happened. People started to visit Iternitty. Not Taylor Swift numbers, obviously. But for us, it felt big. And slightly terrifying.
Not to mention when Jay Rayner started to follow us on Instagram. Talk about pressure—one of our idols (for foodies, he is) looking at our pictures. Anyway, we carry on and do our thing, not clapping for likes.
The internet is already bursting with fluff. What is missing is some honesty.
A real voice in the middle of the noise. Behind every post is a round of editing that would make my old English teacher cry, especially if she saw the first draft.
We do not write to please. We write to remember, to tell it like it was.
Congrats, you made it to the end. Or maybe you just scrolled… Either way, leave a comment below.
