Occasionally in this difficult life, during times of extended bleakness, we are blessed with something that comes along and captures our collective attention, bonding us, and bringing us joy. This week, Madame Putricia entered our lives. If you aren’t aware of who she is, I’m sorry your life lacks glory – but also congratulations on not living on the internet (I suppose).
The wonderful Putricia is a corpse flower that has been on display at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Sydney. Over the past few days, she has been visited by thousands and watched online by thousands more, as she slowwwwly bloomed and released her wondrous stench for the first time in 15 years. It is Putricia’s prerogative to take her sweet time – and so she did.
I was one of the many people who became enamoured of the process and, in a blink of an eye, Putricia became the background to my days. If I was home, she was on the TV, engaging me like a toddler in front of Peppa Pig. If I was out, I was checking my phone, making sure I wasn’t missing the important moments, but also just to look upon her, and see how she was going. I’m normal. Then, happily, everywhere I looked there was an update via news and radio stories, the youths on TikTok, Instagram and other social media posts, as seemingly everyone began to fall in love with this beautiful stinky icon. The name on everybody’s lips? The smell on everybody’s nose? Putricia.
What is it about this tall beauty that has captured us in this way, besides her extreme scent that mimics the smell of a rotting corpse in order to attract insects? (She’s also a genius).
The last time I remember the internet collectively investing in something this gross and beautiful was watching for days and finally seeing April the Giraffe give birth in 2017. That event began shortly after Donald Trump’s first inauguration, and now we have Putricia, a few days after his second. I’m not saying the two events are related, but I am saying that having these distractions both times has been helpful.
Putricia has allowed me to check out from the noise for a few days, to appreciate slowness, to honour the glorious spectacle of nature. To remember the freaky and strange and stunning things that exist outside what we’ve created. It has been a privilege to watch, and a much-needed break from the obnoxious loudness of our current times.
Putricia, in her chic beauty and grace, has united us in our thousands. Regardless of the time of day or night I’ve been watching, she has enjoyed a steady stream of excited visitors.
It’s hard not to be cynical in these trying times, but the tops of those bobbing heads and happy faces have belonged to every kind of person you can imagine. Putricia is an across-the-board success, a hit with every demographic, a star like no other.
Besides the posts, the Putricia live stream chat quickly became its own ecosystem, with inside jokes, Putricia acronyms, people trying to find love – and also Chrishell from Selling Sunset was there. Some of the popularity of this event could perhaps come down to the fact that with the domination of streaming services and the downfall of live TV, there are very few chances in modern society for all of us to be watching and discussing the same thing at the same time. Gone are the days of M*A*S*H finales or MasterChef live-tweeting – it is often left to sport now to give us this thrill of witnessing minute-to-minute action with your fellow humans.
Putricia has given this feeling to everyone, allowing non-sport fans to know what it’s like to watch an exciting five-day cricket Test. She brought us together at this moment, and I love her for it.
Vitally, the entire thing, from beginning to end, has felt completely wholesome. It’s not cynical, it’s not a money-making exercise, it’s not a stunt, it’s not political, I haven’t had to hear any annoying people give their opinions – it’s just been pure appreciation for this beautiful event of nature. It’s been about focusing on something good, something real. A reminder that change takes time, and requires dedication. Everything goes on without us. Life may stink, but so does Putricia. That diva stunk real good.