Attachment Planting Your Succulent

Photograph by Tim Flach  Getty
Photograph by Tim Flach / Getty

The dad and his wife had decided to try "attachment parenting" with their newborn son. That meant they slept in bed with their son every night, fed him milk every time he cried, and carried him everywhere they went in a baby sling. —The Atlantic.

You should have seen me before—I was such a mess. I killed three succulents in two weeks! I knew my life needed changing. So I started "attachment planting." It's the perfect next step for people like me, who aren't responsible enough to have kids, a dog, or an uncracked iPhone, but who want to give everything they've got to some lucky IKEA houseplant.

As an attachment planter, I keep my plants on my body at all times. This closeness helps them adapt to my personal soils, my political ideologies, and the beat of my heart. It shows them that I am present and caring, and have nothing else going on. It builds trust.

I tried a few methods of attaching: hydroponic fanny packs, root tasselling, a Biome Björn, body pots, clavicle beds, hemp torso-webbing, crop dusting, underpinning, the Tuck™, or (popular!) just duct-taping them and a handful of dirt into my belly folds. I looked pretty silly! But I comforted myself with the fact that, over time, my plants would grow beyond the need for carriers and would be able to live soil-free in my natural oils.

As an attachment planter, you get to choose which plants join your family—for once. I recommend succulents. Succulents are the most independent plant you can still take credit for sustaining. They are almost completely indifferent to your care, which feels familiar and builds character.

But, after a while, I moved past succulents and welcomed lichen, amiable ferns, and venus flytraps into my body's habitat.

Most houseplants need three hundred and sixty minutes of light each day. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hold a patio brunch table for six hours. So I got a tanning bed with L.E.D.s in rotating red and blue hues to mimic sunlight (standard, single-phase, 120/240 volt, sixty-amp connection). Then I could stay inside and make sure my plants got all the rays they needed. Needless to say, we were thrilled.

O.K., watering—this is where attachment planting becomes worth all the hassle. Plants don't yell out, "Hey, I'm gonna die because you're less nurturing than a desert!" They don't send push notifications or require you to keep a watchful eye on them just in case they do anything Instagrammable. They simply struggle toward death in leafy silence. I used to cry into my soil-covered hands, "How the hell does anyone know when to water a plant?!" Now I can't possibly forget, because my whole purpose is strapped to my chest, thighs, and various crevices.

Plants use their roots to find water on their own. But that independence can be systematically blotted out. I water my plants' roots with a damp-towel massage, every hour on the hour. Then I scald the roots dry with a hair dryer. This creates a cycle of dependence and fear in my garden. Eventually, my plants forgot how to gather nutrients themselves and now only accept water (cautiously) from my hand. Finally, a little loyalty around here!

Oh—cover your mattress in two inches of topsoil. This is super-important. Also, your bed must be kept at winter temperatures (ten to thirty degrees Fahrenheit) for four months of the year to mimic seasons. I'll be honest: this was a tough transition for me. Especially learning how to sleep completely still and alone (important for the plants, I decided). But after a few "farmer's Ambien"* I was sleeping peacefully, with love in my heart and dirt under my fingernails. And waking every hour for watering, of course.

I recommend attachment planting to anyone other people have decided is lost. It guarantees that you won't forget about your plants ever again, ya big dope! And you'll have finally, finally committed to something.

*Horse tranquilizers.