What’s that rustling among the branches and trampling over the flowerbeds? Why, it’s someone trying to take the perfect picture of your magnolia, or blossom flowers, to post on social media, of course. You didn’t think a tree outside your own front door was private property, did you? Where spring blooms are concerned, it’s an influencer’s world.
Instagram is brimming with photos of large, fragrant, pink magnolia flowers and Japanese cherry trees. There are several spotters’ guides to the best places in London to see them (Kensington, Chelsea and Chiswick, of course), close-ups of the blooms from all around the country and countdowns to when the largest trees will flower. “Joking” that you bought your house because of the magnolia tree in the garden is becoming the latest social media humblebrag. And if you haven’t taken a selfie beside some petals — ideally wearing pink yourself — well, who even are you?
Not everyone is enamoured. Residents on Stanley Crescent in Notting Hill are complaining that visitors to the area have been climbing on top of their garden walls to take pictures of the magnolias. One woman said that she can’t get to her front door without walking through a crowd of people posing. “They act as if it’s their property,” another said. “People sit on the balustrades so it can get a bit dirty.”
Oh dear. A glance at my own phone gallery suggests that I may be part of the problem. I haven’t been to Notting Hill this spring (yet) but there’s hardly a magnolia or blossom tree in my corner of south London that I haven’t admired. And once you’re standing there, oohing and aahing at their loveliness, it only takes a moment to whip out your camera and take a quick snap. Just this weekend I was zooming in on a particularly attractive dark pink tree in someone’s front garden — with just one elbow over their fence, I do have manners — when a neighbour walked into his house, newspaper under one arm, and said, “You’re lucky they’re not in.” Whoops.
A magnolia tree in Notting Hill, LondonAlamy
How did I become an accidental springfluencer? I grew up with a pale pink magnolia tree in the front garden of the house where my parents still live — no, I’m not telling you where, put your phone away — and always took it slightly for granted. It’s only over the past couple of years, along with the rest of my generation, that I’ve gone magnolia mad.
No one really knows how they became a thing but there’s something about the end of winter and first signs of spring that seems to have captured millennial and Gen Z imaginations, not least because it’s starting earlier every year. One study found that the date of flowers first blooming in the UK has moved from the 140th day of the year in 1954 to the 92nd day in 2019. And with their appearance being so fleeting, the potential for floral fomo is high.
Thankfully magnolia season in March is directly preceded by mimosa season, with its Instagrammable yellow, fluffy flowers (my local florist sells out instantly), and then followed by the most hipster season of all: wild garlic. It means that, at this time of year, getting outdoors and into nature is all over Instagram as a “happiness hack”. It’s quite sweet, if you can get past all the posing.
I should say that, as the quality of my photography probably suggests, my pictures are usually not for public consumption but simply for WhatsApping to friends: “Look at this beauty!” Nor have I invested in any magnolia merch (tote bags and T-shirts are available), although two springs ago I did have some fragrant magnolia flower ice cream in a New Orleans café. That one did get shared, of course.
Look, I can see both sides. Little annoys me more than when people stop to stare at my home, which looks surprisingly like a cottage for a house in Zone 3, and even peer through the gate. If I caught anyone taking photos I’d have a problem with it, for sure. Not that they’re likely to — we don’t have a magnolia tree, you see.
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