Why a Print Newspaper on Sunday Morning Still Beats Scrolling

On Sunday mornings the newspaper gets spread across the whole kitchen table, with coffee in my favorite mug and something warm from the oven within reach. By the end I have ink on my fingers and a crossword half-finished in pen, because I am an optimist and also, apparently, a fool. Reading the paper on Sunday is the exact opposite of scrolling, and over the years I’ve come to depend on it like a weekly vitamin.

Why read a print newspaper in the age of phones?

I know, I know. I could read the very same articles on my phone, for free, in bed, without getting newsprint all over my nice robe, and believe me, I’ve tried it. It just isn’t the same.

A print newspaper ends, and I’ve decided that’s its most radical feature. There’s no infinite feed, no autoplay, no “you might also like” and no algorithm deciding what will upset me most efficiently. You read the sections you care about, skim the ones you don’t, and then you’re done, so you fold it up, and you have actually finished something. When was the last time you finished the internet?

It’s also wonderfully quiet. Nobody is trying to sell me a mattress in the middle of a sentence, nothing is blinking or sliding in from the side of the page, and nothing is tracking how long I spent on the travel section. (It was a long time, because I always spend a long time on the travel section, and I don’t need anyone to know that, least of all an ad company.)

A newspaper ends. In a world of endless feeds, that might be the most luxurious thing about it.

My Sunday paper ritual

The setup. I start with coffee in my favorite mug and something from the oven, whether that’s a biscuit, a slice of last night’s cake or toast with too much butter. Charlie settles at my feet and stares at the toast with the focus of a man defusing a bomb.

The order. I begin with the arts section, then move on to books, then travel, then the long weekend features and the magazine. The news comes last so it doesn’t take over the whole morning. The ads go straight to recycling, except for the furniture ads, which I study like a museum catalog for a life I may never live.

The crossword. I do as much as I can on my own, and then I text a photo of the clues I’m stuck on to my oldest friend. We’ve been doing this for years, and we are honestly not good at crosswords at all, but it’s still one of our favorite things in the world. Some weeks it’s the only real conversation we manage to have, and somehow that’s enough.

The clippings. I keep a pair of scissors nearby for recipes, book reviews, a photograph I love, an essay I want to keep or the obituary of a woman whose life sounds incredible. They all go into a folder, into my commonplace book or straight onto the fridge.

What the Sunday paper gives me

It gives me an hour that doesn’t ask anything of me, and a much wider world than my phone would ever show me: stories I wouldn’t have clicked on, people I wouldn’t have searched for and places I didn’t know I wanted to go until I read about them over coffee. It also gives me a slower kind of attention, the kind that actually comes back with me into the rest of the week.

There’s something old-fashioned about it, sure, and my younger cousins think it’s adorable, as if I also churn my own butter (haha). But I don’t think it’s nostalgia. I think it’s a choice about how I want to take in the world, at least one morning a week.

How to start your own Sunday newspaper ritual

Pick one paper. You don’t need a subscription to everything, because your local paper, a big Sunday edition or a weekend magazine that arrives on Saturday is plenty.

Get it delivered, or make the pickup part of the fun. Walking to buy the paper is a lovely way to start a Sunday, especially if there happens to be a bakery on the way.

Put your phone in another room. This part is non-negotiable! You will reach for it, so reach for the coffee instead.

Make it cozy. Good coffee, a warm breakfast, a sunny spot at the table and some music playing low will do the trick.

Keep scissors handy. Clipping things out makes you read like a collector instead of a consumer.

Support local journalism. Local papers are struggling, and they’re the ones covering your city council, your schools and your neighborhood, so a subscription is really a vote for your community.

Give yourself an hour that ends

Spread it out on the table, get ink on your fingers and fail gloriously at the crossword. It’s a small price to pay for a morning that feels completely yours. And if you want more screen-free evenings too, you can read about my week-long internet curfew and my “things to do instead of scroll” jar.