creative insecurity

slaughterhouse90210:

“We crave permission openly to become our secret selves.”  ― Salman Rushdie, The Moor’s Last Sigh

claire pissed me off sometimes but this scene was perfect

slaughterhouse90210:

“We crave permission openly to become our secret selves.”
― Salman Rushdie, The Moor’s Last Sigh

claire pissed me off sometimes but this scene was perfect

It is a curious thing that amongst the crowd of self-consciously writerly and well-read Art Friends there exists a person, a Longtime Fixture Friend, who possesses absolutely no knowledge about how to tell an interesting tale. He apparently cannot gauge audience engagement, and the simple kindergarten lesson of shutting the fuck up and letting someone else speak never took root (probably drowned in the voluminous outpouring of stories about him and his day). His steady stream of dull anecdotes tumble unstoppable from his mouth each time we see him. He narrates his life as a series of boring ass journal entries filled with tedious details while we munch our salads, nodding mutely, pasted on smiles drooping a bit at the corners. “We drove for 18 hours straight and then we got there and slept for 2. But it was all worth it cause we met one of The Decembrists and he was wearing, as you might imagine, a seafoam sport jacket with elbow patches and salmon khakis! Ha!” Before someone can even respond, he’s off and running about the ingredients of the tacos he ate and how his ex girlfriend ended up on Vogue’s twitter and the almost-famous rapper who hitched a ride with him.

He positions himself as a with-it cool guy, a Good Dude who’s not afraid to make fun of himself— I mean his band played “South-by”, but he knows that REALLY it’s just a new vector of commodification for corporate brands that need a hip posture and the sell-outs who are willing to shill if it gets them a contract.

Probably he is a good dude but he’s an absolute shit show in conversations. I am not the least bit interested in interacting with someone who treats group settings as a live-action Facebook with a prisoner audience forced to listen to you scroll through your interminable updates.

But what really chapped my ass was when he described the new fashionz of the youth as seen at the music and tech gathering, lamenting about the high waisted jeans and wondering why people won’t wear clothes “that make them look good.” In that moment, I cursed my inner Stealth Feminist and stupid shyness and worries about offending someone who clearly needs his ass handed to him every now and again.

Later that night, I had a fantasy vision of myself, my words cutting through his stomach like a raptor claw, “Oh no, what horrors! Geez, you didn’t get to see any cute young butts at South-by?? What a goddamn tragedy!” And the more and more I turn the scene over in my head, the more quickly I can access that aspirational alter ego, the super bitch I channeled to write Rengin’s OK Cupid profile, and I imagine myself saying with a nonchalant look, “Actually I’m 100% pro any fashion that is aggressively antagonistic towards what men want. Disappoint men! Make them weep at the sight of a 18 year old hottie in gross mom jeans! Save their tears as a powerful anti aging treatment and stay young and beautiful but wearing hideous castoffs forever! FOREVER!”

I suppose the one plus of hanging out with people who get under your skin is that I’ve started to craft my own vision of a super hero, and it is a feminist witch who can make men shut up and make everyone believe in science and vaccinate. Most exciting of all, this superhero is in my own image and every now and then, I can feel her coming to life from inside me, ready to fight.
meredithhaggerty:

Okay, honestly, this is bullshit.

fuck you martha get your snack game ON POINT

meredithhaggerty:

Okay, honestly, this is bullshit.

fuck you martha get your snack game ON POINT