creep my other journal entries here
creep my other journal entries here
CUT 👏 IT 👏 OFF
WHY ✂ NOT
IT 💇 GROWS 💇 BACK
i’m holly, and i’m here to tell you it’s awesome
After slowly starting to get my (fashion) groove back in July, I’ve been testing the waters of ~*~*waCkY dReSsInG*~*~ even more and found it to be A DELIGHTFUL BURBLY HOT TUB OF MAGICKZ, not unlike the strawberry
jacuzzi milkshake machine in Good Burger:
Ahem. Anyway, the thing is, I can mix prints and mismatch stuff and–SHH–it turns out you won’t get fired for that shit! IN FACT, nobody really cares at all! (And sometimes strangers on the street are even complimentary!) Am considering banning black from my wardrobe, perhaps even all neutrals/solid colors forever (but let’s not get too wacky amirite). Newfound look hereby dubbed UNEMPLOYED ART TEACHER. Witness:
<< Just watched this (the movie, not the trailer) and it gave me all the feels.
First of all, it’s awesome. It’s like Bridesmaids meets Broad City meets…Frances Ha. Or something. Love + confusion + heartbreak + doing that thing you have to do, despite rejection.
As “pretentious white millennial” as it sounds, I’ve been having a mini existential crisis lately around writing, or my identity as a Writer. Main problem: comparing myself to other people. Specifically, other writers I’ve worked with whose careers have taken off. I quit Twitter because I couldn’t squelch the comparisons: They had more followers, more little public side-convos with Important People, more retweets, faster and wittier quips about current events. Just typing it makes me re-feel how sour and twisty (to borrow Shonda Rhimes’ word) I felt, like paper burning or a leaf curling in on itself. The opposite of expansive. When other writers were getting better and better writing gigs, getting book deals, I felt like I was floundering. I lack the backbone and financial independence to freelance full-time (the year I did was terrifying, although not bankrupt) and the confidence to relentlessly, constantly self-promote. It’s self-doubt, not humility.
So I withdrew. “Don’t play no game that I can’t win.” Best to give up on writing, to slink away from an over-crowded field stuffed with self-important megaphone-holders and become a plumber, right? I went to a career counselor, investigated different fields, thought interior design was a good fit (maybe it still is).
But if I’m honest, writing will always be my #1. It’s what I lose myself in, the only thing that can make me forget to eat lunch (LUNCH! glorious lunch), the thing I do for absolutely no reason other than I like it and I have to do it or I’ll go mad. Journaling keeps me sane. Typing this is my way of trying to make sense of life. If someone I knew was a mediocre musician in a random band, I wouldn’t tell them to give up and become an actuary; I’d respect that they were at least TRYING. Why can’t I extend that kindness, patience, and appreciation to myself?
Which brings me to The Incredible Jessica James. No spoilers, but at one point, Jessica is questioning herself, and her idol basically says, Well, you’re doing the thing, aren’t you? You NEVER really arrive as a creative person; you just have to do whatever it is you do. Like the cliché that a writer is someone who writes. I’m writing this blog post, therefore I’m a writer! Not that imma confuse myself with Shakespeare or Nora Ephron or Lindy West anytime soon. But doing the thing is how you get better at it. Trying and showing up is 90% of it, right? (End paragraph full of clichés.)
Anyway, that scene made me cry. I’ve felt like such a complete and utter FAILURE as a writer lately. But I can’t just give up because I found some people who’re better than I am. There will ALWAYS be people better than me. That’s a wack reason not to do something.
There’s no neat, tidy end here…I have no resolutions to pitch my stuff to XYZ website, or submit one thing a month. I have no goals. For right now, it’s enough to say to myself, You’re a writer. You write. You love writing. You aren’t the best–AND THAT DOESN’T MATTER ONE BIT. All I can do is be gentle and honest with myself and go from there.
Taylor Swift’s new single from her first album in three years (“Look What You Made Me Do“) is getting mixed reactions, to put it mildly. Taylor stans like myself (not sorry) are excited, if slightly let down by the repetitive lyrics, and Taylor haters have come outta the woodwork with everything from lulz-worthy memes (below) to downright vitriol.
I get it:
“I acknowledge the privilege that I benefit from in life, in society and in my ability to shoulder the enormous cost of defending myself in a trial like this. My hope is to help those whose voices should also be heard. Therefore, I will be making donations in the near future to multiple organizations that help sexual assault victims defend themselves.”
So much of the Taylor hate seems to damn her simply for playing the game like everyone else. Celebrities HAVE to control and manage their image and choose their own narrative–otherwise the media will, with only an eye for whatever trash gets the most clicks. Taylor is smart, type A, and wants to make money–are those really reasons enough to call her the devil?
Yes, of COURSE I’d love it if she actually became an outspoken intersectional feminist icon and vocally supported, say, Black Lives Matter, reproductive rights, and LGBTQ rights. But no one asks that of Adele or Fergie or the gazillions of other pop stars out there. Taylor’s held to a higher, unattainable standard simply because of her success. She’s not “woke”–so what? Crucify someone else who actually deserves it, like the Republican party.
I do agree with this:
People aren’t perfect and we as society shouldn’t expect people to be so. But that doesn’t mean that Swift or anyone else is free from critique. Nor does it mean that we should just ignore problematic behavior because of a few good actions.
Yes, Taylor Swift is one of my “problematic faves.” I’d rather enjoy TSwift fandom with caveats and my eyes wide open than write her off altogether. (There are plenty of other famous white feminists I side-eye, like Lena Dunham and Sofia Coppola.)
tl;dr You can’t.
They won’t let you.
You’ll try to get close & it’ll feel like banging your head against a wall.
This reinforces your beliefs of inadequacy. THOSE ARE A LIE. YOU ARE GOOD ENOUGH JUST AS YOU ARE.
Yesterday I was explaining to Awesome Therapist that I had literally spent an hour perusing scarves online.* Flattering color + no polyester or yucky synthetics + not $200 = a meaty dig through the internet’s giant scarf pile. I’m tired of haphazardly buying things because I’m stressed or they’re on sale. No more impulse shopping for things that end up at Goodwill. I wanna buy something I love & expect to last a long time–embracing a less disposable mindset, if ya will.
Then I realized à la Cher that if I’m THAT picky about a dang scarf, I should be just as selective about more important shit: relationships, friendships, and jobs.
Because tbh, the opposite mindset has gotten me in a lot of trouble.