It's Not That Deep - Volume I

It's nice to finally eMeet you

Nov 03, 2022

HAI!

I don't know what it is about starting a draft on my computer but my fingers linger more than they type. Ha, perhaps I’m suffering from the notorious ‘millennial pause’ of typing. For the Tiktok avoidants, the millennial pause refers to a split second pause millennials allegedly exhibit before speaking in a video to check whether their phone cameras are recording; it’s basically gen z Tiktokers roasting us about ageing out of the internet. They DON’T know what they’re missing because that dial-up internet sound was a fucking vibe. But I digress. In this instance, it would imply that I’m ageing myself out of computers altogether…Albeit a somewhat dreamy thought, I don’t think it’s quite that for me. It’s as if words forming digitally are already aware of the judgement they’re about to face from an anonymous audience and the sum of the scrutiny placed on each word feels like The Great Wave of Kanagawa (yes, you know the painting) about to drown whatever self-confidence I’ve mustered to pen my thoughts. Firmly closing my laptop I ease into the comfort of my plume finally expediting my synapses.

I’m smiling IRL, finally we’re here. Welcome!

Mental Landscape

It’s been a month since my return from LA, and I seem to have cloaked myself in the deluded (but necessary) optimism I so thirsted for from America. It’s certainly shielded me from London’s raining cynicism thus far allowing me to foolishly stab at random creative pursuits such as THIS, posting on Tiktok, directing and acting in several shorts. It peeled back my debilitating fear of judgement and perfectionism just the right amount. Leaving my secure, well paid and often rewarding job for a repose to reconsider my entire (mostly satisfactory) life demanded a brimming ocean of deluded optimism aka belief. THANK FUCK because I know this entire ‘journey’ (*insert any other insta self-help jargon*) is about incremental steps, which make sense retrospectively. The shackles of intellectualism finally seem to be loosening. As are the overbearing opinions of my extremely accomplished, extremely feminist and extremely altruistic mother eternalised by my teenage self. Her opinions compounded with others spoke to me often in a scolding, scoffing tone. Not literally, but they’d found a safe and secure home in my head. They’d speak assertively and loudly when I’d lean into my superficial self spending 2 hours to get my nails done. It was worth it (see below) but the voice didn’t approve. I knew the voice needed to shut the fuck up. I’d trained myself to say exactly that but it took a very long walk with a very wise friend (s/o Sheena) for this message to viscerally permeate my being. She helped me see what a dismembered existence I’d led thus far instructed by this voice. The ingredient I’d been desperately missing or too embarrassed to embrace was my ‘dumb bitch energy.’ But, no longer. I’m ushering in the era of my dumb bitch.

Nb - those of you who’re triggered by the term ‘dumb bitch’, check yo’self. You’re likely attaching your sense of worth too closely to your intellect and denying your fun / whimsical attributes. Been there done that.

Poem du jour

On birthing my creative self

0:00

-1:23

Pleading Vocabulary

If only it was just picking at my skin. The hearth protecting my being

But no. It had to be all consuming

Excruciating, like red ants nibbling on my eyeballs

Crawl forward only to slip. Repeat

Resting on walls that appear sturdy but are porous

The deceit with no respite.

Feeding me hope to persist but only to fall into another pile of styrofoam mats

How can you build something from something so flimsy?

Flailing. Is this how it’s always going to be? A bottomless pit of half expressed thoughts

Playpen holding me in place

Buoyant with my nose and mouth a centimetre above water

Just about breathing in my bathtub, desperate

My muscle fibres twitch and tense as I feel my body demanding release from this violent amateurism

Punishing to have so much to say with a pleading vocabulary of an infant

Just Beautiful

I went to an AnOther magazine x Bjork party a couple weeks ago. Apart from the snaking guest-list queue, everything else was to be expected; Nymph-like to ghoulish outfits, a sceney crowd and an abundance of smileless photos. It was exceptionally cool. Also, expected. Despite its oozing coolness, I was mildly surprised by an overwhelming stench of self consciousness wafting amidst the crowd. I truly didn’t get it. These were some of the most sought after models / influencers who were beautifully adorned. I sensed this sentiment emerging from the perceived singularity of their elite status - aesthetics. Did I think they were just hot? Truly, no, but I did think that they might’ve thought that about themselves. Or at least that this was the most interesting thing about them. The first question escaping their pretty mouths was a timid “so, what do you do?” Having mastered my response of “I’m unemployed,” without letting my posture shrivel, I gained the upper hand. I seemed to have become ‘interesting’ to the nymphlets through my currently unsubstantiated self belief. I was pleased that I’d not let my current lost status permeate my vibe for the evening. As much as I enjoyed this, it also saddened me. I was reminded of why I was so determined to establish my identity in several attributes and each ranking higher than beauty. But, why? Especially as lowering my own sugar consumption to lose a few lbs has been taking up an uncomfortable amount of mental real estate lately. Despite beauty constituting the foundation of my own Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, why is it then an attribute I often brush past in other people. It doesn't make any sense. Is this the voice in my head discretely feeding my misogynistic feminism? Either I’m lying to myself or this cognitive dissonance has reached its boiling point. Jungians, I see you. This line of inquiry is so boring but my self denial of beauty is perhaps keeping me from expressing myself fully. This is why I plod along this unending train of thought. Like, maybe I need a moment to just be a pretty girl. Perhaps my judgement of just beauty being superficial is really my shadow glaring at me demanding attention. I’ve really, really thought about this because it’s central to claiming my own personhood but also begs the question about beauty itself - how has it downgraded from being an ultimate value in the hellenistic era, to a mere adjective in my microcosm? We project our own thoughts onto people, so delving into my own judgement of the subject makes sense. Muhaha more permission to stew. I have a hunch that this cognitive dissonance is more pervasive than I think.

In my mind there’s been a clear delineation between beauty in things and beauty in people. I am an absolute aesthete when it comes to objects. My camera roll speaks for itself. I spent a week colour coordinating my toaster and water kettle resulting in very real decision fatigue. But the sheer joy I experience when making toast manifests as a sincere, creepy smile that takes over my face. Guys, the tedium was worth it. My perception of just beauty as a low hanging fruit is therefore observably limited to my interactions with people. It demonstrates a lack of ambition or thirst for more. Which is cool, it’s just not for me. Everyone should be beautiful AND some. For the sake of my own sanity and yours, I’ll stick with beauty in people for now.

I think there’s nothing more awe inspiring than a beautiful, empowered woman. Beautiful people bring me joy. Like, a LOT of joy. Yet, it is so challenging for me to withhold my dismay when beauty is chosen as one of the few characteristics to present by people. It’s lazy and implies a sort of passiveness towards life. Unlike a lily that evokes so much joy simply through its appearance, there are several more points of engagement with a human being. I wish I could talk to a flower but I can’t. My relationship with a flower is limited to its appearance and health. A human being on the other hand possesses several tangible attributes where beauty is but one. I want to be beautiful too, but not just beautiful. The multifaceted nature of people is intoxicating and makes life abundantly rich. Layering attributes over one another such as kindness and humour amplifies the experience of a person. It’s delish, just like a warm pain au chocolat. Mhmmm. I’m legit smacking my lips rn. Beauty blends so neatly with the other components forming wholeness in a person that I enjoy not being able to discern quite what it is about a person that I enjoy. The sum of all the parts is so sumptuous and I relish in connecting to an aggregated being as opposed to each of its constituent parts. Hence the struggle when a person chooses to rest in a singular facet of their being. Whether that’s beauty or intellect or another symbol of prestige, it's dull. This holds true even in a first meeting, you catch a vibe. Granted it takes varying amounts of time for people to comfortably dish out aspects of their personalities, but in a first meeting you can glean what they consider their most alluring traits. Crucially, it’s often the traits they find most comfort and security in. This is all conveyed through both verbal and non-verbal communication otherwise we’d get into the discussion of introversion blah blah. When an individual's sense of self is too concentrated in any one aspect, it pollutes and dims their overall vibe. Not only is it boring but particularly when beauty is chosen as this self describer, it’s lazy. Ok sure natural beauty can be enhanced with a gazillion products and procedures but the raw material exists. It’s mostly nature with some nurture, intense plastic surgery aside. With other seemingly prestigious attributes such as creativity or musicality, the nurture component outweighs innate skill. Therefore when I’m standing in the guest-list queue and someone chooses beauty as their main swag, I understand that they’ve pretty much grown fuck-all in their life. It sounds harsh, but it’s true. It’s taking determinism to the next level. Like ok, you're born hot, cool, and then you pretty much left it at that…If they’re comfortable AF in this choice, I love that for them but I’m way too greedy with life and simply cannot relate. In fact, I’ll go as far as being angry. Why would you not stack several additional attributes onto natural beauty to have it ALL?! Clearly complacency irks me and perhaps my life M.O. of growth (sometimes) for the sake of growth is problematic. Me vs these peeps tho - extremely different levels of satiety. I dislike how I imagine the shapes of their lives to be. But I am also envious that the satiated just beauties ask so little of life. My kinda ambition for life invites a full, vigorous rigour. It’s exciting but relentless. And just maybe I’m low key jealous of peeps satiated by a very ordinary existence. I imagine it’s peaceful. Is being a satisfied ‘just beautiful’ the ultimate act of self acceptance?! Tbc…

Cézanne’s The Eternal Feminine, c.1877 captured by moi @the Tate

Stating the obvious here, but not everyone who presents as being beautiful enjoys being perceived just as that. In fact I doubt that most just beauties do. The same week as the party, I found Emily Ratajkowski’s (“Emrata”) book My body ogling at me from the shelf of a bookstore. I obliged and devoured it in a couple days driven by curiosity and the writing was simple. Yes, I am aware of my judgement somersaulting into this piece. I enjoyed reading it and despite the material not being novel, I admire her courage and candour. As a side, her reflections on female friendship specifically peaked my interest but I'm CTRL + S-ing that for another time. By virtue of her Venus-like beauty, she’s constantly confronted with the predicament of capitalising on her body propelling her image as the ultimate object of desire whilst simultaneously being infuriated by being considered ‘just’ an object of desire. Again, this is not novel and I get it. We live in a capitalistic society where everything is up for consumption, including beauty and persona. Leveraging one’s natural attributes whether it’s intellect, beauty, mobility etc in the market economy is the only rational choice. We need to pay bills and most of us like nice things. Her choice to therefore flaunt that 10/10 bod on insta for $$$$ makes complete sense. Like, she’s smart but it’s unlikely that she would’ve been able to buy her own bougie Echo Park home at the age of 27 had she pursued her art or another more cerebral profession. Emrata’s most lucrative attribute, at least in the short term, is undeniably her beauty. A persona however, is much more than just about paying bills or rationality. It can form part of it but it’s a dialog with the world about our sense of self. We care about how we’re seen. A persona is arduously crafted over time and constitutes several data points that an individual chooses to put on display. Crucially, the formation of a persona is incomplete without giving due consideration to the data points that are most absorbed by the masses. Whilst the second part of the equation is not in our hands, the information we choose to lead with when communicating with the world is in our control. It is a quantity game. If my insta feed is 80% weird ASMR trends 👀, it’s fair to assume that I’m really into ASMR, DUH. As much as I’d like to, In Emrata’s case I can’t really sympathise. She has more agency than she takes responsibility for. The sheer quantum of content capturing her gorg physique swallows any measly attempt of her putting out real thoughts. So, I need a little more help from her in forming a more holistic view if that’s what she desires. Write more books and make art. It’s not deeper than that. This doesn’t mean that her bod is all there is to her and far from it. It’s just that the other stuff gets lost within the vortex of her beauty forming a fuzzy image of what else she represents. I see this as a consequence of a cloudy self identity or perhaps a transient one. Evolution of self is healthy and expected. An older version of me would’ve assumed that there wasn’t much more to Emrata at first glance. A notion that she’s frequently confronted with as she recounts in My Body. My misogynistic feminism was sly and surprised me at times. Less so now. I’m not proud of it, but it still exists in the shadows (hopefully) to a lesser extent. She is much more than her physique, most of us are.

Unsurprisingly, my approach towards beautiful men is the same as beautiful women.Me and Reuben Ostlund would be friends. His film the Triangle of Sadness explores much of this and is crisp AF. So for the hot peeps around, it’s not your fuego-ness 🔥🔥🔥 that makes me not want to converse with you for longer than 10 minutes, it’s that you think that it’s your sole point of interest and choose to convey little else. That’s on you.