the other day i realized the byline on one of my recent essays had a giant typo (i forgot “of”.. hahahaha). as i was about to hit the enticing orange “edit” button to erase any traces of grammatical incongruousness i stopped myself. i had a visceral flashback to when i was sitting at my clunky desktop computer in my cramped first apartment in new york on the corner of 21st and 1st where i was working at the time as an assistant buyer for a large department store. this was my first “big girl job” post-grad and i intrinsically operated like every decision i made was make-or-break to my career (which couldn’t be less true through the lens of time). that day i came across a medium-sized mistake that was my fault. as soon as i unearthed it my throat started to close up from the weight of the error and my hands started to subtly shake which would have been noticeable to no one other than myself. i had a reputation at work as being someone who never made mistakes and managed a high level of workload quite efficiently (albeit this was achieved through exhaustive efforts meant to look effortless), the idea that this identity could be stripped away from me spun me into a spiral of failure and disillusionment. i took myself on a walk and felt a few hot tears struggle to leave my eyes which took me by surprise because i have an infamous aversion to crying (a topic for a different essay). in the end, the mistake actually wasn’t my fault, and everything was fine (as it always is) but by realizing how much the idea of a perceived imperfection uprooted my sense of self i knew i had to get it the fuck together.
by some serendipitous efforts of the universe i left that job shortly after my silent cry on 1st ave and 14th street (horrible crying location btw), and i think the release of months of work and professional anxiety through a simple act of returning my thinkpad laptop made me realize how much weight i allocated to appearing Perfect in a setting completely disjointed from my actual life. i call this my “corporate bimbo phase”, when i was wound so tauntingly tight and nothing about me felt “easy”. my hair was too blonde and fried to be natural, my skin was a special orange hue that is unable to be achieved from leisure in the sunlight, my body was toned to a point where it was evident i never skipped a carefully scheduled workout (which is soooooooo lame).
in my new job, i slowly started to be kinder to myself in all aspects, but particularly when it came to recognizing mistakes and moments of imperfection. sometimes people ask how i juggle a full time 9-6 job while maintaining various pockets of friendships + reading a lot of books / watching a lot of movies + being a responsible party girl all while still writing this substack once a week for the past year. my answer is that i never fix my typos. i write in long drawn out sentences that would make my english professors wince. i resist the urge to go back and analyze the structural integrity of a wordy metaphor that is noticeably clunky. i rarely capitalize any words, i use too many commas and often times spell a word wrong or miss a much needed hyphen. if i wanted to make angel cake Perfect i would never publish, my drafts would be brimming full of nearly completed work laying dormant from the fear of perception.
i like to think that if you are reading this you share a similar aversion to things that are too precious. more than anything what i am craving from art and brands and media and writing and just people in general is a sense tangible humanity. in a era where we have access to AI tools and facetune and spell check features, shiny pristine appearances devoid of man-made impact have become the base-line expectation in all areas of life. objectively, it requires more work to avoid using these tools but that is the WHOLE POINT OF LIVING- to put work and effort into things and share them with the world leaving a trail of signs that you are a squishy, living, breathing person evolving and learning.
maybe this newsletter would be better if i fixed my typos or dedicated more time on sentence structure, but that is not the type of work i want to write nor is that the perception that i want to perpetuate. maybe i would be perceived as prettier if i started preventative botox wiping away any future wrinkles and finally learned how to contour my face from youtube tutorials but i like recognizing the natural pulls of gravity on my face and am trying to instill the discipline to love my cherub-esque chubby cheeks. maybe life would be better if i worked harder at appearing Perfect, but it would also be a lot less fun.
i will always have at least one tiny stain on my shirt, rarely wear matching socks, perpetually have a to-do list that will never be fully checked off, and will never edit out by typos. wouldn’t have it any other way :)
THANK. YOU. FOR. READING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you are all are so cool and hot and smart and funny, your comments make me so happy i am so grateful for you. :,) HAVE A GREAT WEEK!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
“if i wanted to make angel cake Perfect i would never publish, my drafts would be brimming full of nearly completed work laying dormant from the fear of perception.” soooo real n something i’m trying to overcome as well crying emoji
If I could summarise the positivity of this essay in a sentence it would be this:
isn't it nice to be gentle with yourself?