Vogue Imitates Life

I’ve been postponing my own grand opening for some time now. I guess I’ve been moving in silence, as they say. After all, I don’t have much to actually unveil. I know I’ll have patrons, supporters, shareholders—whatever the neutral term for “endorsement” might be. The problem is not that I’m doing it alone, it’s that nothing’s felt interesting enough to take it seriously. I feel, underneath the normal nausea and joint pain, something “bigger than myself” waiting to be seen; yet what do I have to show for it, really? A collection of bad short stories? How about even worse poetry? I shoot film for personal pleasure, not because I’ve got “a good eye.” Then again, do I? I feel compelled to have something worth immortalizing—and I keep asking myself, what will be my “thing?” People like me, people know me, people would show up for me if I asked. And I know fear of being unoriginal is a poor excuse to not start creating. So why haven’t I? It feels like whatever I reveal must be mine, must be me, must capture my ever-changing personality; but these days, sense of self is a rather rare commodity. I do think I’ve lost some foundational guide, some inherent reference that, at one point, felt wholly and completely mine.

In 2023 I had long blonde hair down to my waist that I had to keep out of the way with headbands or bandanas. I kept my attire breathable and utilitarian. Sooo Granola. I enjoyed feeling, for the first time, like a new person—but I ignored the fatigue that was growing inside me from the effort I put into the performance of personhood.

Getting fired as an 18-year-old living on your own is transformative, to say the least. It is comparable to face-planting on stage mid-show. I needed to pivot, and quickly—both my reputation and apartment lease were on the line. The new personality I settled for (nonchalant-but-diligent-food-service-industry-girl) stuck, at the time. I also started taking antipsychotics.

What followed was the end of my gap year and the beginning of my University experience, where I began to realize that my Granola Girl persona would get walked all over, so I needed to make a new one. Again. I thought if I finally went in an edgy direction, I might be noticed. It turns out that chopping 18 inches of hair off and going platinum blonde does attract attention.

I met a lot of different characters when I started to stand out. In a lot of ways, I felt like I was finally meeting the people I’d been searching for my whole life. These were the kinds of friends I looked forward to having in my adolescence. But it also made me wonder whether I was being disingenuous in my friendships with them, because I didn’t entirely feel like the person I was advertising myself as.

Now, after accepting that my friendships are powerful and real, I don’t feel afraid to change or grow—because there’s no contract stating I must stay the same, nor is there one for them. And I am changing, every day, in ways that can be hard to keep up with, even for myself. This space can and should be where those changes are witnessed—by myself, my friends, and the digital abyss.