Things I should like (as an influencer)

but don't

Fashion week (or rather, month)

When show invites started rolling in early August, a familiar ugly anxiety awakened inside me in response to the threat of being coaxed out of my cave and that feeling was only exacerbated by my long Covid diagnosis.  I’m an ambivert (and a self-professed misanthrope) and quite content to sit at home for days on end with no need to see or speak to anyone outside of my inner circle and prior to this pivot to the influencer space, I’d been living a luxuriously uninteresting life filled with days of soulful solitude and playtime in my closet.

Having an online presence isn’t easy for someone like me but I wanted to share my unwavering passion for The Row and 90s minimalism and connect with anyone who felt the same.  Networking, posing for cameras, and attending busy (loud) events that start after my bedtime were not the draw.  I’ve been ruthlessly selective about accepting invitations, and when I do accept, it’s usually because I have a close relationship with the brand or the team that puts me in the seat.  I appreciate being considered and feel very fortunate I’m on those lists and it’s not that I don’t enjoy the shows; it’s more the energy of fashion week in general that I find emotionally depleting.  It’s not exactly the environment that fosters meaningful dialogue, nor is it meant to be.  Fashion month requires an enormous amount of energy as it’s essentially back to back shows, resees, and parties, and at this stage in my life, my inclination is towards one-on-one sit-downs in quiet restaurants where I’m not forced to lip-read.  Unlike influencers who thrive during “busy season”, the week before I’m due to fly out, I don’t sleep much because nervous anticipation wades in.  Thankfully, I’ve gotten better at saying no and letting go of FOMO and when I do attend an event, I employ a fail-safe strategy; I find the few familiar faces that feel like home and remind myself of the privilege it is just to be there (it’s getting me there that’s the battle).

Last fall in NYC at Helmut Lang

Having my nails done

I’ve inherited my father’s short bedded, ridged, paper-thin nails and even when filed down to the nub, they don’t look very good.  They split after an extra-long shower and grow so quickly that I have to cut them down to the quick every other day.  About a year and a half ago, my teenage daughter dragged me to the nail salon with her and I sat alongside begrudgingly after being cajoled into getting an organic gel-nail manicure.  I complained the whole time about how I wasn’t up to the maintenance, how it was a waste of money, and other nonsense while the manicurists conversed amongst themselves over top of our voices (about how I annoying I am, I’m sure) in a language I didn’t speak.  I implored them to keep them as natural looking as possible and reluctantly, they agreed (they knew they’d have lost me otherwise).  Sixty painfully slow minutes later, my nails had never looked better and unfortunately, there was no going back.  Fast forward some 40 appointments, you’d think I’d have grown accustomed to the routine, but I haven’t.  I tolerate it well enough when I have a companion in tow but when I’m alone, I only behave for the first few minutes and mostly because one hand is free to scroll on my phone.  When both are held hostage, I squirm whilst trying to decode what they’re saying (about me, I’m convinced), assiduously studying their gesticulations and intonations.  I’ve made no progress on this front, but they did say that I held the title as the client with the shortest nails.  I smiled proudly when they told me, and they laughed, though that time it was with me versus at me…I think.  Regardless, I’m always thrilled with the outcome, and I give myself a little celebratory pat on the back when it’s over.

OPI Put it in Neutral

 Margiela Tabis (please don’t hate me)

The original reference for these were the Japanese worker shoes and Margiela’s line now includes a formidable bounty of inspired versions.  Decades ago, when they were first issued, I gave them a shot, but it was an immediate no.  I liked the idea of them, but I didn’t think these hoof-like toe separating shoes flattered anyone. Functional yes, fashionable, no (IMHO), and they always look better on display than on the foot.   There’s a particularly stylish subset of Yohji Yamamoto and Comme des Garçons worshippers that suit the Margiela Tabi vibe, and I appreciate seeing them in that association, but Tabis as a trend (thank you TikTok) wasn’t something I was ready for.  Despite my reservations, I decided to try them again when they resurfaced online and invaded my social feeds.  I wondered if there might have been a slow burning of affection for them over time.  Nope!  And it didn’t help that whenever I looked down at my feet, I had this incessant impulse to pull my big toe out and reunite it with the others.  It was as irritating and distracting as the unrelenting urge to fix a wedgie.  Curious as to whether I was alone in this camp, I ran a poll with my audience on Instagram and it was polarizing with results spilt down the middle; they’re a love/hate style (and for me, a love to hate).  These camel-toe shoes remain a no-go, and my kids stand in support of this decision.  In their words: “We’re not standing next to you if you wear them.”

Tabi split-toe ballet flats (the only style I don’t dislike immensely)

Public selfies (group selfies are ok)

Maybe it’s my age but I’m just so self-conscious (and a tad judgmental) about this.  I would cringe with second-hand embarrassment when I’d pass a poser with stick in hand, phone held high, arm akimbo, and head cocked to one side. Now and then, when I see it happening, it takes a minute to quiet the internal critic and remind myself that I’m one of them.  If you’ve ever wondered why my feed is filled with pictures of me inside the house, this is why.  It’s the only place I’m completely free from self-judgement.  There was a time I wasn’t even able to pose naturally for a scheduled session with a photographer (I’ve improved significantly) and I’m never comfortable in front of street photographers, but at my height they see right past me, so it all works out.  I’m not bothered by my public selfie aversion because it keeps the ego in check, allows me to be more aware of my surroundings, and frees me up to enjoy life’s offerings.  My phone steals enough time from me as it is, this is a good boundary to set.

Shameless selfie (full cheat though - taken in an underground parking garage)

Ok that’s enough griping for today, I need to chill.  xo