I once worked for several different design studios at once — all with very strict rules about working with typography — no red on black, no black on red and never ever use yellow. Every designer has their make or break rules and as a freelancer, I used to have to try to recall who insisted on tight kerning and who freaked out if I even looked like I was going to shimmy that kerning back even a tiny bit... I used to feel so smug knowing which person would have absolutely lost their shit at the other person if they ever knew the crappy things they did to a paragraph of text. what a power rush. Ha.
And so, a few weeks ago, I went to a party — in a glamorous penthouse suite with people I thought I had the measure of — but who I felt were round and square pegs in round and square holes, with me as the only trapezoid. So, in the lead-up, I went about the business of adjusting my weird angles — the right dress, the perfect shoes, all the makeup... whilst also trying to remember at almost-48, I probably should know by now that I'm not really into buying a new dress for every occasion, and Glordy knows that even though I can admire the crap out of those $1900 shoes, I don't actually have to live up to that kind of hype. Shoulda woulda coulda!
So, we went — I wore a favourite hand-me-down frock from a friend, some hand-me-down shoes from my Mum, forgot my earrings (Nooooo!), and had THE most fun ever. And, the most suprising thing was — once I got my head out of my butt I realised I really liked some of those people and some of those people gave absolutely no fucks about the random artist in the room wearing her hand-me-downs. And, the funniest bit that got me out of my stupid head, was when a woman who I have in past years been quite intimidated by, introduced me to another and said with not even a hint of hype: 'oh, this is Zoe, she's absolutely amazing — oh! where are your earrings?!'.Â