i have no idea what i’m doing.
that’s weird to admit at the top of a newsletter rebrand, but i’ve always been told i’m “way too vulnerable.” sooo fine then. i’mma lean into it and be real with you.
honestly? i’m the chicken with no head, the robot with no program, the sailor with no compass. i don’t know what i’m doing or where i’m going, just making decisions based on feelings i’ve been too scared to face. the number of times i shifted on my couch as i retyped that sentence is unnerving; it’s uncomfortable being honest when you’re conditioned to repress your real feelings. even now, as i keep typing, my muscles are tensing and my fingers are hesitating. i fear what taking the mask off in public could mean for me. like, we live in a performative age. everything and everyone is curated for someone else’s consumption.
that’s how 𝔡𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 was borne.
hiding panic in the pleats.
i thought i wanted to write about fashion. i love clothes but hate consumerism and, however inadvertent, i was shilling for something i don’t believe in because i kept shopping. a contradiction disguised as wisdom, i was writing about shopping less yet buying more. like ok, i looove pleated trousers. but do i really need 20 pairs? finance bros probably don’t have that many chinos or puffer vests.
as i’ve taken a step back from my career to reassess my life, i’ve come to realize that my purchasing habits only temporarily masked my soul’s deepest crack:
worthiness.
the performance of posting about fashion like some influencer became the act i forced myself to curate for someone else’s consumption because i wanted to be liked, to be seen, to be worthy. so, i bought more with the thought that if people liked my outfits, they would like me. i presumed that dressing well—and writing well about dressing well—would give me the visibility and validity i desired. this ain’t groundbreaking, but i was sooo wrong; tying your worth to stuff, whether career or clothes, hollows you. and now, unemployed and unenthused, i’ve grown totally burnt out of the performance. all the world’s a stage, and i’m very over wearing a mask. i just wanna take this stupid thing off, to tell the truth. about being alive. being black. being male. being queer. and feeling too much.
because honestly? life is brutal! food tastes good, but do you ever get exhausted just thinking about cooking meals and cleaning dishes for the rest of…ever?
i just want food to materialize in my mouth.
trembling into an authentic life.
anyway, my new goal with this rebrand is to let go. for once in my life, i want to write honestly about my real desires—existing, intimations, feelings, ruminations—and to do so in the way i’ve always been ostracized for: “way too vulnerable.”
i want to stop asking permission to exist and just start bleeding out beauty, or at least something close to it. something that’s realer and rawer than i’ve ever done.
this means less pretense, more realness. less avoidance, more indulgence. it’s sitting in discomfort despite squirming to escape. it’s facing the truth even if it’s frightening to look at. it’s accepting that life is brutal and beautiful. it’s embracing the complicated feelings we have around having bodies and being alive because they’re all totally ok. life is crazy when you stop to think about it and, through this renewed focus, i wanna zero in on the calm and the chaos to, hopefully, find clarity and comfort in sharing experiences and observations that can very often feel way too personal and way too selfish to be mine alone.
maybe you subscribed for my writing on fashion. maybe you subscribed for the philosophy i found intriguing. maybe you subscribed because you’re a friend. either way, i’m grateful you’ve given me a year of your inbox, and i hope you let this rebrand stay there. apparently, your fear dies when you do the thing you fear the most, and weirdly, writing as i authentically feel is the thing i fear the most now. but if i can do the scary thing, then maybe you can do the scary thing, too.
so let’s be scared and searching together.
you can take your mask off, 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢. it’s just us.
xo, 𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔴~ 🖤