In the words of Julio Torres: hello, little consumers!
I hope you’re all well.
I’ve been quiet on Substack recently, due to being incessantly loud elsewhere. I hope you’ll forgive me! If you’re new here, welcome to my newsletter, where I often write about STUFF and sometimes also about THINGS.
My debut novel RYTUAL came out last month. The concept of a ‘debut novel’ is such a hype machine in publishing. I think it would be better for everyone if we referred to her by her legal name, which is ‘first book’. Anyhoo! My first book was published on the 6th of May and I’ve been in Australia promoting it. As part of the publication process, my publicist pitched a bunch of articles I could write as tie-in promotional material. *redacted print magazine* wanted me to write something about how young people have turned to brands instead of traditional religion to define them. I wrote two drafts of the piece before they decided to can it altogether. At the time I was frustrated, but this morning I revisited the piece and was able to see the things that were wrong with it. Writing is hard!
Anyway, I’ve re-worked it to share with you here. Perhaps you will enjoy it!
I also have a number of EVENTS happening in various Australian cities throughout June, and I’d love to see you there. You can find all of the details here. Ok, little consumers, on with the show……….
The second season of Fleabag premiered almost six years ago (jump scare!!!!), and yet, as a millennial woman, few pieces of media linger in my mind with the definition of the monologue Fleabag delivers to Hot Priest in the confession booth. You know the one:
‘I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning… What to like, what to hate, what to rage about. What to listen to, what band to like. What to buy tickets for… I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far I think I’ve been getting it wrong.’
The first time I watched Phoebe Waller-Bridge deliver those lines, it hit me like a horse’s hoof to the chest. Because it’s exactly how I’d felt for most of my adult life, and the fact that opening a piece with this quote makes me feel a bit basic only proves I’m not alone. In an age where we’re bombarded with choice, chastised for not pursuing our desires above all else, and told we can become whoever we want, is it any surprise that many of us are a bit… Godless? The text thread I share with one of my best friends is littered with sentences like, ‘Perhaps it’s finally time for me to find God’. But instead of heading to the nearest house of worship, when I’m feeling unmoored I often find myself participating in a different ritual: buying things.
We know that the proliferation of social media use has fundamentally changed the way we think and feel about buying things. Many items that were once deemed luxuries are now necessities. It’s normal to partake in a twelve-step skincare routine. It’s normal to buy more vintage Levi’s than you could ever possibly wear. It’s normal to forego fiscally responsible habits in the pursuit of convenience. As a result, there have never been more things to buy, and corporations are acutely aware of this.
In order to get us to choose them over the other sans-serif, cool girl, Clean At Sephora™ mascara start-up, brands have to find a way to connect with us on a deeper level. They have to crawl inside our brains and make us believe that they share our core values, and that by choosing them we have core values in the first place. Buying a mattress isn’t just about getting a good night’s sleep, it’s about signalling to the world that you know who you are, and perhaps more importantly, who you want to be. It’s about your sun, moon and rising signs. It’s about your Myers-Briggs type. It’s about community.
I once worked for a wildly successful activewear brand who had nailed down their ideal customers with enough specificity to give them names, daily routines and preferred coffee orders. There were two of them – one male, one female – and in the brand’s cinematic universe, they were an item. When I tell you their names were ‘Seafoam’ and ‘Chad’, please know that I’ve not strayed far from the truth. Seafoam was 32 years old, engaged (to Chad), earned $100,000 a year (I worked for this company in 2015, so adjust accordingly for inflation), owned an apartment, travelled frequently, was ‘fashionable’ and worked out for at least 90 minutes a day. I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to bet that this character was created by a man. Chad was 35, an ‘athletic opportunist’ and earned more than Seafoam… and all I will say to that is, lol.
Reddit tells me the company no longer preaches the godliness of Seafoam and Chad, but having worked at this brand’s flagship location for 18 months, I can tell you with confidence that their approach worked. The store was full of wealthy ‘athletic opportunists’.
When we believe that a bottle of night serum will change our internal state, what does it say about the rest of our lives? When we pore over the social media feeds of brands that are directly appealing to our self-esteem, how does it alter our ability to think for ourselves? I don’t have hard and fast answers to these questions, but I can say from experience that trying to squeeze myself into Seafoam’s size eight skin suit brought nothing but dissatisfaction.
Maybe that’s why capital-G God still visits my text threads from time to time. The idea that a hot man in a plum and gold co-ord set could organise my feelings about life and death for me is an enticing one. But Fleabag is a work of fiction – its own religious parable. And while I joke about the ritual of buying things, I know it’ll never really hit the spot. I never actually wanted to be Seafoam (being engaged to Chad sounds downright exhausting). I just wanted to know what I should wear in the morning. The more I think about it, the more I believe that ‘god’ is making these decisions for ourselves – no matter how taxing or banal. The devil’s in the details, but maybe my god lives in the question mark.
stories of note
Stag Dance by Torrey Peters - I saw Torrey speak at MWF and was completely transfixed by her dry humour and delicious notions. She spoke at length about the flimsy barrier between cis bodies and trans bodies, and how she’s most interested in exploring complicated ‘gender feelings’. I was then lucky enough to meet her briefly with my friend Virginia and we were soooooooooooo uncool about it. Her second book, Stag Dance, is spectacular. Go read it.
A Different Man - I loved this movie. Sebastian Stan is great at acting, and also very sexy. The fact that I was thinking about this after A Different Man is akin to when I left the cinema post-Tár and wouldn’t stop talking about how much I wanted Cate Blanchett to step on my neck. I know it’s bad!!!! Sue me.
Death Becomes Her (Original Broadway Cast Recording) - I saw this show in New York last year and absolutely ATE IT UP. It’s everything I believe a musical should be: opulent, funny, and completely stupid. I haven’t been this excited about a musical since I was nineteen. I’ve also been referencing the film version of Death Becomes Her while promoting Rytual, and it made me remember how much I loved the music in the stage production.
