Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Sometimes it doesn’t register in my brain that people actually read my work, I don’t see it being consumed, so often it’s just lines on a screen in my reality, and some days I get a reminder.

Those that read yesterdays journal entry (find it here) will know I raised the subject of my personal emotional needs in dealing with the pandemic and also the wisdom of holding shows in 64 days time (63 now). I hit publish and waltzed off for a coffee leaving my phone and laptop on the desk. Well 10 minutes later upon my return a wall of messages had started that rolled on through the day, largely similar in tone and intent, that I had said what a lot of people were thinking, but many don’t want to say openly.

Perhaps it’s my years as an activist where I’ve met people who may have been killed for speaking out, who faced real threats that makes me less inclined to fear wrath that remains unspoken, and largely unproven. Maybe it’s something in my character that means I have an natural disregard for authority or it’s supposed power, but something is there that allows me to say what I want.

I must for the sake of objectivity say that often I don’t think the fashion hierarchy is one that directly demands group think, I think the system has gradually worn a groove where people just assume it’s required. Rare in my near decade long career has censorship been an issue or my words have been challenged, and when they have it was by overzealous PR’s thinking they can tell me what to write.

All that said it was an interesting window into the psyche of the industry, and the unseen pressure to conform that many feel.

After that little detour of thought, it was back to writing, a bit more tea and a general sense that watching the smoke curl and turn from an incense stick is a way to suddenly lose 20 minutes without realising it.

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