A freer state of being

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Mapping my queer lineage

GR OnlineWhen I graduated from high school, I was finally free to leave – to venture beyond the borders and confinements of my small town to search for something I inherently knew was missing from my life. And so, at seventeen years of age, I sped down the well-worn Carnarvon Highway towards an uncertain future.

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The marketing is still crap

Non-fictionThis neoliberal reframing of the arts into ‘creative industries’ first took hold in the UK with Tony Blair and his attempt to make the country’s image less frumpy and more innovative: New Labour lumped disparate industries together under the guise of creating a so-called ‘enterprise economy’. This ethos has continued with gusto in the twenty-first century, with artistic development corralled into corporate spaces while creative professionals are expected to perform their roles with sharpened governance, purpose and glad-handing to prove more is achieved by following a new regime of accountability.

Very online feelings

Non-fictionThere was once a simpler time when influencers were mostly known for spurring within their audiences feelings of aspiration: the 1 per cent of fashion bloggers flaunted business-class flights to international fashion weeks while clad in mortgages’ worth of goods. They sold us repositories of taste and performances of modelling, role modelling and role playing by providing templates for mimicry through highly parasocial sales tactics. The aspirational internet seemed straightforward: buy these things and your quality of life will improve. But the commodification of everyday life carried more far-reaching implications.

It ain’t easy being twee

Non-fictionDuring my pre-teen years, I amassed a large collection of animal plushies and figurines. I loved collecting different species, different families and different genii. I didn’t just want a generic teddy bear, I wanted specific representations of the animal kingdom: grizzly bears, black bears, sun bears and so forth. (FYI: in earlier decades, it was hotly contested whether giant pandas were true bears or were closer to their raccoon relatives, so my panda plushie split its time between families.) My plushies were ‘decluttered’ when they were no longer ‘age appropriate’. I was expected to become a different kind of person – one who doesn’t think about plushies. One who can get by on utility, with no need for art, beauty or whimsy. One who can use their perspicacity for something sensible. It wasn’t to be. My dad’s influence failed miserably – emphasis on misery. Or, arguably, it swung me further away, back in the direction of my grandparents, imbuing my possessions with sentience, value and personality. I find it unbearable to let anything go.