*originally published on July 1, 2021 via Squarespace
I sent out my first newsletter back in January. It felt very fringe and new at the time (crazy since it was only 6 months ago) and I wrote it blind, which is to say I had no roadmap to what a newsletter was “supposed” to look like. I didn’t do any research beforehand. I didn’t moodboard what it would look like. I wasn’t even a subscriber to any existing newsletters. I just decided to do it, and so I did it. But after it went out, everyone started sharing newsletters with me. Ones that they loved, that they related to, that they looked forward to receiving in their inbox. The well-intentioned recommendations often came with words like, “maybe you could get some inspo from this one!” or “you should really check this one out for some ideas”. And so like any good creator, I subscribed. To all of them.
At first they were inspiring—seeing other women putting themselves out there in this vulnerable way made me feel like I was onto something. Made me feel like I was part of this exclusive club of newsletter people. Made me feel like I wanted to keep doing it...until it didn’t. Soon after reading them all, I became paralyzed. I realized all that inspiration was turning into intimidation. I found myself opening the newsletters in my inbox and comparing myself to every single one of them. Up until that point I was pretty happy with my little creation, but suddenly my shortcomings were glaringly obvious: I wasn’t nearly as funny as Jamie Feldman, as chic or high-brow as Laurel Pantin, nor as famous as Sofia Amoruso. I didn’t have tons of content to promote like Emma Golden, I’m not an absolute wizard with words like Molly Young, and I’m not capable of disrupting generations of patriarchal beauty standards like Jessica DeFino. And don’t even get me started on the wise and poignant advice-column newsletters from Cheryl Strayed and Heather Havrilesky (aka Ask Polly).
So then the worst thing happened that can happen to a creator…I became so fearful about “copying” these other women (even subconsciously) that every time I sat down to write my next newsletter, I froze. My head was so crowded with other people’s voices that I couldn’t hear my own. The noise of inspiration was just too. damn. loud.
Which leads me to the question: in this day and age of Pinterest and mood boards and saved posts, how do you know when you’re truly inspired or simply imitating? How do you know when you’re referencing or just regurgitating? And finally, in the midst of all this #inspo, how can we maintain individuality while living in this giant echo chamber we call Instagram? I’m getting a little sick of all the sameness out there, aren’t you? Everyone’s homes look the same, everyone’s outfits look the same, everyone’s feeds even look the same. Instagram and it’s never-ending pool of inspiration has created one homogenous aesthetic, and so I think as a society we are facing a crisis right now. We have too much #inspo at our fingertips.
If you really think about it this surplus of inspiration is also causing a surplus of beauty—manufactured beauty. Don’t get me wrong, I love beautiful things but I think after a while when too much of what we look at on a day to day basis is perfectly, unnaturally beautiful, something starts to shift. Our eyes adjust in a way that’s opposite from how they’re intended to view the world. Pre-Instagram, pre-filters, pre-perfection our brains would light up when we saw something truly stunning. Whether that was a miracle of Mother Nature, like a colorful sunset or the Grand Canyon, or a piece of artwork made by gifted human hands, our eyes and minds recognized that beauty and reacted to it. Now in this age of Facetune and Photoshop, our eyes expect beauty at every turn. It’s now when we see something that’s NOT perfect, NOT stunningly gorgeous, NOT filtered, that’s when our brain lights up. It’s like we’re slowly training ourselves to reject anything that’s even slightly imperfect. To put it bluntly, I miss imperfection. I miss pores on skin. I miss unfiltered photos. I miss things being just a little bit ugly. The problem with all this? If nothing is ugly, then what is beauty anyway?
So as I sit here wondering what the point of this newsletter is, and as I try to articulate what older sister-ly piece of advice I’d like to impart today, the only thing I can come up with is this: don’t be afraid to be a little bit ugly.
xx
Cris, your older sister
Things to do because I said so…
Watch an epic performance
Did you watch the Grammy’s? You know, that music award show that took place in March, but that somehow feels like an entire year ago? The band Haim performed “The Steps”, a song from their new album Women in Music Part III, and it was epic. Epic not just because I’m a huge fan, or because I really really miss hearing live music (don’t we all?), but because seeing these three sisters on stage reminded me that there are still some not-overly-made-up, not-overly-sexed-up women out there doing their badass thing. With their long, undone hair, and clunky combat boots, Este, Danielle and Alana stomped around stage making the ugliest, most amazing rock-and-roll faces. And while they did show some leg, I didn’t see a lot of makeup, super-long nails, false eyelashes, dramatically-dyed hair, or bouncy cleavage—and boy was it refreshing. Listen, I’m all about women showing off their bodies as they see fit, but lately it seems like when it comes to fame, being sexy (like, very sexy) is the price of entry—and that is something I’m not about. With their strange facial contortions, bare faces, and kooky social media presence, the Haim sisters seem to be doing it on their own terms—and they’re not scared to look a little ugly along the way.
Follow someone new
I know I just shit all over Instagram but the app itself is not the problem, it’s simply the platform for the problem. Despite the algorithm learning exactly what we like and then reinforcing that back to us, there are a lot of people who have found success outside of the One Homogenous Aesthetic. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past year you’ve probably heard of Dan Pelosi (@grossypelosi), the teddy bear mom figure on Instagram who cooks for himself, his pack of extremely good-looking gay friends, and his adorably close-knit family. He uses his down-home, blue-collar, Italian-American heritage as his North Star and proudly shares it with the world. He is a bright and bubbly human with an eclectic, colorful apartment, a penchant for mismatched serveware and an addiction to tie-dye everything. His feed is a hodgepodge of indulgent food, bursts of color, and the smiling face of his grandfather, Bimpy…no marble countertop, pampas bouquet, or Mario Bellini couch in sight.
Take a trip upstate
I guess it was only a matter of time before I did some shameless self-promotion on this newsletter, so I’ll throw out a #sorrynotsorry in advance. During the pandemic, in addition to baking banana bread, learning embroidery, and watching every TV show under the sun, my husband, sister, brother-in-law, and I bought and renovated a house in Upstate New York. We went live on AirBnB in April, not long after the year anniversary of the world shutting down. The reason I bring this up now is because I am so proud of the design and decor, and not just because it’s beautiful (which it is), but because it does not look like the One Homogenous Aesthetic. It does not resemble a Pinterest pin or an Instagram square. Instead it encompasses a mix of old and new, cozy and chic, practical and pretty. My sister, an artist and all-around creative powerhouse, designed the space utilizing a mix of styles and sources—along with incorporating some pieces that were left behind in the house when we bought it. Those pieces truly add something special to the whole thing. In one bedroom an old wooden dresser sits next to an artist’s easel and a macrame swing; in another, an old wicker hamper from our childhood home mingles with a new gold-framed king bed; and in the dining room you’ll find a vintage hand-knotted rug scored on eBay directly under a light fixture that once hung in a NYC public school. It’s a mix of mass market, secondhand scores, and vintage finds all rolled into this unique vibe you won’t find on anyone’s mood board.
I’d love to hear from you!
Are you dying to tell me how much you love my newsletter? Are you desperate to tell me how right I was about something I told you to read, watch, or do? Or do you need some older-sister advice about something that’s been plaguing you? Hit me with it in the comments.