The Case for being too much
In 2015, Hayley Bloomingdale wrote a Vogue article titled “The Instagram Rules: The Good, the Bad, and the Very Boring,” where she declared that selfies were only acceptable for actual fashion girls who worked in the industry or were “somewhat awesome.”
Today, I would have laughed at the article, but in 2015, it triggered all kinds of untreated insecurities—memories of being called "too much," "too loud," "too intense."
I deleted my Instagram after reading the article. Years of Valencia-filtered food pictures, office mirror selfies, wedding dress hunting shots with my BFF, perfectly angled workout selfies. The photos Jeff took of me “casually” walking to induce Anaís’ delivery at 41 weeks. My whole NY timeline, permanently gone.
Looking back, the issue wasn’t the article itself but the weight I gave to those kinds of opinions. To the perspective of a Voguette who polices Instagram and probably has a Richard Prince hanging in her dining room.
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I was not always this way. When I came back from my first international trip at the age of 14, I neither knew how nor wanted to play it cool. The moment I stepped off the plane I couldn't help but tell my family, in vivid detail, about every single experience. The summer heat rising off the concrete in Phoenix. The new Blue Asphalt flares I got from Macy’s in San Francisco. The 6-lane highways. The Montezuma castle. The jarring realization that, no matter how far I go, it’s always me who’s there.
When we got home from the airport, I was deep into recounting the story of the dams in California. At dinner, I had moved on to the Grand Canyon’s specific shade of terracotta, which naturally led to pickles—and can you believe they put them in cheeseburgers by default? To which my cousin, ever so nicely, exclaimed: “Less talk and more eating.”
Got it. It was cool to be nonchalant. To pretend that exciting experiences were no big deal. To tone it down. To be mysterious like MK, like Ashley, like my mom avoiding the press at her very public job. To master the subtle art of STFU.
I really tried.
As a designer for my now dormant brand, Commune and Memoir, I made t-shirts that described New York in one word.
As an advertising art director, I designed billboards with taglines succinct enough for drivers who had exactly 1.5 seconds to read them.
As an artist, I synthesized big ideas about complex social issues into single pieces—ones that weren’t too literal, so they could still be considered “art.”
At some point—probably after realizing I enjoyed writing about my art more than actually making it—I had to decide to live with my inadequacy. To question where the desire to be mysterious was coming from. Ego? Fear of others’ opinions? A class bias?
At some point, I had to choose between remaining quiet or letting myself happen. Deleting yet another IG story or allowing myself self-expression without undue self-criticism.
So naturally, when I come across things like "The less I post, the better I feel," or "People with real style don’t even have IG," or "Do you see Lucy Chadwick posting selfies?" I have to remind myself that, for me, putting myself out there, embracing being "too much," writing yet another newsletter, and letting go of the need to be mysteriously cool are actually acts of courage.
Acts that have freed me from years of trying to be someone I’m not.
And probably never will be.
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It rained a lot this week, and I don’t think what I wore introduced anything particularly new, aside from practicality, accented with familiar accessories and textures: my heirloom coral necklace, my Baku calfskin flats, a straw hat, a vintage purse paired with a utilitarian nylon raincoat. Proportions I couldn’t quite capture in photos.
When writing a weekly fashion Substack, there may be an intrusive, unconscious desire to inspire, innovate, or lean heavily into fantasy—to the point where dressing for yourself starts to feel like a performance, which, in turn, can leave you feeling as if you’re drifting away from yourself. This week reminded me that sometimes, simply feeling good in my clothes in real life is more than enough.
I was an AD at agencies, too! Now going through the metamorphosis of becoming a mom of a little spunky girl and reexamining my relationship to all parts of my life, including my career.
Loved this! It hits on a personal level for me (always too much, too earnest, too wanting, too excited, too loud) and also your outfits are just *chef's kiss. Clothes put together in the kind of way that seems authentic, lived-in. . . collected, not just bought. Very inspiring.