When We’re Uncool

I've been rewatching favorite movies this week, and was struck by the quote in Almost Famous, "The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool." - Philip Seymour Hoffman as Lester Bangs.

In business we're supposed to do a lot of honing in on who our ideal customer is. They tell you to create an "avatar" an "archetype" Make up an imaginary person that is who you are marketing to and learn everything about them. Google what people this age, race, location, social class, etc. believe and why and how and where they shop.

Writing is not much different. I read that whenever you sit down to write you should imagine that you are corresponding with a certain specific friend, maybe like the friend in your head that you imagine having a conversation with when you are working something out. Someone who understands and shares your interests enough to be interested and know where you are going, but who doesn't know everything about it yet, or who cares what you have to contribute.

I thought I was doing these exercises the way that I was supposed to, but I was still left puzzled. My social media marketing falls flat. My book writing has been convoluted and my peer writing group keeps asking who is my audience, and I'm not really sure.

A few months ago, a friend told me that her mentor advised, "You, five years ago, is your ideal client." We were talking about finding our way back to personal work outside of our homes as our children get a little older and more independent. Five years ago we were both drowning in the care of small children. Feeling lost and identity-less. We felt like losers. We believed things we have learned to let go of that were trapping and strangling us. We didn't believe in or make time for ourselves. Neither of us wanted to build a business around "mommy world." We don't want to go back there.

But last night I was scrolling through Joy Prouty's stories. (I've mentioned her in two blog posts this week, so you should probably go check her out. Her book Practicing presence was linked in the February newsletter, she's @joyprouty on instagram, and you might even sign up for one of her coaching programs.) She posted a question box this past weekend asking something like, "Women who grew up in high control religions, how is that still affecting your creative work?" And the response was overwhelming. She shared them in her stories and I was moved to tears. These are my people.

I realized that in creating my ideal client, or the imaginary friend I'm writing too, I'd invented someone cool that I wanted to be. I was trying to write for someone I don't know and ultimately don't understand as well as I would like to think I do. I had this familiar feeling in my stomach from a life time of wearing a mask, fighting for the attention of the cool kids who didn't know I existed.

Now before you think that I am calling you uncool, this has very little to do with my actual audience and everything to do with myself. I've been trying to impress someone who doesn't exist, because here's the thing about the rock stars in Almost Famous, and the ones real life: they're not cool either. We all have those people we follow on social media and we are jealous. We think they have everything we want. We think they have it all together. But they are carrying their own burdens we cannot see. They are nursing hurts, and wide open gaping holes that they don't show, because we are all just trying our hardest to put our best foot forward, and maybe a little bit trying to impress someone cool that doesn't exist.

I've been writing marketing for a woman who already feels bold and confident and worthy. I've been trying and failing to write a book for someone who is tired of their childhood interpretations of the Bible, but still care what it has to say. I'm trying to pretend we aren't all walking wounded. I'm trying to pretend I have it all together and know what I'm talking about.

I don't fully know how to quit that yet. I am not sure what this pivot looks like for me, but I am ready to try and let down the mask. I'm ready to start looking for what it looks like to share something real with you when we are both uncool. When we are hurting and trying our best and showing up scared. I'm ready to design clothes that make you feel beloved and worthy, even if you aren't convinced yet. I'm ready to put them on every morning, even though I'm not convinced yet.