Selfies

Here is a picture of me:

I took it myself. You can tell this by the right arm at a weird angle, clearly holding up the camera; the flattering downward shot; and the blank expression (why would I smile, I'm alone?).
This, for those of you blissfully unaware, is a Selfie: a self portrait usually taken on a camera phone and uploaded to Facebook or Twitter or...
This is from my Instagram: friend of bad photographers and the un-photogenic (of which I am both). Select a filter, make your face a bit blurry and TA-DAH! You have a photo that is half-decent. Hurrah!
So why did I take this selfie? I was sitting on my sofa, not doing anything memorable or interesting. I was home alone and bored. And there you have my reason. Boredom. I felt like making a nice Instagram picture to amuse myself for 5 minutes, that being a new toy I'd recently discovered. Nothing of note around me so used myself as a subject of art.
That and I wanted a new profile picture. I get bored of my face if I keep the same photo too long.
But also (I'll be honest enough to admit) I like it when people say I look nice occasionally.
<LIKE>
But I notice that some people take this to an extreme. Why do you post a picture of yourself every day? Does that mean you are confident enough to think you look nice all the time and want to share that? Or does it mean the opposite, that you crave approval?
And then there are other kinds of Selfie that say other things about you. For a start, the ugly Selfie where you pull a stupid face to show you don't take yourself too seriously, that you have a 'Good Sense of Humour.' Or the group Selfie. Or a shot of your feet, or newly tattooed hand, or the beach with your suntanned legs in shot.
The last is to make you feel jealous of the magical view I have while I'm on holiday...clearly in my case I'm not looking for compliments on my non-existent tan.
I know someone who is a fashion blogger. She loves a selfie for business purposes, to show how clothes look and how you can put them together. Other people use them as a bit of promo.
But the thing is, they are no new thing. Here's an Edwardian Selfie taken with an early camera:

There you are: vanity is not a new phenomenon. It goes back even further than this actually, past early portrait painters, to people painting on cave walls. We humans have a bizarre need to leave a record of ourselves. The easier that is to do, the more prolific it is, and that's why we notice it so much now. If this lady had had Facebook this would be her new profile picture, showing off her latest and most technologically advanced toy.
Weird creatures humans, aren't we?
Now, I have been known to take a Selfie or two, but within reason people! Are you really enjoying yourself if you want to stop and take a photo of your fun-having self all the time? So yes, show us the dress your fairy godmother made you for the ball, but then just go and dance Cinderella! 

More procrastination

Yesterday I was having a discussion about my writing. In particular the picture book that is in my head but hasn't quite made it on to paper yet.
Do you know the reason I gave for having done nothing with it yet? That I need to buy a notebook first.
A notebook?!
How many blank notebooks do I have already? But none of them inspire me. I want a bigger one. And some colouring pencils. Until the moment these tools are sitting in front of me, I couldn't possibly channel my genius into a useful form.
Ridiculous, yes. But I do it all the time, and I know you are a culprit too reader.
Instead of finishing the knickers that I'm supposed to be sewing for myself, yesterday I bought lots of new fabric to make a maxi-dress and something else that I haven't decided yet. Why do I not work out how to attached the elastic first before embarking on a new project?
On a much grander scale, I have pretty much written off this year as one of experiments. Get myself back in shape just in case dance work materialises; work as much as possible to save some money; embark on varying work experience placements to see if I actually like anything; write as much as possible.
Then next September, or before if I'm lucky, I'll actually pick something.
This is the shiny side of the coin that I'm presenting to the world but here's the truth:
This morning I could have got up and gone to ballet but I'm actually sitting on the sofa in my pyjamas (at least I'm writing!); I'm going on holiday in a couple of weeks (yayay!!) spending much of what I've saved recently; having done two publishing placements I'm stuck about what to try next- apparently my ideas began and ended with publishing; I make excuses about not having the correct type of notebook to explain my lack of actual written writing.
So what do I do? Procrastinate. Read. Tidy up. Play the ukulele. Look up where I'll go on holiday next. Look at my blog stats to see where people are reading my blog (this week UK, Russia, Peru).
The thing is that I love potential. The magic in a shapeless piece of fabric that could become a ball gown. The energy in an idea in my head that cold be beautiful but might lose steam as soon as I put it on paper. The nobility of my good intentions.
And I guess it all gives me an excuse for my great indecision.
It just occurred to me how often I have mentioned how indecisive I am about my life in this blog. I'm procrastinating by talking about why I'm procrastinating.
So this is where I'll leave you today. I need to sew my pants. No more distractions!

Celebrities

Yesterday I was at the GQ Awards. Obviously I wasn't a guest: I was in prime people watching position. When you work at these things, even if you are standing somewhere very obvious, you are mainly invisible. Understandably so?
They are just so weird, these celebrity events. Shiny people walk in, look sultry for the camera, air kiss the cameraman, then answer questions about their outfit and man crush. Free drinks, a meal. Then the awards, which over-run by an hour because no one can stop mentioning the nazis.
Then I go home.
My first job was red carpet watch (if that is a job). People, I was in smelling distance of Eddie Redmayne, Michael Douglas, Noel Gallagher, Pharrell Williams, Samuel L. Jackson... I did not recognise them all. Far from it. But this started a game.
People who I recognised immediately: Emma Watson, Claudia Winkleman, Russell Brand.
People who I thought I'd met before: Matt Smith.
People who I couldn't remember the name of but knew immediately because they look just like my friend Abi: my friend Abi's brother. I would have loved to tell him to say hi to her from me but a) that would be a bit weird, b) we weren't allowed to let the famouses know we existed.
People who's names I heard later and hadn't recognised at all: Rosie Huntington-Whitley, Rita Ora, Ellie Goulding.
People I thought looked like I should know them and I probably should have if I had any ounce of cool: the man from The Who, Wilko Johnson...this is difficult because I still don't know their names.
People whose lackies are very rude and make furious gestures for me to move out of the way lest I offend the great man's eyes: Elton John.
People who actually seem quite nice and say hello to you: Elton John.


Yep. I just did a blow by blow of who I saw. What a name-dropper eh?

So there was the red carpet. A place to look chic, to show the world that you are friends with Justin Timberlake. A place to only smile when there wasn't a camera pointed at you.
And then there was my second location, smoker's terrace.
Humans are so odd. I often think this about stuff we do: walking on two legs, hair, hands and feet, exercising in front of the telly.
But I mean, places like this seem so much like a watering hole. But instead of sipping water in the cooling shade of an oasis, people smoke and sip champagne and compliment each other on their dresses. But they suddenly don't look like famous people. They look like an office party, which is essentially what these things are, no?
So why so people find them so fascinating? They weren't even very interesting. I know, I heard a lot of speeches. The only vaguely exciting moment was Russell Brand making a joke about Hugo Boss dressing the nazis very elegantly; and every third speech after condemning him for it.
Oh and Elton John gave his award to Wilko Johnson. That was nice.
So that's what I did yesterday. I grew bored by some people. Standard day at work really, except that I wasn't allowed to sit down.