Talk Is Expensive

This past month

I experienced what felt like a physical inability to answer any text messages. This visceral aversion to being ‘reachable’ materialised alongside an obsession with refreshing the Vogue Runway app every hour for the new AW17 collections. I was in a total state of withdrawal.

Withdrawal. It also seemed to be the issue in New York, London, Milan and Paris as articles came out announcing the decisions of big designers to pull out of their traditional show slots in order to align with other schedules or cities. So, soon to be absent from my phone aside from little blue text bubbles in a formidable sea of white ones was Proenza Schouler, Hood by Air and the one that really hurt – Rodarte. But I digress.

This means that whilst I was admiring this season’s surplus of Victorian necklines and socks paired with heels, I was getting messages folding down from the top of my screen reading, “Gigi are you dead???” and “Gigi are you alive?” and “Gigi your friends are texting me to see if you are alright…” (The last one was from my mum). I was alright, I was just a mute.

After a while of avoiding everyone and unintentionally tracking the travel itineraries of various models based on what shows they walked in, I started to get the urge to talk to my friends again. However, one can’t come back from the dead with “omg did you see Burberry’s new collection, wasn’t the de-construction of the classic trench coat the most exhilarating thing you’ve laid eyes on all day? oh btw hi”. Instead, I started scrolling through my old messages and realised something that only in retrospect could I have suspected, something I will tell you about after the following contextually relevant PeRsONal ANEcDotE.

When I was a baby mute with even less friends and more spare time, my dad would bring me to studios to drop off and pick up his camera gear. Whilst I wandered around with the aimlessness that only looks cute on a child, I listened to him talk about lenses and shutter speeds and retouching with his work friends. Although these conversations perplexed me, they also enthralled me. I learnt that using jargon creates an understanding between two people. Talking about equipment makes them less self-serving in their conversation style; it moves them from saying ‘I’ to ‘it’ and excitement is built around that mutual ‘it’. I think that has always made me hungry for a language of my own. And I’ve just realised that I’ve obtained it.

I like talking about clothes and my most soul affirming friendships involve discussing them in detail. To plot the delightful frustration that comes with getting better at something you love through its paraphernalia; whether that be taking photos or getting dressed.

Thinking that I couldn’t connect to people through something I love was an old insecurity I had about my ability to make like-minded friends, but holy shit does talking about inanimate objects make my mates and I animate in our discussions. Have you ever squealed out loud at a picture of a Dior sandal? Thank you to my friends who share my interests and put up with me when I leave the planet for a while.

I still don’t like answering my phone, but I’m getting better. 0420491915. Try me!