Video Killed the Radio Star

We live in a social media fueled society.

As an aspiring entrepreneur, I hear over and over how important it is to use social media to broadcast videos, making me “more approachable, more familiar,” to my target audience. This is a difficult practice for me to embrace, as someone who prefers to be behind the camera more than in front of it. I’m every photographer’s nightmare- my smiles are tentative and self-conscious; I’m the subject who’s always finding a taller person to hide behind (not difficult when you’re barely over the five foot tall mark). I’ve always preferred to be behind the scenes; I feel more comfortable making the scenery pretty without being a part of it. I helped to coordinate a good friend’s wedding in the fall, and I was more comfortable running errands, heading off problems before they happened, and coordinating the details than I ever could have been in a more visible role. Of course, I’ve been more visible several times, and I’ve been honored to take on the roles assigned to me, but I just don’t love the spotlight.

In high school, I was a flutist in the band. We performed often and as a group. I grew accustomed to performing even if I never grew to love it. For me, the band was always more about the friendships I formed.

I don’t remember what year it was, but it was sometime between 2001 and 2003 that we performed a field show that included the Chicken Dance. Part of the show included one of our color guard members dressing in a chicken costume, face concealed, and running around the football field while the band played. During one particular competition where our band was judged against other high school bands, our chicken was unable to perform. Our director asked for volunteers and somehow I ended up in a yellow feathered suit. Face and identity undisclosed, I hit the field and danced and engaged the crowd as I’d never have had the guts to do if my face was showing. Sounds cowardly, I know, but I felt free that day. I remember the strangest details about that performance. It had rained all day, and the field was muddy and slippery under my rubber chicken feet. I almost wiped out several times. But I kept it together, chicken dancing, spreading my arms and “flying” among the members of our band, keeping the audience engaged. When we came off the field, members of other bands were cheering, “We love the chicken!” and begging to know the identity of whomever was crazy enough to act as I had so publicly. But I’d been able to do it anonymously, with only members of our band knowing it was me…and they all knew me well enough to know I could be little (ahem, a LOT) crazy behind the scenes already.

Here’s another example: years ago, when I got my first iPhone, I hung up on my first FaceTime call because I was horrified and freaked out to see my own face on the screen when I picked up the phone to answer. My best friend and a few others have invited me to use the app, Marco Polo, to send video messages. While I love receiving videos of others, I feel absolutely ridiculous taking videos of myself talking. I don’t even do selfies, either. Sure, with the kids to be silly sometimes, or with a fun filter that adds makeup and dazzle to send to my husband or sister, but very, VERY rarely do I sent them. Yesterday, ironically, was an exception, when I sent one to my sister and then to my cousin from the front seat of my car while I waited in line to drop the twins off at preschool. Both were shocked to have received it. It may be another decade before it happens again.

I guess it’s a little like that show, the Masked Singer. I didn’t watch much of it, but I saw a few episodes and was able to sympathize with the performers and their freedom to sing their hearts out in a way that didn’t make them completely vulnerable to judgments and scrutinizing eyes. They must have felt very much like I did that day all those years ago in my chicken costume: free. Liberated. Not judged. And maybe a little more secure in knowing their insecurities were buried beneath a blingy and embellished exterior, faces and expressions hidden from a harsh and judgmental public at large.

My point is, I chose to follow the interior design path (and, I guess if you’re reading this, also the path of writing- at least as a hobby) because I can do the work behind the scenes, baring the parts of my soul I want to share through color, design, images, and words- without showing my face. Even those who have never seen my face have a good sense of who I am, based on stories and images I’ve shared. And I’m guessing, if you’ve been around these parts for awhile (this blog is heading for its ninth year, y’all!), and you keep coming back, you’re not doing it to see my face. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. For being here, for coming back, for encouraging me to keep doing this.

I’d love to hear from you on this. Anyone else feel this way- and put yourself out there anyway? Any advice you can offer me here?

All my love,

~d

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