It’s been a little while since I’ve posted because my life is now a sprint to juggle multiple responsibilities, with varying degrees of success and competence.

I am balancing an (often-more-demanding-than-it-should-be) full time job, with a part-time Master’s degree, a weekly aerial hobby, writing this newsletter, pitching a movie, writing a short film (yes, I know - another thing, I am insane) and, most excitingly of all - launching a podcast with my fellow media obsessed pal . And that’s on top of being someone’s wife, daughter, friend, and erratic confidante who has to feed and clothe themselves, bathe, run a home, sleep and exercise.

I am in my ‘creatively inspired to do lots of shit’ renaissance era, but also in my ‘drowning in side quests’ era.

And everyone who knows me is probably sick of hearing about it but it really, really bothers me when I’m not immediately good at things. It bothers me even more when I try really hard and am still not good at them.

This degree is proving more challenging than I could have ever imagined. Having the time to do it on top of everything else is tricky, but understanding it is quite another.

Psychology degrees involve a surprising amount of maths and statistics - things I failed MISERABLY at in high school (the D I got for my GCSE’s still occasionally haunts me). It also seems to have way too much chat on neuroscience and biology.

Who’d have thought from a science degree? I am strictly an ‘arts’ girlie and having to think in a completely new way is destroying my will to live. All I want to scream is ‘my poor neurons!!’

When I was younger, the one thing I could rely on was my discipline and aptitude around wanting to learn new things. I was the type of kid who would read the Dictionary for fun, really appreciated a chunky Encyclopaedia for Christmas, and would voluntarily give presentations on ancient civilisations in class, much to the frustration of my classmates. A fucking nerd, basically.

My intense interests and insufferable thirst for knowledge rewarded me with a reasonably successful academic career. I didn’t excel in all subjects, but I was good at English, art, media, and history. Writing was ‘my thing’ and I barely even had to try that hard to do it. It was a skill which I managed to fine tune enough that as I grew up, it just flowed out of me.

I wasn’t the most popular kid nor the most athletic, high scoring, funny, intelligent, or talented. And when I got older I wasn’t ‘hot’ or ‘cool’ or ‘fashionable’. But hot damn, was I good at academia. If I applied myself enough, I could always scrape some admirable grades. That was and is a core part of my identity. Ya gal can’t help out in an apocalypse but I can always be good at learning.

Not being good at this degree has been a humbling experience. I managed to get some decent scores on my initial assignments, but not being top of the class has had a tough influence on my ego and sense of self.

I have cried over more assignments than I can remember. I have had weekly meltdowns of ‘I can’t do this’ than my husband probably cares to deal with. Everyone in my group chats probably has whiplash over my threats to quit.

When I tell people I’m upset over not being good enough, they quite literally laugh in my face. “You’re learning something brand new'“, “you’re also working full time”, “just try your best”. This is also usually followed by raised eyebrows and ‘did you used to be a high achiever by any chance"?’

I know they’re right, but they’re also wrong. I’m not wired that way. I get all of my validation through being good at assignments. When I’m not good at them, I wonder who I am anymore.

It’s ridiculous. I’ve spent the latter part of the last 6 months rationalising with myself that I won’t burst into flames / lose my job / die / be abandoned forever, if I don’t get the highest grade.

It’s actually very annoying. A classic Virgo trait that’s also completely unbearable; both for me and everyone else around me. Thinking this way takes a lot of unlearning.

I think I suck at psychology. The truth is, I’m probably just ok at it.

Yet I persist. I imagine the reward of sucking at something and still doing it anyway is better than not trying it all. I think?

Emotionally Invested

If you love films, fandoms and pop culture, check out series 1 of , created by myself and Ellen Forster of .

🎧 Listen to episode 1: Showmances & Wuthering Heights on Substack or Spotify

🎧 Listen to episode 2: Zombies - Origins, Evolutions & The Post Pandemic era on Substack or Spotify

If you want to make a drinking game of it, drink every time I say the word ‘Like’ or better still, send us your stories of your childhood obsessions.

📧 Email: emotionallyinvestedpodcast@gmail.com
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Emotionally Invested Podcast

A podcast about films and fandom culture by Ellen and Nicola.

By Ellen Forster

That’s all for today! I will be trying to keep posts a little more regular very soon but in the meantime, please subscribe!

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A quick round-up

I have been feeling super inspired after revisiting the late' ‘80s / ‘90s / early 2000s era where DIY aesthetics reigned supreme. I read Kathleen Hannah’s autobiography ‘Rebel Girl’ in December last year and it really made me think how people like Kathleen basically ‘built’ their entire scene (and movement) with fellow artists.

This timed perfectly with seeing music legends Deftones live, my recent viewing of Beastie Boys Story (2020), Hip Hop Evolution (Netflix), Ghost World (2001), Wild at Heart (1990), Hackers (1995) and whatever the hell Emerald Fennel thought she was doing with her interpretation of Wuthering Heights - a book we seemingly both read at 14 but clearly had very different takeaways.

Needless to say, it’s transported me back to a simpler time where my intense obsession with pop culture took hold and the world felt exciting!

This is your PSA to start fucking about doing stuff you enjoy, making stuff you like, and creating dumb shit with the people you love while you still can.

Just y’know. Don’t try to do it all at once like I am.

But it is definitely old enough to start thinking about what getting older means. And not in a The Substance kind of way…

While I might still wish to spend my evenings scrolling ASOS, chatti…

Read more

Today I joined the 10,000 think-pieces on Substack about Taylor Swift following the release of her latest record, The Life of A Show Girl.

There’s nothing that hasn’t already been said, and said better. We’ve acknowledged that it’s not a great album but she’s now too big to win anyway; that she never was nor has been a showgirl; that marriage makes her writing boring; that capitalism makes her a poor ally to other female artists; that her beef with Charli XCX is weird and her ongoing victimhood feels childish; that she continues to wrestle with accusations of not being a real feminist, that some of her marketing decisions extort fans, that her whiteness makes her unintentionally racist, that she shuns politics but is the ‘Hilary Clinton of pop music’ - and that she doesn’t actually read.

She has been dissected from every possible angle. All takes have valid criticisms from inside and outside of the fandom. Everyone is probably sick of hearing about it.

But I suspect the thing we don’t like the most about her is the veneer of perfection and infallibility - and that for once, she’s failed to live up to it.

I am no Taylor fan. I’m a casual observer. She has some nice songs and I probably wouldn’t complain if they cropped up on my Spotify shuffle. You have to respect some of that hustle. But equally I find the way she, her marketing team, and her own fandom “Mary Sue” her incredibly annoying.

As touched upon in Charli’s song, Sympathy is a Knife, the reason many people probably don’t like Taylor is because she reminds us of everything we can’t be.

We can’t all be slim, blonde, blue-eyed, leggy billionaires with countless awards, famous friends, a worldwide fanbase, a famous fiance, or opportunities as far as the eye can see.

She reminds us of the smug overachiever girl at school who teachers loved and somehow always won every single competition.

She’s the lauded work colleague that gets constant praise and rewards even though her craic on lunch break is awful.

She’s the wealthy friend who fails upwards while you try hard and get nowhere.

She’s the popular attractive girl who complains that it’s so lonely at the top.

It’s the Anne Hathaway’s and Rachel Berry’s of this world. Earnestness is strangely insufferable.

And the problem with all of those people is that to the outside world, they never set a foot wrong. Their perfection makes them unrelatable and unlikable.

In psychology, we call this the ‘Pratfall effect’ - we find people more likeable when they make mistakes and we dislike people who don’t display the type of imperfections that humanise the rest of us.

Who would you rather go partying with? The girl who is going to cry in the smoking area before doing 3 shots and dancing on the bar? Or the girl that’s going to be in bed with a facemask by 10pm because she has pilates in the morning?

Anyone who has ever lived and breathed perfection has always been instantly annoying to me - including past versions of myself. I can’t stand being around people who always say the right thing; who always look fantastic; who always eat right and work out every day; who try too hard and never seem to do anything bad. It brings out the insecurity in me about reaching status that I can never aspire to, let alone compete with.

Perfection feels fake and disingenuous. It makes you suspicious about what people are hiding. It’s no coincidence that people often speculate about Swift’s feuds, her personal politics, or if she’s the type of person who might scream at their personal assistant. We don’t want to see perfect people fail - we just want to know they can.

Being ‘adorkable’ is not the same as being existentially flawed either. Neither is being incredibly intelligent but liking biscuits a bit too much. Or being beautiful but clumsy. These palatable flaws are often what people like Taylor Swift point to, to say ‘Look! I’m just a normal girl like you!’. But mere mortals can tell when it’s still a front.

The messiness is all hidden away. Except this time.

Taylor Swift produced something that didn’t align with her near-perfect or imagined ‘perfectly flawed’ back catalogue and self image. We have so much perfection fatigue with her that we all jumped when we saw her mess up in real time.

For what it’s worth, I probably won’t listen to TLOASG but it’s made me appreciate that Charli is actually kind of a genius with her take. Taylor might speak to billions of people around the world, but Charli speaks to that little bit of us that we don’t really like but know is there. That is the mark of a true artist, not a pop star.