Embracing the Booty

It occurred to me in the shower the other day (ah, the shower – the source of all thoughts worth thinking) that my life, or rather, my online/shared/documented life was very much like one of those barely memorable home auction shows from the early-90s.  You know the ones?  Location, Location, Homes Under the Hammer, Flog My Joint Because I can’t bare the Sight of It for One More Minute, that sort of thing.  These shows were essentially edited in the same (apparently successful) formulaic manner:

Act 1: A B-Grade host would ogle the hideously decorated home of a clueless punter or punters who were supposedly stuck in some daggy, bygone era (however, as viewers we all knew better that no such retina-offending era had ever truly existed for any individual with a modicum of style).  While watching, we’d suppress giggles as we toured rooms dominated by creepy dolphin-themed wall-freezes, iridescent pink bathrooms and wood veneered hallways and congratulate ourselves for being all-round better people.

Act 2: At the advice of the host, said punter/s would while away the following week/s painting over their offendingly personal taste with a ‘neutral palette’ of white-washes, beiges and/or, the ultimate, wall-to-wall magnolia tones.  All in pursuit of those giddying heights of mass-appeal to the homogenous buying market. 

Act 3: Owner would overcome deeply emotional and transformational renovation journey to pose the truly enlightened question: “why didn’t I do this years ago?”. The host would then slap (figuratively, of course) punter/s back to reality (after all, there’s ratings to be considered) to push forward with the auction before the whole undertaking could be regretted too much by all parties.

After enjoying small-screen success for years, these progammes eventually became unstuck when the real world of property buyers and sellers realised that a consistently Magnolia colour-palette , completely devoid of all personality, was really bl**dy boring (we jumped ship for garish 60 Minute Makeovers instead).

So, how does all of this explain why I’ve decided to document a life lived with two fleshy melons balanced atop the back of my thighs? 

Well, you see - my day job sees me working with university students and graduates, giving them the ‘tools' to 'transition successfully' into the employment market and, ideally, into the career of their dreams (I actually really love what I do but that's irrelevant for now).  If I’m perfectly honest, I think I have spent SO many years suggesting young people be conscious of their online identity, that they actively manage their ‘personal brand’ and consider how they are being perceived by employers… that I have completely avoided ever creating any sort of online identity of my own.  Subconsciously, I guess I have been so paralysed about how my thoughts/comments/actions might be interpreted (or misinterpreted) that I have simply not shared them.

Online Me is something akin to an Anthony Robbins audio-tape series.

If you knew Actual Me (which if you are reading this, chances are you do, owing to the fact that this blog is not searchable or discoverable on any level) you would probably find this odd. Actual Me is funny (back to my friends reading this... please, just go with it…), engaged, opinionated and generally proud to be in the possession of a rather sizable rump.

So, throwing all caution to the wind and firmly rejecting my own bland advice (I’m pretty sure once you have publicly made more than one reference to your caboose, your ‘personal Brand’ takes on a slightly new identity), let me present: Sew Bootylicious.

A blog dedicated to life less Magnolia.

Oh, umm… there will be some actual sewing somewhere, I promise.