Monday, 14 April 2014


Terrible night’s sleep. Couldn’t rid myself of my self-loathing and sheer nervous worry about this job and their demand that I provide a photograph of myself. This morning, I’m utterly tired of being me, of having thoughts, ideas, feelings, and having strong opinions about the internet, privacy, and the right to your own identity. I woke early, cut the lawn in a desperate act of trying to put off the inevitable and then sat down and tried to take a ‘selfie’ and utterly hated the way I look. I hate my bottom lip and also my top lip for different reasons. I have a David Cameron mouth and I despise it. I despise the fact that I’m forced to look at it because somebody wants to add me to their organisational chart. I hate the fact that I’m considering giving in because the act of compromise is so much easier in the short term given that life is already difficult enough.

This situation has happened before in my life but I’ve previously managed to avoid it but this is how small companies operate and the problem is always going to reoccur. Small businesses like to see the stretch of their dominion, counting heads as if to say they are this far on the road to total world domination. Every one of them think they’re the next BP or Microsoft. Browse company websites and you’ll eventually see a roster of people looking either comfortable or uncomfortable about having their photos taken. Nobody stands up and says no. Or at least nobody stands up and says no and stays in the job for very long.

But why must I think like this? If it were mere self-loathing, I could perhaps accept my fate. Yet it’s more than that. Taking a photograph of myself is existential and I hate French philosophy. I live in my mind and I how I think of ‘me’ is quite different to what the camera tells me.

I’m not sure why I’m so utterly miserable about this situation. Why can’t people just accept me for who I am rather than turning me into another version of their selves?

1 comment:

  1. Have they seen your face? If not, you could just ask to borrow a friend's face, or tell them you lost your face in a hideous accident involving a lawnmower and a garden gnome.