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| Attention all humans of Planet Earth: this is the official "Art Fag" hairstyle. Please note that it hasn't changed much through the years: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louise_Brooks. |
People in genuinely creative industries like mine suffer from all manner of indignities and degradation, not least of which are the groupies and hangers-on that we call "Art Fags". They are: that chick who likes art, dabbled a little bit in oil painting during college, and then went on to the much easier Art History degree to work a vaguely arty job. Or, he's that overly-opinionated gay guy at the cocktail party; you know, the loud drunk one who thinks shopping is design, as he makes his way through his circle of friends, family, acquaintances, and fellow barflies to redecorate rich people apartments all over New York City.
She's also that rich housewife "decorator" who wrongly assumes that design is searching for "rare" stuff that's sold in catalogs. To justify her time (and billable hours), she spends a lot of time finding old chairs in quaint little towns upstate, which she has reupholstered ridiculously in bright showy patterns, thus making the whole point behind this personality: it's an annoyingly immature "Look at me!" posture towards the world that marks the amateur every single time. Ditto with the "photographer" wife (with the rich husband who buys all of her over-priced camera equipment), who takes inane head-shots for other arty types with dreams of the theater and "trodding the boards" of Broadway, pretentiously wearing a showily bright and a pronouncedly jaunty ascot that may or may not be included in the onstage act.
Same with the emaciated "Fashionista" who mistakes magazine work and extreme dieting for thousands of hours worth of pinning, sewing, cutting, and fabrication. Instant "art" career? Move to New York City, "pretty" girl! I've seen many an Art Fag go down that way. How do I know? These are all the types I encounter(ed) first-hand out there in the world, where the amateur mixes with the highly-trained professional every day, sometimes even getting away with it, especially if there's Nepotism* involved. How can you speak out against it, when your paycheck dangles in the balance? You can't, which is why the company's owner is such a fucking bitch to you and every other person in the office; she's not talented and she knows it, and it's all your fault because you're in the same room as her twisted ass.
Luckily for me, the best art and design school on Planet Earth prepares us for mixing it up with the provincial locals by schooling us rigorously in techniques that do not come undone with time, money, or any type of rigged network connections. It just doesn't work that way for a Maestro. We do not come undone under stress or with distractions, nor with any other kinds of abuse that mark the amateurs' envious attempts at sabotage, which must be extremely irritating for all of you who try so hard each and every day to rock my boat.
I saw my very first pair of openly-sported assless chaps (worn by the slightly less leather-clad partner of a young "out" gay couple), at my first (and last) RISD Artist's Ball, so unless you plan on turning your office boardroom into the gayest drag show ever ("No T, no shade!"), with lots of rainbow feathers, weirdo angel wings and garish makeup, set to spinning strobe lights and people with really bad attitudes wearing brilliantly homemade costumes constructed by the fiercest creative minds in the world, drop the fucking act. Now. Because it will never work. It never has, and it never will. Le Fin.
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| https://www.tumblr.com/search/risd%20artist%20ball |
* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nepotism
