I have staked my claim on exposure. Discomfort, finding and experiencing that which I don’t like very much, I relish in it. Not in a modern sense, hate-watching and anti-ing and pessimism, but just in the sense of waste and wanting to be sure I know exactly how bad bad is before I can go to something I like. Use up the cheap coffee before trying the new, lay on my non-preferred side for a nap so my preferred side feels extra nice at bedtime, trim my nails below the quick. Mild self harm filtered through to annoyance. It’s a healthy evolution for me.
I have been catching up on movies this week, using the best week of the year (between Christmas and New Years) to watch the glut of year end releases. Last night I set a reminder to watch Past Lives today, a film by Celine Song about the pull of ancestry, a film I avoided in theaters. I woke up this morning, had a long breakfast, and pulled up the iTunes rental page, and while the trailer start rolling I immediately let my eyes wander away. “I can’t watch this.”
Michelle Zauner, aka Japanese Breakfast, aka one of my favorite artists, released her memoir about her life and her mother’s death a few years ago. I still haven’t read it. I have a signed copy sitting on my shelf. Return to Seoul, a film about an adoptee returning to her birth country of Korea, has been languishing on my Letterboxd watchlist since its release. I can’t watch these. There is a certainty of pain in knowing that I have avoided pieces of art so clearly close to my heart - why is Japanese Breakfast my favorite musician? I’ll give you half a guess - yet there is a larger certainty of pain that would be inevitable in consuming them. This is an entire genre for me. It’s not as simple as not wanting to engage with art that makes me think and provokes questions. It’s not laziness, I don’t think. I can connect with most things and find the difficulty within. I watched the Cat Person movie and didn’t walk out, for god’s sake. But there’s a particular torture in seeing yourself on screen in a culture that places a premium on your absence. I’m just feeling chickenshit about it all. Maybe I’ll watch them next year.
The New Year is a good time for me. I love to make resolutions. My best friend and I select people as themes for our upcoming years: not simple celebrity worship, but branding (sorry) and vibes. Past themes have included Rihanna (not giving a fuck), Keke Palmer (career woman). Maybe this year I can lean into exposure for my own pressure points. Maybe my theme this year will be Charles Melton in May December (forcing myself to see the truth in front of my face). I could watch him on screen, no problem. Hypocrite.
In other news, I write here very sporadically (obviously). Keep up with my writing on my other Substack, Litterboxd, which is what it sounds like. I am looking for more cats to interview, so please reach out to litterboxdcentral@gmail.com with any leads, or to give me a job.