A poor time to capitalise – By @eudaimonicr

A poor time to capitalise

With 4 days until my period, I write this piece in a tragic emotional state. Strap yourself in for a wild rambling of thoughts and feelings. And, not to brag, but this is my fourth attempt in writing this.

People don’t like advertising on a normal day, so it’s safe to say that when we see brands trying to use a pandemic to spruce up their image we are deeply reminded of just how distasteful it can be. The briefs we’ve been handed so far have been either for a post-covid world, or how a brand can use their platform for good during this time. Which suppose is the best case scenario for an advertising school that’s chosen to stay open through this quarantine. 

And oh how arbitrary it all still is. So very pointless in the current state of the world’s suffering. 

I’ve started taking photos again and I made a really nice top. Both the collectives I’m in are moving forward with the pre-production of their projects. I’ve regained my habit of doing yoga and I’ve started doing booty exercises on the off chance it can make me come out of this quarantine a thiccy. 

And while you can’t pour from an empty cup, self care is not individual well-being but communal. As Audre Lorde once said “I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.” Maybe I should make more of an effort to try to find a place in my local community that I can help in.

I finished Cowboy Bebop and started Insecure. Got around to Tiger King, Game Changers, and Cuba and the Cameraman. I became a thirst trap on my Tumblr for the first time. My only followers are pornbots. I’ve grown my pinterest inspo boards. I’ve checked in with old friends. I’ve made banana bread. I’ve smoked my stems.

I watched a Youtube live masterclass entitled How To Beat Coronavirus Capitalism, and watched the Zoom discussion that had Angela Davis in it on Facebook. I’ve made an effort to actually read the book I’m currently on- Natives, by Akala.

We’ve made a campaign in my book for Beirkenstock called “The Modern Pilgrim”. We’ve made another for Go Ape on satisfying your impulsive thoughts that leans on visuals of suicide. And another for Bravissimo about the sexualisation of women with big breasts. 

I’ve been said my thanks to the universe. I’ve prayed for Palestine and Dharavi and NHS workers. NHS workers who are immigrants who died for a country that only extended their visa because it suits them. British NHS workers who are POC and are underrepresented in mainstream media (to say the least). 

When I was 13 I remember telling my mum that I thought I was depressed. When she asked why, I said because I was worried that I wasn’t going to make it far in education, thus life, seeing as I was struggling to adapt to the Spanish school system since we had moved. She told me that I was insanely young, and that if she could make it, having been taken out of school at 10 years old yet still getting a degree in her 30s in a foreign language while taking care of 5 kids, I would also be able to have a proper education and profitable career. She recommended me to worry about boys and clothes instead.

I’ll end this here. I’m not sure if any of this is comprehensible, but I hope it communicates the surreal chaos and melancholy confusion I’m going through. Remember not to pay rent, to give us a portfolio crit and not to fucking test your bludclart vaccines in Africa.

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