I desire It

I have been thinking about mystique, or what makes a person alluring or inspire intrigue, probably most certainly because of that New York Magazine issue. And that specific graphic on today’s so-called It girls, who are not at all that, just itfluencers on Itstagram. That aside, it did make me wonder about the ineffable thing that people assign to It girls like Chloë Sevigny and what Vronsky and most of Russian high society assigned to Anna Karenina. What is it that resists cringe and cliche and why do as many figures today, probably just as symmetrical and waifish, lack that particular lure. Sure, mystique was easier to conjure when there was a more specific code of conduct to adhere to. Sure, the internet and modern society makes that harder. But I’m not willing to give up on the It factor. I love it too much, because what I’ve concluded is that it’s the inkling of a rich inner life, often signified by a certain sneer or destructive habit, ie. a diet coke, cigarette, or cocktail in-hand, that leaks out via channels of charm and wit in such a way that is controlled by the user to both impress and never let the well from which the channels flow run dry. And of course this is all informed by a level of beauty and confidence that makes such leakage all the more seductive. And perhaps because the people and civilizations that live and conduct business on the internet are always, and often in very entertaining ways, dumping their inner lives out without ever exercising restraint, literally filming whole parts of their lives and doing so all in the name of radical transparency, they demolish any notion of mystique that could have existed before it could even take shape. I spoke a few days ago with my hairdresser about so-called process videos — ie. the video which allows thou to to entertain the idea of one day completing the demonstrated project thouself, ie. a painting, a meal, even the construction of a home, and sells that idea — and how they make the finished project all the less compelling, and all the more amateur-seeming. Often a good work of art or craftsmanship or creation in general—consider: a newborn baby—leaves its viewer dazzled by what a feat it truly is—consider: spawning life. It asks you to sit with its grandeur or prowess or beauty and bask in its mystique. The desire to know more keeps it alive. Because once desire achieves, it ultimately dies. Such is the case with It girls and Anna and Clarice Lispector and any figure who continues to inspire curiosity and thought. They revealed, or had revealed about them, only enough. Social media, to both its detriment and great success, trades in the portrayal of process, that which has led to each of our current forms, ie. our social performance. Our lives are traceable. We leave a trail of personal breadcrumbs that leads to the house which is our so-called self. Of course, some are more sparse than others. And don’t get me wrong, a trail can be mystical, enticing, awe-inspiring (ie. so many of my friends' instagrams), but it can also be dull, disenchanting, and boring. And most people on the internet who boast large followings and who are itfluencers on Itstagram leave so little to be desired that their it factor has been demolished, blasted to smithereens long ago when they first accepted a sponsorship deal. 

I love desire, it makes me feel in my body. That’s why I bought a ridiculously thick and expensive Studio 54 photo book off eBay when I was 17. Images of celebrities partying in print, as silly as it sounds, compelled me to desire and live my life. Photos taken in a bathroom or on the beach or in a street that are posted on Instagram do not, perhaps because the people posing in them are laid bare, and not in a hot way.