confidence

Life lessons from Amy Poehler and Tina Fey: We don’t f*cking care if you like it

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I love it when a book has such a profound effect on you that you think about it every day.

For me that book is Bossypants by Tina Fey. I loved every single word. I read it on the tube to work and it made me want my commute to last longer. This is a significant compliment. I travel to work on the Northern Line, London’s very own moving oven.

There is a chapter in the book called ‘I Don’t Care If You Like It (One in a series of love letters to Amy Poehler)’. If they did wallpaper with the words from this chapter on it, I would use it to redecorate my house. In the interests of the continuation of my marriage, it’s probably best that that particular product remains unavailable.

Tina writes about when Amy joined Saturday Night Live:

“…she did something vulgar as a joke. I can’t remember what it was exactly, except it was dirty and loud and “unladylike.”

Jimmy Fallon, who was arguably the star of the show at the time, turned to her and in a faux-squeamish voice said, “Stop that! It’s not cute! I don’t like it.”

Amy dropped what she was doing, went black in the eyes for a second, and wheeled around on him. “I don’t fucking care if you like it.” Jimmy was visibly startled. Amy went right back to enjoying her ridiculous bit. (I should make it clear that Jimmy and Amy are very good friends and there has never been any real beef between then. Insert penis joke here.)

With that exchange, a cosmic shift took place. Amy made it clear that she wasn’t there to be cute. She wasn’t there to play wives and girlfriends in the boys’ scenes. She was there to do what she wanted to do and she did not fucking care if you like it.”

Tina goes on to explain how important those words “I don’t fucking care if you like it” are when you’re coming up against other people’s opinions whilst trying to get to where you want to be.

She says that you should ask yourself: “Is this person between me and what I want to do?” If they’re not, ignore them and move on. If they are, find someone who does think it’s a good idea and, as Tina writes, with time opinions will change organically. You need to have faith in what you’re trying to do. Do your thing and don’t care if they like it.

This chapter was a game changer for me. It never occurred to me not to care. I’ve always cared so bloody much what people think. But we all know that this is a pointless way to live. Whenever I have had any success, I have managed it because I’ve been single-minded and focused on what it will take to get from A to B – and not on what anybody else has to say about it.

As a woman who is often* trying to be funny, I found these words particularly helpful. Even in this day and age when anybody worth speaking to has worked out that hey, guess what, your sex doesn’t decide how amusing you’re capable of being, there are still plenty of people who need to be walked through it. So to read how two of my heroes avoid letting fear of being disliked bring them down was invaluable.

So when I start to feel self-doubt starting to kick in, I just think: ‘What would Amy and Tina do?’ And so should you.

All together now: We don’t fucking care if you like it!

 

*ok, fine: ALWAYS

A love letter to all the sweaty girls: You are not alone

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Tray chicThere are so many things that women are conditioned to think they’re not supposed to do. Sweating is one of them. Going to the toilet is another.

And it’s so strange because both definitely happen every single day.

As a woman who has always suffered from the charmingly named condition EXCESSIVE SWEATING I can confirm that this belief is particularly unhelpful.

There are people who say that men sweat and women perspire. Well, you can call it what you like, but it’s the same thing. It’s as basic as coughing or sneezing or yawning so loudly that you sound like Chewbacca. We all do it.

Yesterday, whilst out dancing at a friend’s birthday party, I was reminded of my true sweating credentials. I moved seamlessly from looking like a person who’d put a good couple of hours into straightening her hair, applying liquid eyeliner, and colouring in her lips with a pencil, to a shiny-faced mad woman who appeared to have just done 20 lengths in the swimming pool, and no amount of hand fanning, forehead dabbing or sticking my face out of a window could stop it. I mean, everybody was hot but this was ridiculous. If only I’d been flexible enough to slot myself into the Dyson hand dryer in the bathroom, I would have done it.

I first discovered that I had this issue when I was a teenager. As if growing up wasn’t already hard enough – boy troubles, friend fall-outs, and a permanent fear that I was going to be called a weirdo was already keeping me busy enough – but then I had this little treat thrown into the mix. Thanks very much, genetics.

It didn’t even have to be hot. I just had to be awake. Of course, heat made it worse, but for the real sweaters among us, Winter is no holiday. If anything it’s worse because nobody expects to see somebody mopping their brow when it’s minus one outside.

I became super strategic in my clothes buying. I knew what types of colours and materials were most likely to show patches, and which could shield a day’s worth of salt loss. I didn’t have much money at the time – because who does at that age – so I kept a small number of tops on rotation that shielded me from being outed as the sweatiest girl in town.

And then one day I heard my dad talking about a special type of deodorant that can help people who sweat too much. I’d never told anybody about my problem before – I just assumed I’d have to live with it forever and hope that eventually I’d grow out of it – so I was ecstatic to hear that maybe there was a way out.

I booked an appointment with my doctor and had to stop myself from crying when I asked him to please prescribe it for me. I was 16 and awkward and desperate to feel normal. It was going to take a lot more than a sweat gland annihilating roll-on to do that but it was a bloody good start.

And ever since then, things have been better because I’ve had some control. Like so many situations, knowing that there’s something you can do about it is everything. Of course, it doesn’t mean I’m cured, it’s just much more manageable. Now it only really kicks in when it’s actually hot, which helps.

Thankfully it doesn’t really affect my self-esteem too much these days. And I have a critical moment that happened in February 2006 to thank.

Leon and I had only been together a few months and we went to see The Arctic Monkeys play in Leeds. This was prime Monkeys time – we were at university in Sheffield and the whole city had gone mad for them.

We went to the front and jumped around and it remains to this day some of the most fun I’ve ever had. When they went off stage I realised my entire head, back, and chest was soaked, my hair was like wet string, and my eye make-up was a distant memory. I looked at Leon and said:

“Sorry, I must look disgusting.”

And he shook his head and said:

“No you don’t – you just look like you’ve had a really good time.”

And ever since, I’ve held onto that answer.

I know that if I go out and let my hair down, I’ll end up looking like I’ve been left out in the rain. I know that dancing for five minutes does to me what 45 minutes on a treadmill does to other people. When I look in the mirror I do feel pretty alarmed – I mean, that level of perspiration does nothing for a heavy fringe; if I went out partying more frequently I might need to reconsider my hair style – but at least it shows I’ve had a good time.

I’m not writing any of this down to gross you out, though I guess there’s a chance it might have that effect. I’m writing it down because this is the internet and those of us who have learnt to deal with the little surprises that life throws our way have a duty to talk about them so that others know that they’re not alone.

I think things have moved on quite a long way since I was young. The This Girl Can campaign has done us the world of good. Hey, guess what, women exercise and when they do it, they look like everybody does when they exert themselves – hot and a bit red in the face – and nobody cares.

We could spend our lives being worried that we might accidentally be revealed as having been human beings all along. That we’re not all that different after all. That our bodies need to do things to keep us alive.

But that feels like a terrible waste of time. For every moment that we’re doing that, we could be dancing to Beyoncé or Taylor Swift. Or The Arctic Monkeys.

I can’t imagine they’d let a bit of sweat get in their way.

How creative people react to other people’s great ideas

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the emotional stages of witnessing a great idea

I went to see Inside Out, the latest Pixar film, this weekend and it blew my mind.

This isn’t a film review – there are plenty of those out there already – but suffice it to say that it’s excellent. It’s an incredibly clever idea, perfectly executed (for anyone who isn’t aware of it, it’s an animation about an 11 year old girl who moves to San Francisco with her parents and how her emotions – Joy, Fear, Anger, Disgust and Sadness – help her deal with her new life. It’s just brilliant). They had me at the mention of Amy Poehler and Mindy Kaling. I mean, you just know it’s going to be good if they’re involved.

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the concept of a great idea and how we creative folk react in the face of one; specifically when it belongs to somebody else.

There are a series of feelings involved – curiosity, fascination, interest, inspiration – but also, if we’re honest, a touch of envy, a dose of self-doubt and, if we’re not careful, an unhealthy chunk of OH GOD I’M JUST USELESS, NONE OF MY IDEAS ARE EVEN A TEENY TINY BIT AS GOOD AS THIS, I MAY AS WELL JUST QUIT AND LIVE IN A HOLE.

Now firstly, this is symptomatic of being a creative type – we do tend to be a little on the dramatic and emotional side, it’s just part of the deal. To anybody who lives with a creative person, the best way to deal with a tantrum or momentary meltdown about the pointlessness of existence or YET ANOTHER discussion about why they’re still not Banksy/J. K. Rowling/Lena Dunham/Kevin Spacey/Oprah Winfrey (delete as appropriate according to field of interest), is by giving them a biscuit, putting them in the bath and reminding them gently that they just need to pull themselves together and KEEP GOING. Seriously, is there anything that a soak and a snack can’t fix?

Because another element of this creative sensibility is that we tend to be quite hard on ourselves – again, much like any ambitious folk – beating ourselves up because we are making progress but not at the lightning rate that we’d like, and because sometimes we have to sleep and eat meals and brush our hair and whatever which means we can’t be working all of the time. When are we going get that eighth day in the week that we’ve been promised for so long?

The world we live in can make us feel like we’re just not getting there fast enough. The internet slaps us about the face every second with what everybody else has been doing and in most ways it’s great – we get to read all of the things, marvel at the incredible ideas people have, and ponder where they all came from – and I personally wouldn’t have it any other way. But the level of information and self-promotion we see every moment can play on our anxieties too, so we need to manage how we interact with what we’re seeing and make sure our minds remain focused on being inspired rather than threatened.

Because if we deal with what we’re seeing in the right way, it can be so good for us. There’s nothing like seeing somebody doing something fantastic to drive you on to do something fantastic too. Every good thing you see has happened because somebody had the guts to do it, the energy to put in all the hard work, and the balls to call the right person and get them to say yes. And there’s no reason why you can’t do the same thing.

Every moment you spend having a meltdown you could be using to pen your own piece of genius. I mean, sure, a tantrum might earn you a biscuit, but a little focus and perspective could earn you, like, an Oscar or something. And that victory will taste better than any snack ever could.

Less talk, more action

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MIND THE GAP

You know how every now and then you read a thing that has such a profound effect on you that you decide to change the way that you are living your life as a result of it? Well, yesterday that thing for me was this piece on The Atlantic about The Confidence Gap between men and women.

I mean, we all know it’s a thing – that there’s a big difference in the way society makes us think and feel about how confident we should be about our potential, opportunities and right to success – but I had never really acknowledged the impact it was having on my life, and that if I’m going to get anywhere then I need to change it.

The piece was published back in May 2014 and I just happened to stumble upon it via Twitter yesterday. (You see, if you d*ck around on there enough, you will find the most incredibly useful things. Also cats, lots of funny videos of cats).

In short, it’s about all the different elements of our upbringing, and the ways we’re taught to perceive ourselves and others that affect each sex’s approach to applying for jobs, seeking out promotions, taking risks and following our dreams. And, most importantly, it’s about how, to truly get on, confidence is often much more important than competence. Yep, that way around. It jars a bit when you read it, doesn’t it, but I now believe it to be true. Believing in yourself and getting other people to do the same, is the very best thing you can do for your life, your career and your all-round success, and this is something which – as this article says – men are much better at doing than women. And the impact of that is huge.

Because what happens when you don’t have enough confidence to give something a try? NOTHING. Nothing at all. You might have all the intention and the want and enough of the skill to do a thing, but none of the confidence to actually make it happen so therefore it just won’t.

There are, of course, many, many people who buck the trend and there needs to be more of them – women who feel the fear and do it anyway, and who know that they are just as good and just as capable and just as deserving of opportunities as anybody else.

After reading this I realised just how much my own crippling fear was holding me back. A fear of rejection, of failure and, sometimes, just of speaking up and saying what I want in case it doesn’t work out. But how are you going to get it if you can’t even say it? Is that not just step one?

So thanks to this feature, I intend to make a change. If only I’d read it sooner. Less talk and more action (ok, fine, I will probably still talk a lot – I LOVE a good chat), and more just giving it a go instead of holding all my ideas close, waiting for someone to come round to my house and ask me to share them with the world, because I just don’t think that is going to happen (and anyway I live in London, I don’t answer my front door unless I’ve recently ordered a takeaway).

If you haven’t done so already, I very much encourage you to read the whole piece. If you see yourself here then why not join me in making a change, and if you don’t, please tell me how you’ve managed that. I’d genuinely love to know.

Thank goodness for the internet and it’s marvellous power to change the way we think with just one article. High on my list of aims is to one day write a thing that has that exact same effect. There, I admitted it. And now that I’ve said it, I’d better get on and do it.

Turning 30 and the inevitable fear that you’ve done nothing with your life

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Dear life, I demand to speak to your manager

I turn 30 next Saturday (feel free to DM me for my address so that you can send me cards/jewellery/hard cash) and, inevitably, I’ve spent a good amount of the last six months wondering why I have failed to achieve EVERY SINGLE THING IN THE WORLD before reaching this allegedly significant age.

I understand this is normal. Friends in the same position have said the same thing. Turning 30 seems to have a strange effect on us. We all seem to feel that by this time we should know exactly what we’re doing with our lives, that we should be excellent at doing it, and that now we should be free to sit back and chew on one of the vine ripened tomatoes we’ve casually grown in our back gardens whilst simultaneously nailing our careers, marriages and extensive voluntary work.

But I’m just not sure that’s true.

First of all, we need to give ourselves a break. We’re so quick to focus on what we haven’t done that we don’t acknowledge what we have. And in 30 years that will be a lot of things. All the lessons we’ve learnt, the friends we’ve made, the relationships we’ve had, the jobs we’ve done, the haircuts we’ve been through before realising that actually, yes, that forehead is best kept behind a fringe… So many things. So before we write the last three decades off, we’d do well to remember that they most definitely haven’t been wasted. I’ve watched Mrs Doubtfire 25 times, I’m currently on my seventh viewing of the full Cold Feet box set, and I’ve spent a good week of the last 30 years eating cheese puffs – so don’t try and tell me I haven’t used my time wisely.

Secondly, where did we get this idea that this was some kind of deadline? Alright, maybe you don’t know exactly what you want to do with your life, but that’s OK – working that out is, in itself, progress. And you’ve (all being well) got loads of time to ask yourself the right questions so that you can figure it out. People love talking to you about that sh*t because most are in the same position. Or if you’re one of those rare beasts that does know what you want to do but you’re just not there yet then WELL DONE, DO YOU KNOW HOW RIDICULOUSLY RARE IT IS TO EVEN KNOW THAT, and how marvellously exciting that you can now get on with doing it. Treat 30 like a wonderful new beginning, the decade in which you will get that job / write that book / FINALLY finish painting the bathroom. Carpe diem, hakuna matata and YOLO, dear friend. It’s all to play for.

Thirdly, it’s important to remember that success is subjective. I find it so interesting speaking to people I consider to be absurdly successful and sorted who think quite the opposite about themselves. Your idea of a day spent failing at everything might be another person’s idea of a really successful one because you had the balls to TRY whilst they were too afraid to even give their goals a go. We are all our own harshest judges which is why it helps to have a few chums nearby to remind us that we’re much better at life than we realise. And to occasionally just tell us to stop being a baby and GET ON WITH IT. That can be quite useful too.

And lastly, 30 is a good age. (I know I haven’t technically hit it yet but I imagine that the way you feel at 29 years and 359 days old is pretty similar). You know so much about yourself, what you like, what you don’t like, where you stand on important issues like whether cheese should go on top of the beans on a jacket potato or beneath (on top, obviously). You know what your values are, what kind of wife/husband/friend/sister/brother/shopping companion you want to be, and just how short your temper is when somebody pushes in front of you in a queue. This is all extremely useful information. And with it you can enter a new decade filled with good friendships, nice times and orderly queues, without ever being disappointed that all the cheese on your jacket potato has disappeared into a sea of beans.

Having thought it through, I think that turning 30 is going to be just fine. A time for new beginnings, bold choices and confidence in our selection of hairstyles. And who knows, maybe I will invest in that tomato plant after all.

Where does your confidence come from?

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IMG_2789

So much of our confidence is informed by evidence.

Every success, failure, romance, heartbreak, deliciously baked cake and inexplicably burnt fish finger contributes to our perception of our right to be deemed a worthwhile human being.

But we’re an unreliable witness to our own lives. It’s very hard for us to see the bigger picture – that, actually, on balance, we’re doing alright. OK, we’re not nailing it in the removing-a-cake-from-the-tin-without-it-breaking-in-two department, and our sewing skills leave a lot to be desired, but we have friends and they don’t care. A cake is still a cake, and they would very much like to eat it.

Our confidence is boosted and knocked down relentlessly – though often unintentionally – by all the people we interact with – friends, family, colleagues, that lady at the station who sometimes says she likes my hair and sometimes doesn’t. On a daily basis we can leap from thinking we’re the coolest kid on the block to the world’s biggest moron as many times as we go to the bathroom (which in my case is quite a lot. It’s important to keep hydrated).

What we need more than evidence is belief; belief in ourselves as people that are worthy of good things – of kind treatment, nice times, and a second chance at proving that we can remember to grease the cake tin first. We need that base level of confidence so that if somebody does question our choice of jeans or job or fails to laugh at our joke in which we hilariously replaced the word ‘awkward’ with ‘orchid’, we know we’re still alright. It needn’t shake us too hard.

Being in a relationship can do wonders for your confidence. Regardless of the story you told them almost knocking yourself out on the way to a McFly concert because you were just SO. EXCITED, or using an aerosol can instead of a hammer to construct a bedside table, they think you’re interesting enough to sometimes justify turning off the X-Box mid-game. And that feels good (though discovering that there’s actually just been a power cut feels less good).

But the risk is that, if you’d not yet managed to come to the conclusion by yourself that you were a worthwhile human being before they came along and told you so, you might forget to make sure you actually believe it. You might let yourself think that it’s that person who justifies you, instead of you.

Having somebody who loves you gives you some marvellous evidence to add to the case for your confidence – I recommend that you pin it to the wall and point at it daily. And you each have a huge role to play in giving the other a much needed boost every now and then (as discussed last week in my chat about the importance of pep talks), but for that to stick, you’ve got to have your own firm layer of confidence to start from. Otherwise, what are you going to do when they’re out? Or when you socialise without them? Or when you’re telling your orchid joke for the fifteenth time and people are STILL not laughing?

Oh yes, be buoyed, be supported, be delighted by their belief in you – hell, have a bloody massive grin about it for it is the greatest thing – but be sure to make time to take a strong dose of it for yourself too.

Because otherwise, in a fight between you and a broken cake or a burnt fish finger, it’s going to be them that wins. And we both know that you deserve better than that.