Why does working in fashion make me feel a bit superficial sometimes?

I write about clothes. Does that make me vapid?

I often feel quite vain when I talk about what I do to a new group of people outside of the Australian creative fashion industry. For example, the other week, at a lovely birthday dinner with my boyfriend’s family.

It usually goes something like, ‘Oh, you know, I go to these dinners and runways and write silly little articles about them. And diarise my dating life. And etch my deepest darkest feelings and fears onto a public platform at whim. Not like Carrie Bradshaw. And I do PR. Not like Samantha Jones’. 

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Then I turn to the other people at the table’s perimeter. Maybe they’re anaesthetists ensuring humans stay alive while they undergo intensive surgeries, or maybe they help people shower at hospitals, or build important infrastructure, or just do philanthropic and seemingly more valuable work. 

I don’t know why I have these moments of insecurity in my career (which is one I am super lucky and grateful to have). I do think back to finishing school, when upon receiving my end result I began contemplating the idea of studying law, with no pre-existing interest in legal studies.

Law sounded good, seemed to guarantee money, and would be impressive to tell people I met at bars. Law was hot. I worried about ‘wasting’ a good score on studying journalism and advertising. Maybe that’s where the little stigma seed was planted.

I think about the people my private all-girls high school invites back to talk about success in their career – scientists, doctors, impressive physicists, clever entrepreneurs with big business endeavours. I don’t think it feels natural for them to pedestal someone writing about sex toy brands for a living. (Note: this is not all that I do and regardless, I love doing it). 

Even Lisa Wilkinson talks about imposter syndrome – something I find intersects with mild career embarrassment – a lot in her debut memoir, It Wasn’t Meant to be Like This.

God, I love that woman. She’s arguably one of the most successful journos of our time, and she’s universally quite lauded. But even Lisa doubted herself, always wanting to do better or be more or climb higher. Where does this need come from, to prove some unspoken or unofficial point? And to whom are we trying to prove it?

Love and money and dedication

As Australian women’s wages have dropped more than men’s in the last year (1.6 per cent in 2021, compared with 1.2 per cent for men according to ABS Average Weekly Ordinary Time Earnings data) and house prices keep soaring, I can’t help but feel a little concerned sometimes about money. Which, disclaimer, I am also simultaneously very privileged to be earning. 

There are some days when I’m like, ‘Okay, I’ll have my fun and work hard on my articles and publicity campaigns and copywriting, but I’ll probably marry someone who is the breadwinner and always will be’. What is with that?

I think if you enter any creative realm and commit to it, you’re willing to sacrifice income for passion in the beginning. But I don’t think anyone (attention: myself) should rule themselves out of building something profitable and prolific one day. That bit just takes loads of time and dedication, like any other career that pays well. Surgeons don’t become surgeons from one internship, and rocket scientists don’t become rocket scientists from rewatching the moon landing.

If you’re actively choosing to do something you love in lieu of a greater income for enduring the gruelling stuff you hate, kudos. It’s worth risking it all for a bit of love. That love of career and art and putting words together and telling stories is what does it for me, every day of the week, at whatever hour. And it trumps any fancy job I mull over on LinkedIn. 

For every person that’s thought I’m talking about ‘the shortbread place’ (Harrolds), when I’m talking about my editorial work and content writing at Harrolds, or every person that’s said ‘So, you look over stuff to make sure it’s all legal’, when I’ve said I’m a copywriter, that is A-okay. The only opinion you should be worried about regarding how you make a living is your own, period.

Some days, I am on cloud nine about consulting. I think, ‘Holy shit, I can monetise doing the stuff I’ve always been naturally decent at’. I can have catharsis through work. I can help other young women trying to build brands up or have their voices be heard through my teenie, tiny little microcosm on the internet. I can talk to someone at a fashion festival who gains something from my articles and connect with them in a really special (and embarrassing) way. 

It’s not as silly as we make it sound 

When I first explained my realm of work to my boyfriend (who is a site foreman at a big plumbing thingy), he was charmingly interested but entirely clueless. I was downplaying (as per) and felt a tad weird about saying I write about lubrication or anonymous finance diaries online. Trust me, it sounds real stupid out loud on a first-ever walking date.

But six months in, and I can’t believe how invested and involved he is. I showed him an employment opportunity — the first tempting one in yonks— that cropped up on my radar yesterday. It was swanky, and for a gallery. Do I know anything about art? No. I’d had a couple of PMS-y hours and began questioning my entire existence, thinking how easy it would be to step back into the corporate world and kiss my tax man goodbye.

To a LinkedIn screenshot, Ben (that’s his name) sent me this word-for-word via text: “It’s awesome that you’re doing your own thing and going so well. And there’s room for growth. My opinion (with no knowledge about it) is keep doing what you’re doing.”

If you’ve ever doubted what you’re doing or felt insecure at the dinner table, just remember this: life is fundamentally about health and happiness and love. At the risk of sounding even more like a poor woman’s Dalai Lama, what brings you happiness is worth preserving.

And it’s worth celebrating. Whether you are or aren’t saving lives or the planet, your seemingly minute contribution to a broader spectrum of needs (i.e. education, awareness, storytelling, promotion), is important.

Genevieve Phelan is Fashion Journal’s Lifestyle & Careers Columnist. Her writing fuses introspection with investigation, calling on her own personal anecdotes and the advice of admired experts in the realms of intimacy, money, friendship, careers and love. You can find her here and here.