Like some of you, I operate in the feedback space, constantly and methodically evaluating what is working and what isn’t. But this post is about an entirely different sensation; being a goofy, unrestrained, unadulterated fan; being swept away in the perfection of a thing, and seeing it for all the good that it is.

As consumers, we need unapologetic fan moments more than ever. Having posted about being a Downseller (and wow there are a lot of you), this one is a confession about the value of falling in love – as a fan, follower or customer.

My own fan moment came recently at a party in Malibu, with the performance artist duo The Bumbys. Incognito in their red white and blue gear, behind electric typewriters, wearing noise-cancelling headphones, accompanied by their handler, they silently deploy “fair and honest appraisals” of party-goer’s appearances. Their astute, aspirational index-card write-ups are printed on the spot, and handed over after about two minutes of focused typing and hand proofing (and presumably observation, which you can’t really see from behind their sun glasses.)

I fell hard for Gill and Jill Bumby.

Conceptually, I want to be a Bumby. Giving prophetic, colorful, reassuring feedback to complete strangers, while in costume, describes my dream job.

But as a participant, standing there – vulnerable – staring down the barrel of someone else’s opinion, was initially unnerving. You’d think the appraisals would lean toward “honest” in a possibly snarky direction – but it was the opposite. Throughout the evening as we (guests) exchanged index cards, comparing our write-ups, the universal sentiment was heartening – each felt poetic, personal, and even better, strangely true! Imagine all the people they’ve assessed, walking around with these insightful, deftly nuanced self-approval ratings. #genius.

Being a fan means losing your suspension of disbelief, and letting a person, product or concept, steal you away from the expected. In its unique resonance, these experiences reassure us that something is very right in the world; A signpost, however infrequent, we all need.

As business owners, most of us aim for amazing, but acknowledge that it takes a lot of hard work/time/attention to elicit that effect. Which is why, when someone or something moves us intellectually, emotionally, spiritually (or all three,) we gotta lose the pretense of “mature” and “professional” and just bow down, and give it up, if we feel it.

I restrained myself from asking The Bumbys for an autograph, but did work up my courage for a photo. Couldn’t help it, and didn’t care. Losing our cool factor in exchange for earnest fanship is one of the last vestiges of our innocence.

Go ahead, write a love letter. It feels really good.

Respect to The Bumbys!

I’ve talked about singularity in this blog, as well as belonging, long-term relationships and the difference between good and great. I’ve obsessed over design (or the lack thereof) and extolled the power of words. All of these themes thundered through my chest as I learned that one of my longtime collaborators, Clive Piercy, the creative director of LA-based design shop Air Conditioned (a|c), had died after a year-long illness.
 
I met Clive, and his incredible team, about 13 years ago. He was sharp, dry, irreverent – utterly British, and in every way. In those early days, I was intimidated and, admittedly, completely out of my league. I quietly watched his design presentations, hoping my words would make it into his world, onto his radar – that I might matter to him someday. When they did, I saw how important the relationship between design and words is; and how this love affair can create fireworks for brands, stories and messaging. I’ve never looked back.
 
His idea-driven design introduced me to a new level of work – one I could never unsee, actually. He had a sharp tongue and critiqued my submissions more than praised them – but of course made them better. Clive had instincts that were rarely off base. a|c and his design leadership shaped my own filter and perspective. So much of what I know about this work comes from projects with Clive, Hilary, John and the team.
 
I’m good…because he was great.
We’ve lost one of the best.
 
I don’t think any of us (and there are so many) who count Clive among the most influential creatives in their lives, will soon walk into any meeting or read any brief without hearing Clive’s missives over their shoulder.
 
Count your teachers as your blessings, because they don’t always appear as such until they are no longer there to remind you that one of the reasons you do what you do, is to please them.
 
For more on Clive, a|c and the value of exceptional teams, read this post.

If I stop writing, will people forget about me? Or unsubscribe?
Will my ideas still be there when I return to them?
And (quietly), have I’ve wasted this opportunity by “taking a break”?
Or alternately, does is not matter…enough?

Isn’t it interesting to see what the mind does to sabotage an otherwise great idea.

These were a few of the fears swirling through me in late July as I contemplated ‘pressing pause’ on the blog – and work in general. As I pushed back clients to September in order to take an August hiatus, I also made space in my schedule by setting aside the blog for five weeks. But with that decision came much angst about the consequences of a pause.

So many of us are unknowingly enslaved by ‘the machine.’ Beyond just social media feeds, it’s the fear that if we pull back from our public identities, we may find ourselves adrift, unable to get back on course. It takes hard work to stay in the public conversation, whatever yours may be, and it takes an equal measure of confidence to step out of it now and then – and gaze upon the horizon ­– to go dark.

What I learned during this self-imposed break was that I didn’t suddenly lose my ability to have quality thoughts or publish meaningful words. Publishing a weekly blog forces me to take a point of view, and commit to ideas and questions that might otherwise slip through my fingers – unresolved. That’s it. Of course I love the endorphins that spark a domino effect of likes, forwards or replies. I’m as vulnerable as anyone to digital flattery. But just as it’s hard for a CEO to shut down email for two weeks, or for a pop star to give up Instagram for a month, or for a founder to get perspective via traveling sabbatical, so is it for each of us to pull back from what we do to make sure we know who we are – without those validations.

Is reinvention, or perspective, so daunting that we’d rather keep up the status quo – replying, submitting, authorizing and showing up – because stepping away may reveal a truth? And maybe that truth will involve change?

Intentional breaks have a purpose and a place, but so often when we don’t know what to do, it’s easier to be in action, than (what feels like) stillness. Maybe questioning the thing we think makes us “us” is the best way to disrupt what is at best an illusion, and at worst, a crutch that limits our real potential.

You are not your company.
You are not your book.
You are not your blog
You are not your feed.

Freedom = reclaiming the lever that has you believing that you are the sum of your marketing, persona, asset or deliverable.