To a lady who lunches

Tara Lynn, na V (Primavera 2010) por Solve Sundsbo

Lady, for the hypocritical reasons that dictate life in Portugal, I have to have lunch with you on a regular basis – and by regular, I mean more than once a month.

For a year now, I have said nothing while you explained, very much unprompted, and in the presence of third parties, the make-over you had in store for me - because you have such a pretty face.

Two weeks into my job you had in mind a diet, a trope that has been recurring in your discourse. In fact, you have followed my weight fluctuations with greater ardour than I ever could muster. Today, you insisted several times, in two different settings that I should have highlights done – grey hair makes you look older and drearier,

Lady, you could be my old aunt, and my parents taught me to respect my elders. So I have subtly tried to indicate you that you are being beyond inappropriate. Changed the subject, smiled feebly, and vehemently explained that I like how I am, to no avail. And the more I think about your petulance, the more irritated I become. So, lady, and others ladies in this category, it turns out I do have something to tell you.

I am barely 33 and I have lived in four different countries, speak three languages fluently (plus all the other ones I can sort of guess at), and have managed to learn good lessons from all the places I have been. I have been a refugee in the same city in which I was living, and I have travelled to places that as child I never even knew existed.

Barely 33, I feel passionate about what I do, grateful that people recommend me to their peers as a knowledgeable and reliable museum professional. I have curated exhibitions, published, taught and am so lucky to have access to archives with a wealth of untapped information that reveals individuals struggling with their creative process, their place in the world, the righteousness of their quests – showing me that these essential questions are truly timeless. How comforting to know we ar enot alone.

33, and I have had the pleasure of having people come to me and tell me that I made a difference, in the way in the way they work and, even more, in the way they see the world. More importantly, I have had the true delight of telling people that they have changed the way that I see the world, the way that love, the way that I work.

Only 33, and I work sufficiently hard to ensure that the only reason why I'll ever need a man is to love and encourage me, not to pay for my face creams.

If I died tomorrow, two books would be left behind to explain my views and my reasoning with the world in which I lived. Hopefully, these would be read, dissected and critiqued, in the same manner as I do in my learning process. So, even if I died tomorrow, I would have taken a chance and put it out there. I know that what I do makes a difference and has a ripple effect.

Lady, how much do you think I actually care for your views on me being obviously not on a diet?

I have had the luck of meeting everyday people with extraordinary stories – some were accidental encounters of two people who were engaged with the world around them, others were absolutely sought after by me. I also was able to meet and, in some cases, befriend, writers, poets, academics, community leaders, in museums, at university, at friends’ houses, on the street. These were people who took time out of their lives to show me other ways to live, other ways to think, who inspired me by their own willingness to risk the opprobrium of people such as yourself, by exposing themselves, their doubts and their quests, to the world.

I have crossed paths with academics who are world-wide authorities in their fields – most of them true humanists, completely unpretentious; generous with the information they had, absolutely aware that the only knowledge worth having is the one that you share. From meeting them I carry the responsibility of passing on not only their information, but their way of treating it, to others.

Lady, the people who truly enrich us are Linux, not Vista. Which one do you think you are?!

I have been flirted with, desired, loved, and made love to by men who were taken by who I am and, yes, very much so by my body – which at times was fat, at times was less fat, at times was hairy, at times not so much, whatever… and I can't even tell you what their feelings were about my hair, as we had more fun things to talk about. I have looked like a butch lesbian while in a relationship, and I have looked like prim lady while single. If it only were that simple.

And let me tell you about the women I admire – they are of varying ages, from many places, some are in relationships, some aren’t, some are incredibly stylish, some make me look like Coco Chanel in comparison, some have high power jobs, some just have jobs. Some of them don’t even get along with each other. In common they share a joy for life, creativity for what life throws at them, thirst for new experiences, a sense of loyalty and propriety towards, and unconditional love for, their friends. My friend Rina fought in one of the Israelo-Arab wars, married her American husband in non-orthodox ceremony, wearing her (gasp!) short, cropped, dark hair, and a magnificent strapless dress, with a fabulous cleavage. Later she went for a PhD just for the fun of it, and today she walks through Central Park to the Met Museum where she volunteers in her sneakers, comfy sweaters and slacks, and the most incredible large ladylike straw hat you can imagine – it even has a ribbon! Rina and the others inspire me in the way they live their lives everyday, not in the awesome way in which they coordinate a $500 belt and shoes.

Lady, do you realise how silly your views on blonde highlights on my hard earned grey strands of hair sound just about now?

Oh, make no mistake, I love clothes, shoes, and fashion magazines. And I most likely will dye my hair at some point in the future. But such a decision would most likely be taken on a whim, to see what it looks like. Certainly not to look less “old”, less “dreary”, and more “perky”. The time I spend on these issues accounts for little more than 2% of my time. And never, in a million years, would I even dream of, unprompted, informing others of the makeover plans I have for them.

And, what shocks me more, what a waste of time it is - why don't you tell me about a film, book, documentary, exhibition that has touched you, changed you? I am yet to have a good conversation about the Great Meaulnes, Lady Chatterley, or Glee!

So while I really want to ask is Who the fuck do you think you are? I will not. Having said “fuck”, and this being Portugal, my words would have meant that I was being rude, an occurrence which, by the laws of Portuguese stagnation, void any just claim I would have had.

So understand this, lady: There is nothing is your life that I envy. Nothing. Not your blonde hair. Not your gel nails. Not your perky (argh that word again) breasts. Not your shoes. Not your clothes. And certainly not your personality. Besides a taste for the same pastry store, we have nothing in common. None of your core values correspond to mine. For some hidden reason or insecurity, you have been rude, disrespectful, insensitive, and purposefully passive-aggressive towards me. And, in yet another demonstration of how truly different we are, you took my polite silence as agreement with the insanity sprouting from your mouth.

Unbelievable as it may seem to you, when I look in the mirror I generally am quite pleased with what I see. I am well-rounded in more ways than one. I am proud of what I have achieved, relieved that I rely on no man to pay my way, beyond grateful for my friends and mentors, and look forward excitedly to what's coming ahead. Not having highlights doesn’t even compute on my system (go figure!).

So lady, should you be willing to listen to one of the lessons I have learned from others at such a late stage in your life, here goes: if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.

Tara Lynn na Elle francesa (Abril 2010) por David Oldham

PS. FYI, no one in Portugal does decent highlights – you really have to go to John Frieda in New York and ask for the Belgian colourist who works there (or worked in 2001). Just a little tip from me to you, orange face.