“You Don’t Look How I Want You To”

It takes a special kind of person who decides to start up and operate a live music venue.

I happened to meet one of these very special individuals after a show on the Dead Sight Tour with Villainy a couple weeks back.

Let’s call him Colin.

Colin gives off the vibe that he’s one of those venue owners who’s just kind of over it. Perhaps he still loves live music but he acts like he fucking hates it and fair enough I guess, after 2745 weeks of owning a venue.

After the show had finished and members of all bands and crew were in the green room celebrating with a rainbow of drinks and banter, he decided to drudgingly approach me for a chat while I was mid-pack-up-my-shit-mode (a mode I take very seriously and do not like to be interrupted).

I could see him out the corner of my eye; a waft of old ciggies and booze was preceding his arrival.

In no way was this approach bright-eyed or enthusiastic. More so it was clear he had something he felt he really, seriously, needed to tell me to help me advance my career.

Cue Colin.

“Yeah, I thought you guys were alright. Some parts I liked, some I didn’t. The thing that I really didn’t like though was the image. To me it doesn’t match up with the music”

“The image of the whole band?”

“No. Just you.”

“Right.”

“It’s a bit too much like that Devilskin bird for me”

He says as if that’s a bad thing.. Anyone who’s ever seen Jennie up on that stage knows she somehow manages to fucking kill it while donning heels, stockings and corsets. She looks hot as fuck.

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The resemblance is uncanny.

He’s also seemed to have forgotten that little stage prop I have called a guitar.

I realise that he’s just meaning my ripped stockings. That’s the only common factor between Jennie and I that I can think of. Here I am in a baggy man’s t-shirt as a dress (thanks boyfriend), ripped stockings, and Doc Martens.

I look him up and down and wonder if it’s been two weeks or three since he last washed his 20+ year old, faded and stained, stretched and contorted, button-up polo shirt.

“So are you going to go give your fashion advice to the dudes in this room as well?”

“No, they don’t need it”

Ah… ha.

“Well cheers dude, I really appreciate the honesty.”

Sometimes I really regret being nice and not just saying what I actually think. Which would have been along the lines of “and who made you the next Karl Lagerfeld of New Zealand?”

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The offending outfit.

You run in to a lot of men like this being a vagina-owner in this industry. You don’t match what their ideal woman should look like, which grinds their gears, and they think that saying it out loud to you counts as “constructive criticism” for your music.

I might start asking them if they would be interested as coming on board as my personal stylist.

I thought I could handle it myself but it seems Colin has other ideas.

 

P.S. Not two days later did I see Jennie absolutely fucking kill it on the rock stage of Homegrown, 21 weeks pregnant – no less.
Ironically because of this, she was actually wearing an outfit similar to my own instead of her regular corset and heels get up.
She’s in it for comfort for an actual baby bump, I’m in it for hiding my food-baby & poo-baby bump.

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