Hello and welcome to my first installment of A Wild Sara. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t dread opening a new draft today, but there is only so much time I can spend making collages to decorate these posts (unless you all just want cute pictures to look at, because I can do that).
Today I’m reflecting on an article I wrote for Grain of Salt Mag’s print issue, Glitch. I was drawn to the technology-forward theme having finished my first year at a tech company, and I had big feelings surrounding a new internet “curse” I had fallen victim to. “Zoom Face” is a term for the anxiety and self over-analysis caused by staring at oneself in a video call for extended periods of time. The phenomena isn’t inherently sinister (see below a Tweet that inspired my work), but as a person with deep self-esteem issues, “curse” described my experience perfectly.
Rereading my work was as disappointing as it was uplifting. In my article, I came to optimistic conclusions with mature takeaways, ready to accept myself in even the worst Zoom angles and lighting. Since then, I’ve squirmed through calls, sucking my cheeks to define my jaw and tilting my head to unnatural degrees to capture the perfect “I am ready to talk about account strategy and spreadsheets” pose.
I had reverted back to these old habits and forgotten about the article until a recent conversation with my best friend over Zoom. We had just finished recording an episode of our podcast, critiquing the rising popularity of veneers and other body modification in celebrity culture. We were tired and vulnerable having spilled our guts about our own physical insecurities, but we continued our conversation late into the evening. In a particularly teary moment, I noticed I was only listening to my friend speak, eyes locked on my own little Zoom window. I watched as I nodded and emoted, slowly devolving from genuine expression to a performative, plastic shell.
I quickly snapped back into reality to meet her gaze in the camera, feeling gross and ashamed. The Zoom Face trap had opened under my feet, and I was disturbed by its effortless catch. That night, I opened the original file for “Zoom in on Her” in an attempt to re-absorb my own teachings. Reading advice from younger, wiser me was a needed reminder, and I hope you can take something away from it too.
Read “Zoom in on Her” below…
This week, I’ve been incredibly drawn to Caitlin Johnstone’s Substack, a politically conscious series of articles highlighting the delusions and illusions of the American political climate. Caitlin’s pieces are quick reads crammed with knowledge, sources, and question marks aimed at her readers, challenging them to think critically about their understanding of the United States and its inner workings.
My Recommendations:
Really Think About What It Means That The US President Has Dementia
If Gaza Opened Your Eyes To The Empire's Depravity, Make Sure They Stay Open Forever
Last week, NOISE FOR NOW released its second collection of songs in support of abortion access and reproductive rights. The non-profit organization partnered with 13 artists to release a collaborative album of covers, demos, and exclusive tracks. Revenue from streams and vinyl sales will be distributed via grants to clinics, abortions funds, and reproductive health education programs.
The album is a wonderful exhibition of musical talent, highlighting the unique styles and strengths brought to the table by each artist. While the track list can’t be described as cohesive, I still enjoyed listening to the tracks in order. Each transition was a surprise, and the lyrical context applied to the theme of the album made each piece incredibly special (okay, except for maybe Holatta by Big Freedia, which was special in a very different way).
My Personal Favorites:
Dead From the Waist Down (Catatonia Cover) by Julia Jacklin
High School (Live) by MC50, MC5, Arrow de Wilde
Spare Tire (Demo) by Claud
Hot Gum (she version) by SOFIA ISELLA
Learning to sit with my discomfort as I regain my writing strength has been harder than expected. It’s a lot like running; constant practice, feet hitting the pavement, makes each mile a little easier. Stopping to heal and rest is fine (and important), but your lungs feel like they might collapse when you try and go the distance. I foolishly expected to get back in the saddle, spilling out thought-provoking, high-brow essays, but I am short of written breath.
Despite my nerves as I look out over the miles remaining, I am not deterred! This newsletter challenged and excited me, and I feel giddy at the thought of what comes next.
Thank you again for supporting my work - if this post impacted, influenced, or entertained you, consider sharing it with a friend or subscribing if you haven’t already. I’ll write again soon.
