15 May 2013
When I first joined Pinterest, the creative team of which I’m a part followed each other. With them, out of the gate, I had 6 followers. Follower number seven was someone called “imrevolting.” I’m revolting? My first “real” follower is called I’m Revolting? What? And then I went to their Pinterest boards, expecting the worse.
Little did I know that I’m Revolting was actually among the very, very best. The boards expressed an extremely refined, cerebral aesthetic. There were portraits of some of my favorite thinkers and intellectuals. All wrapped up in a slightly subversive, dry wit. There are only a handful of other people on Pinterest with whom I feel such a deep affinity for and with their intellectual formation. Plus, the handle is brilliant.
I stalked I’m Revolting’s blog. Who was this person? Where did they live? What do they do, apart from unearthing the most thoughtful visual treats on Pinterest? I found very, very little. Over the months while both of our social media followings blossomed, I decided that this elusive character was someone I simply had to meet. Ultimately, and I can’t quite remember how, I discovered that I’m Revolting was Suzanne Wu. And eventually, we did meet, in LA, where she lives. And you know, she’s as outrageously stylish and cerebral in person as she is online. Let’s be honest: anybody who admits “I dress like a pope” is someone you really want to keep close.
There are a few other folks I’ve discovered via Pinterest with whom I feel this sort of instantaneous kinship: LB Palmer, Eujin Rhee, Mischa, Michael Stewart, among others. But I’m Revolting — well, she’s kind of special.
Here are some of Su’s thoughts on the good life. (P.S. Su, I don’t think a pope would wear this.)
I just read this interview from 1998 with the poet Mark Strand where he says, “I don’t think it’s human, you know, to be that competent at life,” and I think the trick to a good life is to be okay with that. It’s something of my disquieted heart, that for me there’s nothing much better than trying to make sense of the world, the vast tumult of emotion and experience, and figuring out why certain things grab you and don’t let go, and really facing down the sadness. I think it’s why writing is worth it, and making art is worth it, that you aren’t really describing anything so much as organizing your reasons for feeling so strongly.