We’ve Come a Long Way From the Personal Essay Era
Hi, I'm Arbela. Let me introduce myself, again.
Ironically, in middle school and high school, I was deemed the quiet girl.
Even though secretlly, I loved to share. And that desire only grew with each year. But I think the reason I came off as shy was because I was selective with who I opened up with and when. If you were someone I trusted, there’s a good chance you were getting an earfull. That doesn’t mean I was always on the money with who I poured my heart out too, but it’s always been my tactic.
Regardless, sharing always came easy for me. And when I couldn’t find the right people to open up to in real life, I turned to the internet.
It would be easy to say I got this from my dad — a man who, before his sudden death in 2015 — would constantly dive head first into long conversations and philosophical discussions in response to even the simplest of questions like, “How are you?” But I also think this has always been a part of me; something that has evolved and changed over time, with or without him around.
Being a writer, this willingness to share adds an extra layer. I do sometimes feel a little queasy thinking about how ever since 2014/2015 or so, I’ve been releasing private snippets and information about myself through some kind of publishing platform. First, it was my college magazine, then my blog, oh and then Medium (remember that?) And of course in between all of that, Tweets, print publications, occasional pitches accepted to publications and lots and lots of long-winded Instagram captions.
And finally, came this Substack — launched almost three years ago during the tail end of 2020. My first essay was the only topic I knew I could talk about for hours or do a whole PowerPoint presentation about: the 1997 rom com, My Best Friend’s Wedding. At the time of publishing, I didn’t think too much about what my brand would be, what kind of content or formats I would produce, what my color scheme would be. None of that was more important than just prioritizing my need to write and release it somewhere.
I remember, while working my first media job as a fact checker for Cleveland Magazine, there were occasional frenzied requests from people wanting to pull information from their interviews from past issues. None of these were for particularly scandolous reasons. Usually, their reasoning was just, “Well, I just wouldn’t say that today.”
It’s funny how unpredictable humans are. How we can’t even distinctly predict our own behavior, let alone someone elses. Being someone who writes about themselves as a form of art can lead to this tug and pull of figuring out what to share and what not to; what we might regret and what we might look back on with contentment.
That fear of regret never seemed to stop me too much (even though it was present at times). And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it taught me how to not overthink as much. But also, I can’t predict how I’ll feel in the future, either.
When I first started writing and publishing, it was during the personal essay boom. This was a time when many people from my generation and older were spearheading their careers through articles that mined their own past experiences, feelings and of course — trauma. I participated in this in my own way — delving into some pretty heavy personal topics that, today, I would probably not release.
For many of us, we look back on that era with a bit of trepedation, because although it did put many writers on the map and give way for future book deals, we started to ask; at what cost? A certain feeling of emotional hangover came over us — especially as the internet became larger and scarier.
And in same cases the cost was maybe worth it; for the notieriety or the exposure. Or even just to stretch that writing — and sharing — muscle a little more.
Of course, we still see personal essays today, but there are newer formats now, such as 3-minute TikTok diaries or Substack entries (such as this one!) But I feel like there’s a hesitancy, a bit of preciousness around the information we release as writers and journalists. It’s almost like our collective “sharing muscle” has become so flexible that we’ve lost control of it — like we don’t know our own strength when we hit “publish.”
I think what I’ve realized is that it can be freeing to write about yourself, but it can be even more freeing to take yourself out of the picture and meditate on other things. So then, you return to yourself, you feel a sense of clarity.
Now, I’m 28 — two electric years until the flirty thirty — and I look back on the archive I’ve left behind. But also what I’ve still kept in. Because one thing I’m sure about is that no matter how much I’ve shared, it’s never made me feel empty. This has helped me reckon with the fact that no matter how personal I get through my writing, no one will ever know the full picture.
At the end of the day, I’m thankful that my mental muscle for sharing is so strong. I feel like it’s served me well in the social media landscape by fostering my confidence and building my intuition. I often think about my father’s unfinished manuscript of his novel that’s currently in storage. He wasn’t a man that wasted any time — he was always making the most out of life and urging others to do the same. Each day, for him, was a chance to squeeze as much life out of it as possible. But even he didn’t have enough time.
I try not to let this cause a sense of panicked urgency in me about my own writing. Instead, I try to believe in the truth or at least the hope that life is long. And use that reminder of time fleeting as a way to muffle that voice in my head; “Don’t do it. Just wait. Wait some more.”
Sometimes, you’ve waited enough.
At the same time, I’m feeling the need to be more selective as I get older. In last year’s essay I published about earnestntess, I wrote about how I believe our sense of mystery is more about what we choose to reveal and don’t reveal. Because that is an art in itself; picking and choosing the puzzle pieces of your life’s tapestery that you want to show the world.
This is partially why writing about fashion and style has helped me so much. It’s a topic that to the average reader, doesn’t seem all that personal. But to me, it’s become a useful vehicle to share parts of myself and how I’m feeling — without the spotlight on myself feeling too blinding.
I’m learning which filters of privacy, discretion and even mystery I want to run my work through. That’s why it’s always helped me to have a hand in different formats of sharing: video, photography, short-form writing and long-form. I think this gives me the allowance and patience to share at a healthy pace, while not feeling overwhelmed or worse: regretful about what I spill out.
Maybe the name of my newsletter, The Changing Room, also nods to that theme of privacy. A space to try things on, take your dreams for a spin and give time for the in-between moments. A place where the curtain feels less like a hiding place and more like an invitation to reveal something new about ourselves.
— Yours, Arbela 💓