F
raming a personal
struggle around a
song is tacky. I hate
when writers do
that.
But Lorde’s latest release,
a stirring piano ballad called
“Liability,” puts into words a
form of uncertainty I could
never articulate. The 20-year-
old songstress has peeled back
her angsty exterior to reveal an
underlying paradox I know all
too well: genuine confidence
coupled with a perpetual
feeling of loneliness.
Her words spill unevenly
over
a
subdued
chord
progression,
revealing
her
confusion in feeling a mixture
of pride and withdrawal. “So
I guess I’ll go home / Into the
arms of the girl that I love / The
only love I haven’t screwed up,”
she sings flatly. “She’s so hard
to please / But she’s a forest
fire.” Soon enough, listeners
get the gist: Lorde’s only
consistent source of affection
comes from within herself.
It doesn’t feel tacky anymore
— “Liability” is the story of
the unnamed instability that
plagues the lonely extrovert.
If we’ve ever met, you’re
probably laughing right now.
What do I, a boisterous, curly-
haired lump of charisma (that’s
what you all call me, don’t hide
it), know about loneliness?
I’m generally surrounded by
various groups of wonderful
people who share my interests,
and when I’m not, I appear
to be enjoying my solitude. I
tweet about self-love, and I get
plenty of likes on my Instagram
posts. My outfit is wild, and
I’m dancing like Carlton Banks
sans-cardigan, so I must be
enjoying the empty corner of
the party, right?
Though this train of logic
makes enough sense, I’d ask
you to consider this: How
would you feel if a Solo cup
full of chaser (orange pop, and
nothing but orange pop) was
the only companion you felt
entirely comfortable around?
“But what about me, Tess? I
thought I was your friend.”
There it is, in black and
white: The worst thing you
could ever say to a lonely
extrovert.
Of course we are friends. Of
course I love you and appreciate
all that our relationship has
offered the both of us. I think
you’re wonderful, and I know
you think I’m wonderful. But
feeling lonely has nothing to
do with whether or not one
is actually alone. This is an
internal battle, one that is mine
to overcome. If you want to
help, ask me if there’s anything
you can do — granted, there
probably isn’t, but I’ll always
appreciate your concern. If you
don’t want to help, don’t say a
thing! All I ask is that you do
not make my struggle about
you.
I have no shortage of
surface-level
friends,
but
what I do lack is a sense of
emotional security in our
relationships.
Being strong-willed and
independent is a beautiful
thing. It’s what made me
comfortable traveling to New
York for my first internship
at 16, what kept me calm
when I was denied access
into an event for which I was
hired. Yet with my go-getter
lifestyle comes a caveat few
have addressed: The fear
of being seen as a spectacle
rather than a peer.
Though
I’m
happy
to
humble-brag about my selfie
with Gigi Hadid (not sorry)
or tell someone why I wore
my green-and-gold trench
coat to class, I can’t help but
feel othered by those who ask
only about the shallow. It’s
as though actually getting
to know me is not worth
their time, but they still
want all the gossip from my
time at New York Fashion
Week. In an atmosphere as
competitive as the University
of Michigan’s, I am never
sure whether people want me
around for real reasons or if
they only want to know what
Kylie Jenner’s lips look like in
real life (great, by the way).
I’m not trying to complain
about the support I receive
from those around me, nor
do I want to make light of the
incredible luck I have had in
securing work opportunities.
What I do want is to make
a
distinction
between
praising the glamorous parts
of someone and actually
appreciating
them.
I’ve
become so suspicious of the
first that I rarely recognize
the latter, even when it’s
standing right in front of me.
When I do find people who
want me around for more
than tabloid-y small talk, I
doubt everything I do. I’m too
loud, surely they’ll become
sick of me soon enough. I
talk about myself too much
some days, and ask too many
questions on others. A piece
of me is convinced that I’m
bound to mess up anything
that brings me fulfillment,
and so I pull back, for I would
hate to bother the people I
care about.
I often feel like those
I
interact
with
know
something I don’t, an outsider
in my own life. I soldier on in
outspoken solitude because I
love who I am.
“They’re
gonna
watch
me disappear into the sun,”
Lorde’s voice quivers at the
end of “Liability.” “You’re all
gonna watch me disappear
into the sun.”
It’s tacky, yes, but if you
need me, at least you know
where I’ll be.
2B
Managaing Statement Editor:
Lara Moehlman
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Yoshiko Iwai
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Wednesday, March 29, 2017 // The Statement
In Excess: To Disappear into the Sun
BY TESS GARCIA, DAILY ARTS EDITOR
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | MARCH 29, 2017
ILLUSTRATION BY ERIN TOLAR