How To Be Someone (2020)

After years of living under the dense arborescent shadow of my transnationally acclaimed success with “How to be Someone: A Formula to Conquer the World” – the one that has been distributed at a transatlantic level in a first, second and third edition – and after several followers, frenemies, onlookers, preppy-styled Swedish editors, properly dressed bilingual curators, art aficionados and Sunday writers asked me to revisit the tree that I created; after being verbally called a global asshole by a Hamburg-based academic, and after being forced to swallow such categorizations like a tourist’s trap cheap tequila shot, I have decided to finally grow roots on the text. But, don’t get me wrong, I do it not for the gloomy desire to revisit past glories, so characteristic of outdated writers, second versions have often smelled to me as poor storytelling marketing strategies for 80s toy remakes. It is more in an open than in an honest fashion, that I found it nonsensical to show you an already determined path. In other words, I think that giving you a recipe for success once again would be for me like making variations of Fanta Orange to Fanta Grape, Fanta Guarana, Fanta Chinotto, Fanta Pasion Fruit in order to give a faux illusion of inclusivity to local target groups. Do I make myself clear? I don't like writing what I think is unnecessary, risking my practice to servility on freemium platforms and vanity presses of Hong Kong gallerinas. I write these lines because in all these years, gravity did its job and a pretty hard and green fruit fell from my above-mentioned tree, a fruit that in its acrimony reminded me of a couple of bitter moments, from which I extracted myself not necessarily because I knew where I was going. “I want to one day say I am a self-made billionaire” says a Chelsea girl, with her Botox, with her fillers, with her highlights. Her dog’s got a cold. Picture it, this year’s summer trend, a Polo sweatshirt teddy bear on a “How to be Someone” coat of arms, ever cryptic, ever distant, ever self-mystifying, a visual cacophony of fragments from a Latin American coat of arms and a Maslow pyramid, still weaving, invading you from the center stained with a melted drop of organic fair trade chocolate ice cream. In the meantime, Haringey Council’s plan to demolish the Seven Sisters Latin Village market is considered by UNESCO as a case of social cleansing, constituting a violation of human rights. Latin Village traders are predominantly working-class immigrant women from ethnic minorities. The market has been a platform for Latin American immigrants to find their first accommodation and jobs once arrived in London. Latin Americans, despite being the second fastest growing migrant group in London, have not yet been recognized as such. I start doing cold showers, taking Maca root, creatine, hemp seed oil, CBD drops, Ashwagandha, any kind of adaptogens, any kind of adaptogens.