I MIGHT QUIT
Saying farewell to the industry, nepotistic Blundstones, chicken nugget towers, Timmy and the trumpet guy, Elvis's cheese waffle, and much more.
We’re elbow-deep in a new year, everything is not ok, and I’ve started a blog. Can you think of anything more depressing?
After 16 years of nonstop “linking building my life a movie” as a bi-coastal, multi-hyphenate creative producer, I’m finally (and honestly) considering throwing in the towel. Not in any sort of woe-is-me wimpy way. Not because my company, Crooked Letter, isn’t doing better than ever. Not because I don’t love making art, film, theatre, music, and money—it’s because I genuinely don’t know if what I’m doing professionally is healthy.
Frantically balancing a career as a self-employed, art-immersed, entrepreneur-esque thing in New York City (my hometown) is thrilling, maddening, and every other “ing” in between. Volatility is my best friend. Heavy mood swings are weekly, if not daily. Resentment is in abundance. But—at least I’ve made good money, right? I’ve diversified my personal ambitions and business involvements (ref: Akari and Rude Mouth). The company is modestly thriving; the staff has grown, we have celebrity backing, we’re consistently busy year round, and we even joined the CAA roster this past year.
However—I dropped out of SUNY Purchase at 19 years old and started Crooked Letter with a friend all before I was of legal drinking age. This company is my baby; my beautiful, strange, wild baby. Staying afloat in this multi-tendril entertainment business is all I really know how to do, for better or worse. It’s what my entire creative and professional identity is built on. I’m left wondering; do toxic relationships galvanize as a result of nostalgia and routine?
As I approach 34 years of external age (my spirit feels at least 60) I am, for the first time in my adult life, genuinely curious if this business is good for me. Is this career sustainable? Is this the kind of environment I want to bring a child into? Do I want to be categorically “old” in this industry? Am I sociopathic enough to “make it”? Can I tolerate client feedback for another decade? Are all the microaggressions, backstabbings, and clout chasings going to turn into cancer sooner than I think? Is this industry literally killing me?
There’s only so much cultural intake I can manage. Every single thing I see or come across, every person I meet, every experience, every screening, every opening, has some kind of “research value”. I’m a part of an inescapable feedback loop with myself; what’s en vogue, what’s obsolete, what do I care about, where are we going, is money drying up, blah blah fucking blah.
Fundamentally, my motivators in life have completely changed—in my 20s, I used to be fulfilled by local artistic prestige, making the occasional “budget is $5k all-in” music video, and barely paying my rent. I was on the front lines of seemingly-infinite Obama-era possibilities; milking what the budding branded content-fueled ecosystem of the “new media” landscape had to offer ambitious kids with a camera like me. Everyone was going freelance. There was money to be made and Instagram was the place to be. Times were so much simpler because of what we all felt capable of. I was satisfied and optimistic.
Fast forward twelve years later—I now have a red pill and a blue pill waiting for me at the end of 2025:
The Red Pill: I will secure my position as a successful entertainment producer, a true power player in the film/TV/theatre spaces. Crooked Letter will make bigger work at a faster pace, churning out impactful, inspiring, money-making storytelling on stage and screen. We will secure independent investment for our infrastructure. We will sell what’s on our development slate. We will get nominated for a Tony and make at least two films in the next calendar year. This company will begin to thrive on its own, without relying on me making every core decision dictating its buoyancy. We will win and the decade on the horizon will feel worth it.
The Blue Pill: I will live a consistent, modest, balanced life with a fixed salary. I will go back to school to get a psychology degree. I pivot my focus to the one thing that has helped me navigate the beautiful chaos of life—I will find stability, exit this volatile space, and become a therapist. I will attempt to simplify and give back to an otherwise-disastrous world. I will get paid to help. (Funny that becoming a vessel for other people’s unresolved traumas sounds simpler than being a creative producer in 2025)!
These are my two options. It’s either or. Nothing in between.
So this year is a test. I’m putting my career under a high stakes microscope, working harder than ever before, and seeing what sticks come 2026. I’ve informed my whole team of where I’m at. This year is completely make or break. We either skyrocket, or I leave.
I’m starting this Substack so you can be along for that ride—a way to share what I see and learn, to “lift the veil” a bit, and to chronicle what’s bound to be a transformative year in my life. Or something. I’m calling it “SPENT” because I like that word—it describes how I feel at this point. Spent and busy.
I learn from observing the lives and insights of others; I like knowing what other people are watching, observing, and analyzing in order to sustain their careers. If that’s you—observe me. If you like what you read, relate to a 30-something year old navigating the treacherous waters of a multi-faceted career in the arts, hit the subscribe button and stick around. I’ll be dropping them twice a month.
And for me, I genuinely believe sharing these observations with even a few active readers will feel like I’m doing something for others—catharsis by way of exposure. A way of simultaneously giving back and holding myself accountable—sharing the unique tales of my special little career that drives me insane.
This is SPENT.
WHAT I CONSUMED
While on Caleb Hearon’s “So True“ podcast, Kevin Morby mentioned how he felt McDonalds was “zeitgeisty” again. This felt particularly affirming to hear, considering Delaney and I are entertaining the idea of catering our wedding party in the Fall with Big Macs and nuggets. Let’s hope the bicoastal approval of Mickey Ds lasts a whopping two more seasons.
Watching friend (and everyone’s favorite surrogate auntie) Courtney Storer support Los Angeles amidst the tragic fires with 700 meals a day out of her garage has been nothing short of awe-inspiring.
Kareem Rahma invited Michelle Leung and I to a screening of his film with Mary Neely titled Or Something at the Roxy—it was incredibly refreshing to see something made with love, shot in six days, for no money. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a bit of a mindfuck to go straight from experiencing The Brutalist in 70mm to seeing a micro-budget mumblecore film about two New Yorkers getting through a day. I often forget how much I love the spectrum of this medium.
On our way out of the Roxy, we ran into filmmaker and friend Agniia Galdanova aptly smoking a cigarette with Michéle Lamy. I first met Agniia…well…smoking a cigarette with Lev Pakman outside of a theater during Montclair Film Festival last year (we all had films playing there). She drips with confidence, intrigue, and perspective. If you haven’t seen her documentary Queendom about queer artist Jenna Marvin’s work (blending performance and activism in defiance of Russia’s anti-LGBTQ laws), you’re missing out royally.
The album cover for the upcoming Perfume Genius record “Glory” really wowed me. Shot by Cody Critcheloe, it was not only the Crewdson-esque vignet that pleasantly scratched an itch in my brain—it was the rich-in-pale color grading that really makes me feel like I can smell the carpet.
I went to a birthday party at Union Hall. In attendance was an incredibly wealthy B-list celebrity known for his Broadway credits and wedding. I was fascinated to see him (at his level of wealth and nepotism) attend a small-but-mighty “who’s who” event wearing brown Blundstones. I really just love that people make choices every day, it’s so interesting.
I signed up for a Timeleft dinner. Apparently this project attempts to connect 5 complete strangers for dinner every Wednesday night. After an extensive “personality quiz”, I was booked for a dinner in the Williamsburg/Greenpoint area on February 5th. I’m a slut for anthropology, often to my detriment…this could be interesting, or it could be a disaster. I will absolutely let you know how it goes.
I finally got around to going to Elvis, Nolita hospitality powerhouse Golden Age’s surprisingly understated wine bar on Great Jones. Old friend (and current GM of Le Dive) Kahiem Rivera brought me for an extended 3 hour catch up with bubbles and bites. I didn’t take any pictures of the food (“the conversation was just THATTTT good”) but after delicious escargot and warm octopus (in a sort of briny Puttanesca sauce) I was convinced their menu highlight is the hot Gaufre—a warm potato waffle with raclette and pepper. Whorish.
Like everyone else, I was Timmy-pilled by his wacky little SNL performance with James Blake cuz…why not? I was giddy to learn that our favorite Lime-riding A-lister chose to tuck Trumpet guy audio clips throughout the intro to '“Outlaw Blues”—THUCKA!!
I saw my baby Richard Perez absolutely tear the house down at Joe’s Pub, performing his inimitable one-person show “I Have To Do This”. It’s been such a thrill to see him find his unique lane in the adjacent leagues and scenes of Cole Escola, Veronika Slowikowska, Cat Cohen, and so many exciting comedy voices/performers of the moment—all who would agree Richard is one of the funniest people alive.
WHAT I LEARNED
Hasan Piker allows for open source use/clipping of his content and livestreams. There are people that literally make money off jacking his content…and progressive zzaddy Piker welcomes it. Sick.
Duolingo shares jumped 7% due to the brief TikTok ban-inspired migration to Xiaohongshu. That same week, I had a folks in my DMs mention that they were eagerly attempting to learn Spanish so they could enjoy the new Bad Bunny album even more than they already were. The desire to become bilingual as a response to the moment of overt American nationalism is rich.
As much as I’ll attempt to refrain from linking Fast Company in my Substack, an article about Netflix adjusting the writing of shows and exposition to accommodate for “white noise watching” made me depressed over my morning coffee today.
DeepSeek has tanked the US tech markets. I have friends convinced this is a la pre-2008 vibes. Here’s an article about the ‘Seek being asked about Tiananmen Square. I texted my little brother, a 22 year old robotics engineer who works at Caterpillar, what he thinks “the play” is. This was his response:
Right on cue, the second I begin taking Substack seriously I start coming across an immense amount of discourse around its future, the great creator migration, and how the platform can or cannot withstand autonomous values (this archived essay by OG Substacker royalty Emily Sundberg particularly peaked my interest). The question I have is—am I relatively late to this platform? Ahead of the curve? Or right on time?
SOMETHING ELSE TO READ
Has Dimes Square Succumbed to Obeying in Advance? - a layered ponder/analysis by Hannah Wikforss-Green
How the 2025 Oscars Could Save Los Angeles - op-ed for Hollywood Reporter by Steven Zeitchik
Substack is positioning itself as Ellis Island for TikTokers - pre-TikTok ban verdict (for now) breakdown by Emily Sundberg
Here for this. Second chance meeting in the strange light room in western mass leads to this connection too. I might be older but frighteningly on the similar journey this year. Good luck to yours and looking forward to learning as we go.
Saw your post in the Feed Me chat, and your post pulled me right in! I'm keen to see where the year takes you, good luck :)
I also really relate to that Obama-era freelancer energy of giving it a shot and having things work out, only to look up in the 2020s and be like...hmm, why not the same again please?