Black Black Black (Friday) In Bed: why the term “maker” is starting to creep me out.

Artwork by Mary Birdsong

I pass no judgement on those who chose to get in the ring today and FIGHT-SHOP. (I mean I DO, of course, but…) As I laid there in my bed this morning wondering who would win the title for Heavyweight Champion Consumer, I raised my big-ass cup o’ tea and proclaimed,

“Here’s to the shameless consumers! More power TO yuz!”

Me? I’m good riiiiiiight here. Heating pad. Sketching pad. Just yawning and drawing. In my comfy bed. Wait- what’s that you said, Mary? You DRAW first thing in the morning? That’s right… I like to wake and make. ( Not “make” as in “poo.” I mean make as in “I’m a better person than you.”)

See if you can guess the thread-count!

I don’t know why, but the term “maker” has started to really creep me out; it gives me the heebies annnnd the geebies.

But I really do “make” a LOT of adorable shit. I do.

(That floral lampshade mined from an old Kleenex box was a mistake. I do regret that. I… I was young… it was the 90s… I’m so sorry.)

Other than that bold yet misguided experiment, I’m a repurposing roustabout! I’m a friggin DIY Debutante!

But my crafty tendencies don’t entitle me to an all day pass at “I’M-BETTER-THAN-YOU LAND.”

When did the size of our carbon footprints get twisted into yet another way to compete with each other for social status and look down on the less informed?

Fuck that.

Go shop.

Til ya pop.

I’ll be right here, not judging you.

Well… okay a little bit.

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