I was really, very much, too much even, on my phone after a booze cruise on Saturday. I texted, rearranged my messages, posted on Instagram, added and removed people to my close friends list, asked for several friends’ birth times, and so much more. I awoke the next morning stirring with anxiety. Did I need to do all of that? Instead of looking inward to face my hangover, or follow my own advice, I continued to post to Instagram. Friends and family reached out, tentatively asking, “You good, Tess?” I sheepishly responded that of course I was good, I was just being a melodramatic oversharer.
And then I began to overthink about how I’m an oversharer. How I am an open book. I started laughing because I wrote this essay in public, on the MetroNorth train riding up to my brother’s house to watch my nephews. So anyone on the train could watch me write it, thus learning more about a stranger than they should. Of course I’m an oversharer! I mean, weekly I write essays about my life for the Internet to digest. I share about my dating woes, my anxiety, my therapy sessions, my friendships, and on and on. And I’m only just now awaking to that decision after texting too many people after a big day out?
And even more, isn’t it okay that I’m an oversharer? Isn’t that the point of this whole thing? Don’t all writers, especially personal essayists, over share about their lives for the greater good? For others to look inward as we reflect outward? To make myself feel better, I decided to do a mini deep dive on the creative women I try to model myself after to understand if they over share like me.
I fancy myself a modern Carrie Bradshaw, with similarly curly hair but a much smaller following, apartment, and closet. I’ve always thought my writing was similar to hers, even though I’ve never actually read her work, as she’s a fictional character we devour through our TVs not through newspapers. But in my most recent Sex and the City rewatch, I feel as though I am rediscovering her writing. And, when Carrie sits in her dimly lit apartment musing about the goings-on of New York in the late 90s, she doesn’t really write about herself. She asks rhetorical questions to her audience based off of recent experiences either she or her friends happened upon, but she doesn’t tell the nitty gritty about her life. She doesn’t overshare to the public. Or at least the show doesn’t share those stories with its viewers. Instead, Carrie overshares to her friends. Not ever shutting up about her recent dates.
So, I’m not entirely a modern Carrie.
One of my favorite essayists is Dolly Alderton. She wrote the prophetic book Everything I Know About Love, a collection of essays detailing her love life, her friendships, and her addiction to alcohol. Her writing style is quippy and longwinded and, to my greatest joy, a bit of an overshare. While reading, I learn about an online relationship she carried on as a teen, her enduring friendships with her roommates, and a will-they-won’t-they moment with a self proclaimed “guru.” Through all of which she gives her readers excruciating details. Dolly masters the single girl in her late twenties/early thirties motif that I strive to emulate in my own writing.
Maybe I’m a hybrid Carrie/Dolly.
And then, there’s
. Not a traditional essayist at all, Cat hosts a podcast near and dear to my heart - Seek Treatment - with her best friend Pat Raegan. She sings in the theme song, “You wished for a sign from above, well here’s a podcast about boys, sex, fucking, dating, and love.” She muses about her relationship with her longterm boyfriend Brian, living in the West Village, and the ennui of her charmed life. Her overshares are like streams of consciousness as she discusses a recent threesome with her partner and a woman with big boobs. In her book of poems, God I Feel Modern Tonight, and in her W Mag advice column, she weaves her overshares into beautiful prose. Cat is also, more famously, a stand up comedian who makes crowds laugh while singing about her Apple Watch and a future memoir. If I were ever to perform live, my wish would be to be like Cat. She is engaging and true and funny and self deprecating and a wonderful oversharer.So my deep dive results are a mixed bag. I’m both Carrie and Dolly and Cat. A CDC, without the mandates on vaccines. I take the pieces of each and inject them into my work, sparkled with the oversharing magic that is unique to me. What we all have in common is our obsession with perceiving the world as though we are the main character. Carrie does this by constantly talking about Mr. Big, her relationship with Big, if Mr. Big is moving to Paris, Big, Big, Big. Dolly does this by telling the story of love with touch points throughout her entire life, remembering details about being thirteen that normal people forget, but writers have burned into their minds. And Cat does this by parroting the girls on TikTok who believe they are the main characters of the world, twisting their realities until she is the main character they dreamed of being.
Like Carrie, Dolly, and Cat, I am not mysterious. No one is ever looking at me and asking “What are you thinking Tess?” You don’t need to wait long for me to tell you my thoughts about a movie, book, or new friend. I don’t bite my tongue or flinch at sharing my opinions. I send my friends voice notes of both the most mundane moments of my days and my dates as if I am being paid to do so. When I’m hungover, like I was this weekend, I share that information with the world. After one night out years ago, I walked home over the Williamsburg bridge after a hookup as the sun rose and chose to live stream that to my close friends on SnapChat - yes this was when I still had SnapChat. I am not one to keep secrets. I kiss and tell, I shop and tell, I clean and tell. I text my friends my constant updates as though they are my live diary.
And then, I gather up these overshares into elegantly wrapped gifts for you, Reader. In the hope that you’ll enjoy them, devour them, and crave more of my overshares for years to come.
If you aren’t ready to become a paid subscriber, but enjoy my work and you have the capacity to leave a tip, I’d love you forever.
🐝🐝 Industry Hive 🐝🐝
If Evan Ross Katz tells me to do something, I will. And he recently declared he was part of the Industry Hive, which meant I had to start watching the HBO show about finance, trading, sex, drugs, and horrible people. The third season is airing now, so I only had to catch up on two seasons with eight episodes, and as I am excellent at watching TV, I did this in just two weeks. I’m now caught up and do not fully understand what the show is about. A recent episode highlighted a misogynist trader, Rishi, and his gambling addiction. During the climax of the episode, Rishi stands on the floor yelling about sterling and inflation as he stares at his computer where numbers flash in green and red. It made absolutely no sense and I do not understand money at all, but I am in love with the show. Industry is a younger, sexier Succession, where I get to see Kit Harrington’s but as he slowly exited a pool. I’m staunchly a part of the Industry hive now.
🐣🐣Call me Nanny Tess🐣🐣
You all know I quit my full time job this summer and I have truly never been happier. I freelance most of the week, but on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I nanny my nephews Charlie and Declan. I absolutely love seeing them so often. In the month since I’ve started going up to their house twice a week, Charlie has learned to say my name. It started as a whispered “tah” sound and moved into “Taesh,” in which he sounds like an older Russian man. After he gets home from daycare, he runs through his house yelling my name as I follow along doing whatever he asks me to do. Declan is almost two months old, chunky and the snuggliest baby I’ve ever met. He would almost always rather be held than laid down, so we spend a lot of time watching TV together. I’m in my full power as Auntie Tess and I am loving it.
I think your over sharing may just be a testament to your self confidence. Great article!