I didn’t always have a blog.
Twenty years ago this week, I boarded Air China flight 982 and left the USA for Chengdu. I didn’t expect that $550 one-way flight to take me from Chengdu to Beijing, and then London (and sometimes the Norwegian arctic circle to spend Christmas with my in-laws). But when you get a one-way ticket, you are expecting to not expect where you go next.
A day after I landed I wrote my first Aabservation – before they were called that – about my impressions of China. Over the months, my writing style changed. Now, when I ask ChatGPT to “write a blog about [x] in the style of lizaab.com,” it sounds uncannily like me – even with my love of the em-dash. It’s nice in the new age of robots to have a human style.
As I celebrate 20 years as an expat and immigrant, it’s time to look at what makes us us: our identity as style.
Style, in my mind, is how we interact with others and the things around us. It’s how we speak, how we listen, and who we listen to. It’s how we write and draw and sing and dance. It’s our gait and how we hold our bodies. It’s how tightly we organise our time, how fastidious we are at tidying, how open we are to new routes and foods. It’s the choices we make in our homes, furniture, clothes, shoes, hair, and coffee making devices (or – gasp! – lack of coffee making devices).
When I read boring obituaries, they tell me how the person died, how old they were, and what jobs they had. When I read magical ones, like those by Ann Wren at the Economist, they tell me how the person lived – their style.
So what determines a person’s style?
In part, it’s choice. I choose to write in this style, drink my coffee black, and wear my hair the same way for the past two decades.
That doesn’t mean it’s fixed. Our choices change over time; we experiment with a lot of styles as kids and teens, but we never stop experimenting. What we like changes.
In addition to choice, though, style is also given to us. Three main things outside of our control constrain our choices: the people around us, money, and our bodies. Our style changes over time as those three elements change too.
We are happiest and most ourselves when we like our style, when it resonates with us, when we feel it’s ours. So what gets in the way?
People around us
We know that our culture affects how we conduct ourselves. Mary Schmich’s 1997 “Wear Sunscreen” column noted to “Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.” Indeed. I was quicker, more assertive and less patient when I lived in New York than when I lived in California. Now, we live in Angel Islington in London because we love the style of the people here – international and open-minded, professional and driven, but calm and not competitive; it rubs off on us, and we hope on our kids. We also chose our boys’ school for its style, too: it aspires for them to be independent and curious, kind, brave and responsible; and so they are.
Families too have a big impact on your style. Upbringing for sure, but your partner and your kids massively affect how you conduct yourself. There’s a reason the cheesy pickup line “Hey baby I like your style” makes sense. My husband Oyvind and I used to be very spontaneous; when our eldest was born, suddenly we had to plan. Everything. Get childcare for every minute we weren’t with our son, organise meals, schedule life. We’ve adapted to a structured life. But it’s heavenly when we wake up on holiday without any clue what we’ll do that day.
We probably choose our jobs more for style than we are willing to let on, and our workplaces certainly affect our style. I remember a senior banker saying he wanted to go into finance when he saw the mahogany doors. After working from home due to the pandemic, I only looked at companies with buzzing in-person offices when I was finding my next job. The office environment clearly affects your style. You might be a silly, casual, slouchy person at home, but at the office, you will sit upright and wear a suit if the job demands it. In turn, if you find yourself, telling your kids to come to dinner, “because (a) it’s getting late and (b) it’s getting cold,” those presentations at the office have affected your style.
Money
Some styles, like slouching or speaking in bullet points, are free. But many ways of interacting with the world cost money, sometimes quite a lot. Maybe your ideal style involves living somewhere trendy, or giving to charity, or travelling to exotic places, or subscribing to posh publications, or eating organic, or wearing nice clothes. But it’s just not in your budget.
How you spend money is a big aspect of style. When I give career advice, I always include Pay as one of the “7Ps” to consider. If you have the choice, it’s important to make enough money to fit your personal style.
Money isn’t always in your control, of course. Certain careers pay more than others, investments can go up or down, an unexpected health, family or financial issue can cost a fortune, maybe you’re studying or chronically ill or a new parent with no income, you just bought a home and have no cash left, or get divorce – something happens. Money crimps your style.
So you adjust how you live and find something good in it. And you go back to focusing on the elements of your style that are free: like how you relate to others, and speak, and hold your body, and dance.
Bodies
Well, you dance if you can. Because, darnit, your body is the third and harshest impediment to style.
When I was in high school, I had all caps handwriting, and exclusively took notes in perfect lines on unlined paper. I loved looking at my handwriting. It was really me: clear, distinctive, intentional, careful. My senior year of college, I got a repetitive stress injury and lost the use of both my hands for over a year. I could no longer grasp the pen tightly enough to write in that precise way, and ever since have had to write in sloppy, looping scribble that I can barely read myself (I call it “encrypted”). I don’t see myself in my writing when I handwrite notes. I’ve lost my style.
I don’t have a great answer to how to manage when your body says no. I am currently recovering my health from Long Covid, which has crimped all my styles. When I imagine my life again after my recovery, I like to imagine how I’ll be doing things: the lightness and humour, the hopping energy, the spontaneity and curiosity and exploration, holding myself upright again all day with confidence, launching an outstretched hand into a throng of new people, hustling after the bus bopping along to some music in my head.
In the meantime, I guess I’m not alone in adjusting to a style that isn’t what I’d chose. We all have our ideal natural styles we aspire to. The styles we actually adopt are constrained by the people, money and bodies we have.
Twenty years on from that Air China flight, I have tried a lot of styles, and have a good idea of what resonates with me. I like to listen to others more than I did in my 20s, and am more patient (at least with others; I’m still working on being patient with myself). My New York accent is mostly gone and my American one is diluted by my Norwegian husband and British kids. I’ve paused reading the news and now listen to BBC science podcasts. I mostly type with my thumbs on a phone instead of writing long emails or journals. I hold my body a bit more relaxed these days.
But I still make cartoon cards in the same style I did in high school. I still can’t sing well, but my kids can’t fall asleep without my rendition of “day is done gone the sun” that I learned at summer camp. I still hate tidying, or being late. I still abhor clothing and shoe shopping, and have used the same mascara brand for 20 years since I can’t be bothered to research a new one. I still love IKEA furniture, and public transport, and can’t wait to be well enough to cycle again. And I still drink my coffee black, even though these days it has to be decaf.
Flight CA982 is still taking off later today, from JFK to Beijing. I don’t have a ticket this time, but my one-way journey carries on, with me and all my style on it.
I still have no idea what to expect next.
Stay seated,
Liz
Aabservations 