2 Mar 2015
It is designed to enable the asker to categorise me either into a group of humans they know and can identify with, or to establish early on that we have little in common and they need bother with me no more. I don’t really mind if someone finds me uninteresting, but I do mind them concluding that on the basis of irrelevant information and pre-existing prejudice.
Over the years I have responded with: solicitor, writer, wine bar owner and charity worker, and each time the questioner has then popped me into a pigeon hole: brainy-career-woman, arty-but-broke, unreliable-entrepreneur and isn’t-she-worthy. Meantime, “mother” elicits either a glazing-over (boring) or the follow up “and do you work?” (The tetchy reply “do you mean outside of the home?” = “Oh god, a militant feminist”)
Unsurprisingly then, I have come to hate this question. It is as rude as it is lazy, and reveals precious little about the person to whom you have decided to speak (despite your demonstrable lack of interest in who they actually are). The fact that I am a solicitor does not tell you that I love to ride horses and my writing does not reveal that in my secret parallel life I am a backing singer for Aerosmith. At no point will you learn that I have too many pets, I am the last person on the dance floor, I read endlessly, and I have a superb memory for song lyrics. You will also fail to discover that I was once in a Josh Groban pop video, I have been a pole dancer and that I have freakishly large hands. And these, surely, are the things that matter.
Come the revolution, this question will be banned (the even ruder “What does your husband do for a living”, which I have faced at least thrice, will be punishable by death).
I went to Hatty’s party at the weekend, and it was here that my theory was finally proved right. I heard from Hell’s Angels who love their bikes. I met people who travel for inspiration when they write. I learned that blue shoes and punky hair is a rocking look even if, perhaps especially when, you are approaching 40. I found a person whose house is crammed full of vinyl, and one who rocks a green tweed suit. And then there was a dude who goes to parties around the world and always persuades the band to let him sing “Mustang Sally” which he totally nails, every single time. I have no idea what any of these people do for a living, and yet I feel like I know them all the better after the party than before.
The next time I am asked the question: “What do you do?” I will reply “I lick my children’s faces just to annoy them and pretend my hairbrush is a microphone.”
