kiss my flash

On a whim I booked a cruise for my 40th birthday. Before I got Covid onboard I did a tour of Tracy Arm Fjord. While I’m still suffering from long Covid five months later, the chance to see the icebergs, glaciers, and orcas was incredible.

I mean, not worth the radical change to my health and definitely something I should have waited a few more years to do. But those seven hours on a catamaran made the rest of the cruise worth it.

hydeordie:

It’s good to see you. Take your coat off, stay a while.

I’m… back?

Just a little five year break.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I definitely am not having a social media identity crisis.

After my story went public I offered my blog to be used for any other woman who was targeted by Devin Faraci, the Alamo Drafthouse, or misogyny within the film community at large. I promised that I would allow them to stay anonymous, and simply print their own experiences in their own words.

Today I received an email from a woman asking to have her story heard. It is her hope that by being the first to come forward anonymously others might be empowered to do the same.

For the purpose of keeping each story straight they will be given an alias inspired by a character in film.

This story is from “Belle”*

(*it should be noted the point of these stories is not to try to name the woman, but to hear her story. Please don’t try to “figure it out”.)


I wrote for a number of outlets, more years ago now than I care to count. 

The tale of my days of film journalism are depressing and sordid. Sexism and misogyny isn’t just rampant, it defined every interaction.  For example, editor has a plus one, and he offers it to you. “You can come as my date.” “Or I can come as your friend?” “You can come as my date.”

Oh, and he’s married.

Once, I was very upset at a nasty, sexist comment left in my comment field calling me “a fucking gash.” I begged them to delete it, and ban the user. “Sweetie, it’s not like it is racism.”

And yes, I blasted him for calling me sweetie.

I put up with it for my entire, short career thinking “Well, it’s just locker room talk and I want people to think I’m cool, so I won’t let it bother me.”  And then you realize no, it’s the reality and when you reject these guys, you’re done.  To confront them was to be told they were joking and be gaslamped into thinking they had harassed you at all.

Faraci and I were, I thought, friends. He reached out to me in my early days, and I was beyond thrilled and flattered.  He was a big name. He championed my work, he encouraged people to read me on Twitter and I really thought he was one of the good guys. I constantly defended him against detractors, quoted his scoops and gave him press. In my view, most of my colleagues were unpleasant guys who couldn’t say a nice word about me or my work, routinely harassed me and exposed me to harassment, but were happy to call themselves feminists. Faraci, on the other hand, was a vocal defender who would call out the trolls they wouldn’t.  And we all mimicked his snarky, bully tone. He set the voice for film criticism at that time.

Faraci and I hung out at events. Very friendly. He flirted and complimented, and I felt like I saw this sad, sensitive side of him that he didn’t let on to many people.  I remember messaging him and telling him something encouraging about his weight, and he thanked me and said I was very sweet.  Again, I appreciated his support and camaraderie on a very cruel Internet.

I already detailed my exceedingly polite rejection of his advances (to the Daily Beast). What I’d like to stress was how nauseated I was the next day – not only from the alcohol but what almost happened.  I thought well, today will be awkward but I am sure he’ll be cool about it.  We’re adults, we were drinking, it happens and we are friends.

But he never spoke to me again. Not on the set visit itself, not after, never again.  He unfollowed me on Twitter. He shunned me.  We could be in the same room together, and he wouldn’t make eye contact or say hi, I was completely invisible.  It was beyond uncomfortable and hurtful. What happened was not rape or assault, but I felt like garbage. I was made to feel as if I’d done something wrong.  Of course, it was nowhere near the level of assault or even harassment, but as a woman, it gets really tiring to feel BAD for not having sex with someone.

And it never really went away.  In my last gig,writing for yet another editor who assumed his own female staff was fair game, I was told “Well, see, I was told you fucked Faraci.” I’ve never known where that piece of gossip originated. Devin himself?  The editor who called me up on that fateful set visit, heard Devin in the background, and said he’d tell everyone I slept with him before cackling and hanging up?

Even when I myself went to work for a branch of the Alamo, and Faraci KNEW I worked for his same company, he still shunned me. It was a pretty blatant snub, and one that didn’t exactly go unnoticed.  Drafthouse patrons knew me and my work.  I’d be called out at dish pit because they recognized my voice from podcasts.  “Why don’t you write for BMD?”   “Eh, not interested.“  It’s conjecture as to why, but i felt strongly that one rejection was the reason.

Amusingly, he once passed me in the hallway of Drafthouse while I was carrying dirty dishes, and actually said hi, but it was because he didn’t recognize me at all.  I joked about it with some friends — as I recall, I made a Les Miserables joke about having fallen so far into the gutter that my old colleagues didn’t even recognize me. Devin heard about it, and was angry that I hadn’t identified myself. When I reached out and said “Well, it was me, hi Devin,” he never even acknowledged me.

There is simply no way Tim League didn’t know about Devin’s so-called dark side, or ever believed he was some sturdy feminist.  Faraci’s work on CHUD was full of T&A and oogling. He proudly shared a video clip of himself gawking at Scarlett Johannson’s butt.  He had a profile picture of himself looking down a Medieval Times wench’s dress — and it was the replacement for the profile picture of himself gaping at a booth babe who was wearing nothing but duct tape. This was Devin.  This is all of online film culture, this is the Drafthouse.  When they introduced their new female programmer, who was set to focus on girl friendly programming, her official Drafthouse photo was of her in tiny underwear/shorts, sucking on a lollypop in her pink bedroom.

I should stress that I’ve never interacted with League directly. I worked a franchise, so we had our own GM and owners. There has been a lot of ugliness with the Alamo’s franchising, and just what League will claim to have knowledge of or direct action in.  I do know that Tim seems to have a persistent death wish to keep bad blood around.

I had a lot of fun working for the Drafthouse initially.  I started before they even broke ground, and helped them run their outdoor events publicizing their theatre. I loved everything they stood for.  When they opened officially, I applied to work as a server. That’s how badly I wanted in.

But, to my delight, my past efforts for them were remembered and I was moved from food to programming. For its first summer, I was basically its creative department, though “officially unofficial.”

I had confidence this nebulous position would be permanent.

One day, the boss calls me up and tells me he is hiring a new Creative Manager, and I’d have a new boss. I was never offered the position, told it was open, nothing.

He listed the candidates he’d rejected – one of whom, he complained, never showed up to the events that were meant to be his audition. These were events I had worked – I’d organized them! Why weren’t they my audition?

Now, to be entirely impartial, maybe I wasn’t a good fit. Maybe they were dissatisfied with my work. I had never been given that feedback or impression, though. Quite the opposite. The distinct feeling I had was “You’re not the bearded guy who is our audience.”

And sure enough, I walked in one day and I had no job. But, I was still loyal! I happily went to work at box office. And I scrubbed their bathrooms and wood paneling.  Anything to stay within the Drafthouse and hope I could work back up to a creative or programming position.  Not surprisingly, that never happened and due to the abusive management, I quit.

Amusingly, when I needed a second chance from the Alamo — and had been promised I would always be welcome  — I was told they would not renew their relationship with me.  Second chances are not, it seems, for everyone.

Now, it’s probably unfair to say that in that I have no relationship with League. He didn’t personally reject me. I’m sure he doesn’t know the particulars.Yet he always knew when our bathrooms were shut down for cleaning, and would fire off an email wanting them reopened within the hour.   But that’s the mystery of League and the Drafthouse. Somehow, no one is in charge when someone is getting hurt, and a lot of people got hurt there.  Somehow League is “above it all,” too big for the daily grind of the Drafthouse, except when suddenly he isn’t.

This probably reads like I have an axe to grind…and hey, I do. It has eaten at me for years that one factor that separated me from terrific gigs was that I didn’t sleep with the right people or wasn’t the typical Drafthouse dude.  Was it the only factor? No. But it’s the one that shouldn’t even exist in the 21st century.

It makes me angry that Faraci is not the only predator, and that all of these guys still have great gigs while many were forced into new lines of work. It is appalling to me that Faraci’s superiors felt that non-movie work wasn’t good enough for someone of his stature.  Plenty of talented writers are working food and retail. Many juggled these jobs while writing because the pay was so poor. Why was he better than anyone else?

And that is a question that lingers like a stink over the whole field. Look at the female voices in comparison to the male. Ask why so many women, who were so prominent in the early days of online film writing, are gone now.  Ask why the same guys get chances again and again. Faraci is not the only offender, but the fact that he WAS one for so long says volumes about who he is, the world he works in, what the Drafthouse enables.

Last Wednesday the Kickstarter campaign to launch Wont Magazine came to an end. To say that we fell short of our goal would be an understatement. In truth, we never came close.

The reason I chose Kickstarter was because the premise of funding a new type of journalism was based in part on community support. In order for the magazine to work long-term, there would need to be a supportive base. It was a revolutionary idea, considering subscription and advertising revenues have been the model for over a century. But it was one that I felt would be more sustainable for a future ever increasingly built on social media and free platforms.

In fact while Wont Magazine failed, I don’t think the premise of a new model for funding magazines is wrong. I believe we were just a bit too early, and our voices a bit too quiet. There is no doubt in my mind that in a few years new paths for funding content will be solidified.

I would like to take this time to personally thank those who contributed to Wont’s Kickstarter. Whether through pledging their own funds or by working hard to get the word out. You all have meant a great deal to me, and the support you’ve given will never be forgotten.

The past five days I’ve taken to reflect on what went wrong with the Kickstarter campaign, and whether or not I thought Wont could find new life in another format.

Coming up with the concept for Wont, as well as a new funding model to sustain a magazine, took me nearly ten months. And another two to run the Kickstarter. It was not something I approached lightly. As such I wanted to have time to mull over what went wrong before jumping into anything right away.

One of the main criticisms people had was that Wont wasn’t attached to an image. It was suggested that I would be better off using my own personal health story and building a brand for Wont to function as a lifestyle site. There are many reasons why I didn’t pursue this. Some of them are personal, but mostly because I didn’t feel it served the greater good. I specifically wanted to create a magazine that focused on journalism, not personal anecdotes. It was never meant to be a blog, but a digital platform for reliable information. The intention was not to focus on one disease, but to educate people about a variety of issues and allow them to make their own choices. It’s why Wont included topics of physical and mental health as well as the environment.

With that in mind I’ve made the decision to officially declare the Wont Magazine project complete.

While I am, of course, disappointed I am grateful to have had the opportunity. I hope that those who supported the concept of Wont will continue to seek reliably sourced journalism, and will strive to live a healthy and informed life.

With most sincere gratitude,

Katherine

Friends,

Tomorrow I will be closing the Wont Magazine project, as well as the Citizen Summary page.

While there will be formal updates for each, I wanted to take a moment to thank those of you I know personally. Your support and encouragement through all my various projects have meant the world.

One of the recurring critiques I found with Wont was people saying it should be focused on my personal story. My intent was never to make it about me. I wanted to help people. But the repeated request for a “personality” and demand for a “face” has given me pause.

While I have never been shy to voice an opinion (solicited or otherwise), I am not particularly comfortable being in the spotlight. I have suffered with stage fright and camera shyness since I was about 16.

While I have never thought twice about sharing writing or photographs, sharing my face is a different story. As social media has evolved so has the role of “influencer”. That special title given to those who make money from blogging and sharing ideas. Only now it’s not enough to produce quality writing and images, you as a person must be a brand.

I find myself in a catch-22.

I am a storyteller by nature, it’s not something I can turn off. Or as my mother put it, “you’ve been giving opinions since before you knew the word.” Over the years I’ve honed the skills to be a storyteller in different art forms. I have enjoyed it immensely. But the career aspect has always been just a step out of reach. Be it the bad timing of the economy, or changing industry, or technology, I’ve always been out of sync.

But if I want to do it seriously going forward I would have to take the step and put my face on it.

I have spent the whole of my adult life pursuing nothing but career. I haven’t travelled, or enjoyed fancy things, or pursued relationships.

I can’t say that I am giving up being a storyteller, I don’t think that’s an option. But I don’t know that I will be doing it for public consumption anymore.

Over the next while you may notice me withdrawing from social media. Not unplugging per say, but stepping back. I’m not sure what a life that isn’t all about career is going to look like.

Again, thank you all so much. Those of you who taught me and encouraged me. Who read my words and looked at my photos. Being an artist is very hard, and it kept me going in the times I wanted to quit.

❤️

Katherine