My Aesthetic Curse
I have a curse. Well, maybe it’s equal part gift and curse. I blame my eye-for-design mother for giving me this one. Access to her drafting tools, electric erasers, and keen eye planted the seed as a child. I am aesthetically cursed.
I notice small design flaws. I notice them to a fault. I hang up on the minutiae others skip over. It’s usually small things. My co-workers often run their computer monitors at non-native resolutions. The oddly shaped text and skewed aspect ratio eats at my soul. I watch a presentation and the projector focus is slightly off. The content will whiz by me as I grow ever more unsettled about the slight blur. Desktop backgrounds are stretched to fit screens. 4:3 movies are watched on wide screen TVs. I struggle to read published graphs and data given in raster format. Give me vector. Death to aliasing. Death to haphazard Powerpoint bullets.
My curse extends beyond the digital, into the analog real world. Socks don’t match? Speech filled with “umms”, “ahhs”, or other filler? You lost me. I’m not listening to the content. I’m stuck on the design of it all.
I can see the OCD fingers pointing at me by now. It’s not OCD. I feel no unrelenting urge to straighten a picture that hangs crooked. It’s more of a sadness. It’s a sadness over a spelling error in the title of a Ph.D. thesis. I balk at the thought that someone could work so hard on the forest and miss the tree. I would point a finger and scoff if Einstein wrote On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies in a Comic Sans font. I’m a cover judger, through and through.
So what is my curse? I’m choose to call it “selective hypocrisy.” It’s selective because I have the aesthetic taste to know poor form when I see it. It’s hypocrisy because I expect others to value the content of my work, when it’s so rare for me to return the favor. Does this make me a bad person?
Don’t answer that. I’ve already written off your opinion as the petty banter of somebody who thinks Papyrus is ever an appropriate thing to use.