Man Hating Psycho by Iphgenia Baal

Author:Iphgenia Baal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Influx Press Ltd
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

The event was a massive success. Way more people than she’d expected, the readings met with laughter at all the right places, and the music so ephemeral that the audience didn’t notice it and (to Flora’s absolute delight) talked all the way through the set.

It was over by nine but there was such a good vibe, nobody wanted to leave and so the entire unruly party strolled into the night brandishing beer cans and spray cans and spliffs, buzzing at having been at what felt like the start of something new, something genuine, something un-PR’ed. Really exciting.

The two of them felt closer than ever. This wasn’t just hanging out anymore, it was business! They walked arm in arm in the middle of the crowd beaming and congratulating one another on what they’d created… Except they kept being interrupted by Reggie Stepper, who was on her case. Kept trying to hold her hand, calling her wifey and saying how he was gonna cook her dinner. While she was cornered by Reggie, he took out his spray can and wrote her name in massive letters on the back of a bus waiting at traffic lights.

Realising she’s a dab hand at PhotoShop, the ideas came thick and fast. He suggested a poster to sell at events and through his website, a set of stickers of his graffiti, and a flyer for an activist group he was trying to ingratiate himself with. She agreed to all of the above and soon enough the two of them were churning out what he referred to as ‘product’ fast.

— I love working with you, he said, after she’d emailed him a few different designs for the cover of a feminist pamphlet his friend wanted doing. — Everyone else needs like three meetings and wants to email every fucking tiny change but you, you just smash it out. It’s wicked.

She appreciated the compliment and liked seeing her work go out and getting likes on other people’s Instagrams. On the whole, her work was put out anonymously, either under his graffiti name or one activist group or another. Until a promo postcard he asked her to design for Cape Campaign, which hashtagged his name but not hers. But then she didn’t give too much of a shit. It was only Instagram. And she wasn’t doing it for the credit. But she wasn’t doing it for money either. So, why was she doing it? Because she believed in what they were campaigning for? Which was what? Prison abolition. That sounded alright, she supposed. Still, it’d clearly annoyed her because she looked at the post several times over the next few days and each time she looked felt a kick of something unpleasant.

— Oooo, that’s nice, her mum, an avid Instagrammer, said, catching sight of the post on her phone. — What is it?

She locked her phone.

— It’s a flyer I made, she said. — They posted it without crediting me, that’s all.

— Is this for that boy you’ve been hanging around with? her mum said.

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