So here we are at the Ides of March. No one makes a big deal of the Ides of June or September. I’m guessing because it doesn’t have the same ominous ring or the whole Caesar’s death thing hanging over it. No one fears the Ides of November, unless you are a turkey.
But I digress. There’s a shocker.
So, Julie and I are pitching a show around town, and it has been quite an experience — a whirlwind tour of conference rooms and offices — some are fishbowls, others look out on car parks and Century City. Others have intimidating video conference setups which we never use. Some rooms are located after a long trek down labyrinthine hallways along which the cheery assistant leading us to our destination must leave breadcrumbs for us to find our way back to civilization. All of this and so much more. I have a fine collection of various water bottles obtained from the many studios. My favorite may be the pint sized (literally) bottle of Crystal Geyser.
The one thing I’ve learned to do in dressing for these meetings is keep it simple. I’m not allowed to look too dressy (I’m a writer after all,) but I do believe in looking like I give a damn about being there, so I put on the make up and the nice cowl-neck sleeveless top, checking to coordinate with my sister so we neither matchy-match or clashy-clash. We strive for perfect color complement. A pair of boots and a jacket which changes with the color of top chosen…but one component never changes.
My perfectly sized boot-cut blue jeans. My pitching pants. I wear the same pair of pants because they are truly the finest pair I own — they fit me perfectly and even seem to have the magic ability to stretch or shrink to my waistline on any given day (I wish it would do more shrinking than stretching, but I have to get a handle on that problem myself). I consider them my lucky charm, my talisman, until my sister snarkily pointed out last time I wore them that they were perhaps our albatross, preventing us from selling our show.
I really hope that’s not true. I’d hate to think I was wearing a dead albatross around all this time.
But all humor aside, there’s something about putting on my clothes for the pitch that feels a bit like dressing for a performance. When pitching, you are performing, playing the part of “Writer” and within that part many other parts as you weave the tale you want to sell. In this it feels imperative to give the attire careful consideration.
Next up we’ll hopefully start making the rounds for staffing season. Maybe I’ll buy a new pair of jeans… just in case.
Posted under randomness
This post was written by Shawna on March 15, 2013