OR Another perspective on separating the art from the artist.
Story time. I needed a haircut and shop from the neighborhood is good enough for me. The guy that runs it always had a extreme way of thinking, bordering dangerous territory, but a nice person that argues using what they know and listens. Until today, when I realized he just needed to talk to someone much worse to bring out all the bigotry inside of him. So he’s transphobic, homophobic and doesn’t support neurodivergent diagnosis. He’s a feminist, which the other client wasn’t, so it was horribly funny watching him trying to convince someone that women weren’t better off dealing with reusable diapers. It was bad. I considered leaving, but staying was a last kindness to someone that never treated me poorly, but that I can’t support anymore. He even apologized for the conversation, certainly unaware that his other client wasn’t the most awful for me.
Lately, I have been torturing myself by following the allegations against Neil Gaiman. I honestly don’t know the reason I’m doing that, but I am. I was quick to drop him as a choice in entertainment, specially because the parts he corroborate are already bad enough. Then, as usual, there’s the argument of separating the art from the artist. I have my issues with that, but today I found a new point of view with my experience. (not really, but a new way to demonstrate it)
I needed a haircut. I just shave my head, so it’s quite simple. Doing it at home during the pandemic was bad. Finding someone else to do it at a reasonable price and be completely satisfied will take some tries, again. It doesn’t have to be him. There are options. The next one might be secretly worse, might be the same or, with all the luck, someone better. At the end of the day, I don’t want to ever have to sit and listen to that kind of conversation because it’s simply convenient and because my leaving will not change anything.
This is mostly me venting. It drained me more than I thought it would. I’ll probably not answer any comment so soon. I don’t have the strength to spellcheck what I just wrote to tell the truth.