What next after a wedding?

Why I've started my substack

We meet in her South East London flat, a grey brick building a street over from the high street, shielded from Deptford’s usual hum. Meg opens the door in long cotton pyjamas, a small dog under one arm, issuing a gentle, futile shush. “Come in. She’s friendly. Just has a lot to say.”

We move through a narrow corridor and out onto a balcony. It is November. Two degrees. “Sorry, this is my favourite spot. Scooch in” she says. I pull a corner of a well-loved blanket over my shoulder and accept the steaming mug of coffee offered my way. Then we get straight to it.

INTERVIEWER: Why Substack? This seems like a pivot from your usual endeavours.

MEG: I know. I recently got married (relevant, I promise, your honour). Afterwards, we both had the strangest revelation. We felt… freer? I assumed it was post-wedding blues, sadness from no longer planning the best party of all time. It wasn’t. It was a kind of mourning. Not for my single life — not that kind of story — but for all the things I haven’t done yet. I was overwhelmed by the options. Analysis paralysis. Choice fatigue. The epitome of a first-world problem.

I’ve loved my work, but it isn’t quite the life I imagined when I studied design. Somewhere along the way, I decided a love of something was not enough, and that I only wanted to ‘design for good’. I thought meaning had to be measurable: emissions reduced, live saves, impact quantified. I still believe in ‘design for good’, but my understanding has broadened. Stories, images, histories, ideas - they do their own work in the world. I miss being near that.

It’s time to change my trajectory. I’m giving myself permission to re-engage with the arts, without feeling like an imposter. Each of us has a valid perspective, why should I not share mine if that something I feel?

I: What about print, do you have a favourite publication?

M:Favourite is hard. There are load of publications I really enjoy. At the moment, I would have to choose The Gentlewoman. I found them first online — the imagery caught my eye, but it was the physical issue that got me. Its weight and tactility. The publication was less magazine and more thesis: considered, deliberate, quality. At university, I often submitted my work as zines or hand-made books. Print has always been a passion for me.

In the latest issue, the Carly Eck profile stayed with me. It reminded me of the first article I ever saved. That one was from Vogue, passed over a garden fence by our neighbour. It’s still stuck in a scrapbook at my parent’s house. The piece was about personal shopping at Harrods: the stylist’s impulse, the reverence for craft, the discreet obsession with detail. The Eck piece had that same devotion — mirrored, too, in the construction of the magazine itself.

I: You’re not working in arts and culture right now. Tell me about your career and what you do now.

M: I graduated into the pandemic and found a role at a sustainable architecture start-up. I did a bit of everything: marketing, social content, CAD models — the job spec expanded daily. Eventually I realised my skillset was becoming wide but shallow. There was no one to teach me the deeper work, unless I wanted to retrain as an architect, which I did not.

I moved to an agency, then to Octopus, where I promised my family I would stay put for a while. And I have. Going on over four years. I’ve helped grow a brand, made good friends, wrapped turbines at Glastonbury, built award-winning digital products, and worked on something I believe in. It has been unexpectedly joyful.

But it isn’t the industry I dreamt of. Hence, this Substack. Its my space to explore beyond the realms of my career.