The Weirdness That Makes You Irreplaceable

By the time somebody says,

“Silvia, only you would think of that,” I’m usually asking them when they’re free.

That’s the part people find funny.

They’re still working out why I’d want to put those two people in the same room, or why I think an idea from one kind of work could be brilliant in another. I’m already trying to get us all there on Thursday.

I think it comes from having spent my life doing things people usually put in separate boxes.

I compete. I coach. I work on shoots. I go on podcasts and end up talking about the one question the host probably thought we’d spend thirty seconds on.

And when I’m thinking about a new project, all of that is available to me at once.

I can be halfway through a conversation in one world and realise exactly who I want to call in another.

To me, that feels completely normal. I’m often the last person to realise it looks unusual from the outside.

The part I care about is what happens when I like an idea.

I give it a chance before I have a polished explanation for it. I can make the call, suggest the collaboration or put a version together and see what’s there. Sometimes the idea is every bit as good as I thought. Sometimes the other person comes back with something better. Sometimes I get ten minutes into it and think, Silvia, what exactly did you think was going to happen here?

Then I adjust. I can change the format on the spot. I can keep one detail and throw the rest away. I can go home and think of something else. I take my ideas seriously enough to try them and lightly enough to change them.

That’s probably the biggest reason I’m willing to try so many.

And that’s where irreplaceable means something to me.

Plenty of people can do the jobs I do.
Give them the same people, the same room and the same afternoon, and they’ll make different choices. They’ll notice something I walked straight past. I’ll get excited about the thing they assumed was irrelevant. At some point, all those little choices add up to work somebody can recognise as yours.

So when someone says, “Only you would think of that,” I take it as a compliment. Even if they’re still deciding whether they meant it as one.

And I still want to know if they’re free on Thursday.

Look at the photo. The skirt is from the tennis court. The sunglasses have a little retro attitude. Then there are the sheer knee-highs with the toes and heels left bare, and the chunky platforms.

I probably would have laughed if you’d read me that list before I got dressed.

But I put it all on, looked in the mirror and thought,

Yes. That’s exactly how I’d wear it.

Silvia