About a Girl

Issue 97

Hello, welcome, bienvenue. I’m hanging in there. Thanks for asking. How are you?

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Today, Emma took the ferry to San Francisco to spend the day with my dad at his office, Goodby, Silverstein, and Partners.

As the fourth and final grandchild, she’s gotten the shaft. Today is her big break—a solo ferry ride, ad agency mischief (which, when I was young, was copious Xerox copies and trips to the refrigerator), out to lunch, and a visit to Zara before heading back to the ferry—all this between 10:00 and 2:00. Grandpa moves quickly.

Despite what his office looks like, my dad is anything but a hoarder (I think).

When I was a bit younger than Emma, I punched 100 into the Xerox machine at my dad’s office and hit start. My brother told me it was going to blow up. I reacted the way you’d expect. He also told me witches fly through the sky when there’s a full moon. I dreaded full moons. At least once, I sat on him and scratched his face with my fingernails. When friends would call, he’d answer, and the conversations went like this:

Aaron: “What.”

Innocent friend: “Um, is Simone there?”

Aaron: “No.”

Frightened friend: “Do you know where she is?”

Aaron: “No.”

Desperate friend: “Can you tell her I called?”

Aaron: “No.”

Helpless friend: “Okay, bye.”

Click.

If you met my brother today, you’d never, ever expect this shitty behavior once came from him—he’s a dream. Yet, it did, and plenty more.

Sometimes he’d pull me to the dark side, and we’d join forces. Our stepsisters had a robust Barbie collection we destroyed. If you’ve seen the Barbie movie (I recommend), each of our sisters’ beautiful Barbies became Weird Barbie—with destroyed hair, painted faces, and hung by their necks off the balcony. If I were my mom, I’d have been concerned.

Apparently, there was nothing to worry about. Look how well I turned out.

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How Do You Say?

I’ve created How Do You Say? as a space for reader questions about writing and communicating.

Ask me, a semi-legit writer, about words. For example: “I want to give constructive feedback to the company I’m leaving. How can I do that without offending people I like?” Or, “What the heck is a brand voice, and how do I find one?” Here’s the most recent reader inquiry:

M.B. asks:

What is the limit on "!"s? I'm an excited communicator and I often have to limit myself to one exclamation point per paragraph. However, I’ve heard using "!" is a "woman thing.” Does this make me unprofessional?

Dear Reader!

Your question has two parts. 1) How many exclamation points is too many? 2) Are exclamation points a woman thing (and does using them make me unprofessional)?

Second thing, first. Women rock, and there’s nothing unprofessional about being one or using exclamation points!!

Now, for your original question, how many ! is too many? Imagine receiving the email you’re sending. Write it, then read it through their eyes. I do this over and over until it feels right.

Imagine, you don’t want their first thought to be, “Wow, that’s a lot of exclamation points!” First, you want them to focus on the purpose of the email. Second, they notice your excitement.

Now, punctuate accordingly!

If that lesson was helpful and you want to throw a communication question my way, please do! Hit reply, email me, or comment below. Let’s see if I can help.

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Let’s Pray

Not like that. This isn’t Jesus’ prayer—it’s a mantra I’ve fallen out of practice with from a book by Tosha Silver. (If you’re not woo-woo, she’s not for you.)

Print this prayer and place it on your bathroom mirror or bedside table, as I have. If you’re without a mirror or bedside table, see below. And, if you can’t find 60 seconds to read this daily, you’re broken (just like me).

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Sweet-Ish

Downtown San Francisco is dying. Ikea’s swooping in—opening on Market Street between 5th and 6th (yikes) on August 23rd.

I’m in full support. Thanks for asking.

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Someone loves you very much. Have a beautiful week, everyone!

Yours Truly, Simone (I have no middle name) Silverstein