A reintroduction to the Jerry Report

Did I stop giving a fuck?

Let's cut to the chase. This isn't my memoir (yet) so I'll keep it deliciously brief. You know that moment when you realize you've Marie Kondo'd your personality into oblivion? That's where I found myself in October.

Here's the delightful irony: I had assembled a whole circus of "experts" – media coaches, stylists, brand consultants – all trying to sandpaper my edges into market-friendly smoothness. I thought being "mature" meant nodding along while they transformed me into the human equivalent of a beige waiting room. Surprise! That didn’t work for me.

The wake-up call came in a London hospital, chunks of time missing from my memory like blank tape. Matt came as fast as he could, Pia held vigil, and I woke up thoroughly done with the art world's botoxed version of reality. My attempt to demolish my life was, thankfully, tepid at best.