Technically from the middle-of-nowhere Missouri, Mason instead identifies as an Austin native with the theatrics and prose of a New Jersey cabbie returning to Hoboken for the night. Because she stands at a fun and flirty 6’ tall and was forced into a world where her name is more often prefaced with Mr. than not, Mason has never felt the need to be one thing or another.
This duality ingrained in her from her name and stature has since colored every decision she’s made. It’s why she’s a classically trained pianist who only plays rock anthems and broke a femur pole vaulting despite having an extreme fear of heights. It also explains the year of college when she jumped all the way from journalism to computer science before stumbling upon the home of duplicities itself; advertising and the pearly gates of Texas Creative. Here, she’s found that her borderline unhealthy knowledge of Twitter memes can pair perfectly with her dying desire to share her opinions with everyone, and her annoying habit of yearly personal rebrands (pink hair circa 2014, 2016, and most of 2020) can prove to be an asset.
Having recently picked up and moved to the "big city" they call New York, (what better way to honor the year of the rat than join them in the subway?) Mason has made it her mission to read and write more. At the core, she strives to create without boundaries the same way she’s curated her own self-narrative. She hates to label herself as a writer - as much as her inner-narcissist begs her to - her counteracting need for approval disallows it. Until the day a creative director, editor, Joan Didion, or God himself deems her worthy, she’ll stick to writing into the void for a blog with no views.
Authors Note: This page could very well end up completely empty, or at the very least, filled with a nonsensical collection of my thoughts on the overpriced food, dive bars, and impressionable people and places I'll be overindulging in for the foreseeable future. If any of that strikes your fancy, stick around, I'll at least try to be entertaining. If not, see you later, sweaty's.
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