During SXSW – and less noticeably during the rest of the year – everything changes as you near Austin.

At O’Hare, it is a novelty to be seen carrying a guitar through the terminal. I often find myself engaged in the same conversation over and over:
“Yes, I play guitar.”
“Really, you played guitar in (high school / college / your brother-in-law’s band)?”
“Yeah, I play piano too.”
“My music? Well, it’s usually compared to (Norah Jones / Fiona Apple / Jewel / Sara Bareilles).”
“Haha…no, I won’t be playing the guitar on the plane, but if I do, I promise I’ll play Freebird.”

Little girls gaze shyly at me in the hallway. People are friendly.

In the transfer airport, this mood experiences a sharp shift as soon as I approach my gate. Everyone on my plane is a musician, or an A&R guy, or a sound guy, or at the very least is so desensitized to music and the whole music scene that I am not only no longer a novelty – I may as well be back in high school. At best, I am completely ignored; more often, I am regarded with an air of disdain, other musicians/A&R guys/sound guys sizing me up, determining with a focused sweep whether or not they know me and if I look like someone who will threaten their status.

I find it completely amusing, not threatening, but it certainly takes away much of the welcome vibe I used to feel whenever I visited Austin. I have friends here, and I love the weather and the city, and for quite some time I was planning to move here, before I landed in my much-loved current home. Now, though, I can’t imagine why I’d want to take myself out of the larger world where my chosen career is still something to be intrigued by or even admired and force my way into this hyper-competitive population.

Besides – I simply cannot understand why there aren’t any attractive, decently groomed men in the music scene around here. The guys headed to SXSW were blatantly obvious: tallish, extremely skinny, dressed in dull ill-fitting clothes (usually including a ratty blue hoodie) and hiding lazily under a curtain of shaggy, dirty hair. Do what you want, present yourself however you see fit, and if that’s the way you think your music is best represented, then fine.

But yuck.