I once read an interview with the owner of Australia's best known cake shop, in which the owner said her favourite part of being in the cake world was the “rockstar moment.” She is someone who does a lot of society weddings and it's not unusual for her to be an invited guest at the event where her company's cake is a feature. She attends the events and gets to revel in the rockstar status of being the one who made the cake. All night when people comment about the (fabulous of course) cake, she gets to bask in the glory of being the person responsible for it. Never mind that she probably didn't have much to do with the actual creation of it, the fact is she gets to share the spotlight with it and for her, that's the important bit. The attention. The short lived fame.
We were talking about this at work a while back, and all my lovely employees agreed that they, too love the rockstar moment of being an invited guest at an event which features one of their creations Me? I can think of nothing worse. Not only do I not want to be the rockstar, I don't want to be at the event at all if I can help it, and if I can't help it – I want to be the one in the corner who doesn't own up to the fact that she was involved in the cake. This has nothing at all to do with confidence or pride in my skill, and everything to do with the longevity of my rock and roll cake career.
I am not, by nature, an attention seeker in that way – and while it's true that I am loud, extroverted, and can talk the paint off the walls – I don't much enjoy being in the spotlight per se. When it comes to cake, the whole reason I do it is because I love that it makes people happy and brings them joy at THEIR event. When you are in a room full of people and they are fawning over both the cake maker and (not just) the birthday girl – well, I can't help but be a bit embarrassed by that. I don't want the rockstar moment at the event, because the event is not about me. It's the person celebrating who deserves to have the screaming fans and the undies thrown on stage (which of course only happens at the best parties.)
I want my rockstar moment well after the guests have gone, the balloons have floated gracefully to the floor, and the wine stains have come out of the tablecloths. Then, when the client has time to reflect on their event, I want the phone call or email to tell me that I am, in fact, a rock star. I want them to tell me they appreciated my effort and skill, took loads of photos of the creation, and feel that the cake truly was an important part of the success of their event and that they got joy out of it.
If the phone call never comes, or the email never gets sent – I'm content knowing that I'm a rock star nonetheless – because I will have given them the best I could give, which is a little part of my heart and my skill sitting right there front and centre at their event.
Rock stars' faces might sag, their voices might become gravelly, their hair thin, guitars go out of tune, but the memories you have of their concerts stay with you for a long time after the event. That's MY kind of rock star moment.