Voice Memos
A closer look at the vulnerability we’re so afraid to confront.
When we were deciding which film would open our new series, Footnotes, Voice Memos felt like the natural place to begin. As our favorite film from the campaign, it holds a particularly meaningful place within the larger story we set out to tell. Set against the scenic nightscape of Downtown Los Angeles, the film serves as a quiet homage to the city we call home. It draws from an experience many of us know well: wandering through the city at night when our thoughts begin to feel overwhelming.
At night, the city takes on a different rhythm. The hustle and bustle begins to slow, and the thoughts we’ve carried throughout the day have room to surface. That quiet can feel overwhelming, so we often seek solace in a late-night drive or walk, giving ourselves space to work through what we’re feeling. In those moments, we might find ourselves reaching for a way to express those feelings.
Sometimes that means recording a voice note. Other times, we turn to video, art, music, or journaling. Giving those feelings a form can help us express what we haven’t yet been able to explain. When we return to what we’ve recorded or created, we may hear or see something we didn’t recognize at first: a worry we’ve been avoiding, a longing we haven’t acknowledged, or something we’re still struggling to name.
But allowing ourselves to be vulnerable takes time. We seek comfort, routine, and some sense of consistency. The moment we feel even an ounce of vulnerability creeping in, we tend to put up our walls. Even when we’ve found a way to express ourselves, the instinct to pull back can remain. We might hesitate before pressing record or leave a thought unfinished on the page, unsure whether we’re ready to face it.
That tension between wanting to retreat and wanting to understand ourselves is at the heart of Voice Memos. Through the city’s nighttime atmosphere and the intimacy of a voice note, we wanted to explore what it means to give ourselves room to be vulnerable. It can be terrifying, but it can also bring us closer to who we are beneath those walls.
A version of ourselves that doesn’t try to prove anything to anyone. A version that simply longs to exist.
