Collected Agenda is a recurring publication in the Collected Agenda archive, appearing 20 times across 20 issues between May 28, 2024 and March 12, 2025. The archive places it in contexts such as "COLLECTED AGENDA #2 — Transcribing my planner and my plans"; "COLLECTED AGENDA will come out weekly"; "A long overdue and brief COLLECTED AGENDA #6 - more soon xx". It most often appears alongside Chloe Pingeon, New York, KGB.
- Article page
- Collected Agenda
- Mention count
- 20
- Issue count
- 20
- First seen
- May 28, 2024
- Last seen
- March 12, 2025
Outbound links
Issue trail
- COLLECTED AGENDA #2
- COLLECTED AGENDA #3
- COLLECTED AGENDA #6
- COLLECTED AGENDA #7
- COLLECTED AGENDA #8
- Statues Of Critics.
- I wish I had more to say about fashion week.
- Ways to be sincere.
- Mimetic Theories of Doing Nothing
- Collected Agenda with Sam Falb
- October in America
- Collected Agenda with Vivien Lee
- Indulging in the Eschaton
- Collected Agenda with Lydia Sviatoslavsky
- Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence
- Florida, Massachusetts
- Christmas Stories
- My Glass House
- Your Favorite Grifters Favorite Grifter
- Rules for Clarity
Related pages
Source context
COLLECTED AGENDA #2
a note: COLLECTED AGENDA will come out every SUNDAY going forward.
A Note: Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. I Solemnly Swear I Will Never Write Another Late COLLECTED AGENDA Ever Again
Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
I Solemnly Swear I Will Never Write Another Late COLLECTED AGENDA Ever Again
Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
A long overdue and brief COLLECTED AGENDA #6 - more soon xx
Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
WHAT I DID Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. Monday, September 2 I’ve been freelancing this summer, going back to school for a degree in cultural criticism. I'm hesitant to share any of this, I’m hesitant to share any purpose I have in mind for myself. I would like to tell people I spend my time lying listless in the sun. I tell a friend I’m getting my master’s in cultural criticism and he rolls his eyes. God, people like you need to be put out of your misery, he says. He’s a crude man, prone to social faux pas often intentional and sometimes not, and so I don’t take the thinly veiled death threat personally. I do balk in the face of the fact that I worry he might be right. I’ve been suspecting this for a while, actually. There’s a neurosis in my specific brand of ambition that turns it sordid when given too much thought. There’s a vulgarity in anything that too smugly equates fact and opinion. There’s a vulgarity in voyeurism. They don’t build statues of critics. Etc, etc, etc. I go to dinner late at The Knickerbocker. It’s my favorite restaurant, a better restaurant in winter, but my favorite nonetheless. Fall is in the air. You can really feel it here, where everything is dark wood and heavy steaks. I’m so sick of talking about the seasons. I woke up unhappy, but by evening everything is good. Tuesday, September 3 Evening, I’m at VERA’s panel on alternative art spaces at GONZO’S. Conor is moderating, and the alternative gallerists are talking about their alternative galleries. I’m familiar with most of the speakers, but there was only one seat left when I arrived, a bench in the corner and I probably shouldn’t have taken it but I did. From my corner, I can’t see the panel, but enjoy the anonymity afforded only to me. I can hear perfectly, but I have no idea who’s talking. The crux of the conversation centers around the morality and the logistics of these alternative spaces. Given my usual sensibilities, I am surprised that I am most interested in the economics of it all. A commercial gallery can be more interesting than a museum now, because a museum is beholden to its institutional backing. A commercial gallery is beholden only to the market, which has broader interests than a tastemaker on the board of the Guggenheim. An alternative gallery is beholden to… the artist, a different market, the same market but they’re a bit less beholden? A crime reporter turned Artnet reporter poses the question after the panel- besides a difference in commercial scale, how is an alternative gallery different from a blue chip gallery? He’s met with a slew of solid responses; different in the work they show, in the degree of risk taken on emerging artists, in the literal space they operate out of, which might be entirely unconducive to sales and profit. Afterwards, I try to smoke a cigarette on the Gonzo’s balcony and I’m asked to go outside. I go to a bar, I’m not drinking tonight, my friends go home and so do I. When I tell my boyfriend about the reporter's question, he rolls his eyes. Alt is a word you use to make obscure things relevant, he says. If you’re alt till you die, then you just never really made it. In the case of the artist, I think his point is often true. For a gallery, though, the things on the edges are always changing. Technically, one could champion the periphery forever, although longevity matters less with these things. Technically, too, everything one touched could turn to gold. Wednesday, September 4 Every gallery on Henry Street is having an opening tonight. I get there on the late side but it’s still like a block party outside, like Time Again this summer, like these are all the tiniest galleries in the world so there’s a few people milling inside but mostly everyone is on the street. In terms of the work, I like the Laurie Simmons show by far the best, but that isn’t really the point. There’s probably something to be said here about alternative galleries and about how these openings are actually fun and about how the crowds from each space here are spilling into each other and overlapping, but I can’t think of a point that’s not painfully obvious. These openings are actually fun. That’s kind of the thesis. Thursday, September 5 I’m reading at Confessions on Sunday. I write myself some prompts: I AM OVERFLOWING WITH GRATITUDE
Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
WHAT I DID Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. Monday, September 23 I drove back to the city from Vermont last night, slept early, ran a few miles in an empty gym this morning. I’m freezing. Today is freezing. This week, I vow to show up early. Starting now. It’s early. I’m the only one here. I bold one note in class today - “Aphorism like elegance, telegraphs authority. It creates a feeling of truthfulness, even if it is not actually there”. Later, my boyfriend and I go to lunch at Shanghai Villa. It’s foggy, someone tried to interview me in Washington Square Park but I dogged them with ease. We’re the only people in the restaurant, it’s not a nice day, it’s not the lunch time rush, I don’t think there is a lunch time rush here. We order jasmine tea, pork dumplings, chicken dumplings, soup dumplings, large soups on the side. Review from me is good, great! My boyfriend says fine, worse than average. In the GLOOM, today, I’m listening to the same three songs on repeat: Remember the Heart (Fine)
Inline links: Shanghai Villa, Remember the Heart (Fine)
Thanks for reading Chloe Pingeon's Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
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Introducing Guest Edits: I have always been drawn to the diary as a medium, to the confessional details in the mundanities of one's daily routine, to the visceral ways in which one interacts with the world around them. Collected Agenda has so far been fragments of my own mind and my own plans as such, and yet there’s a lot more happening than my week and my life alone can capture. I’m excited, therefore, to introduce guest edits - where creative people tell us WHAT THEY DID and WHAT YOU SHOULD DO. There is truly no one who does more than the author of this first guest edit.
Sam Falb is a writer and creative producer who I met first on Instagram, and then at Cafe Gitane. Within a few moments of speaking with Sam, it became clear that this is someone whose Collected Agenda is always full. Sam seems to be everywhere, and it seems he is wildly in the know about everything. He wryly describes his policy towards event attendance as: “you don’t know if you don’t go” and Sam is always going.
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Drawing on the diary as a medium of both confessional interiority, and visceral engagement with the physical world - Collected Agenda Guest Edits ask creative people to share What They Did and What You Should Do.
No direct inline source block was recovered for this mention.
No direct inline source block was recovered for this mention.
WHAT I DID Chloe Pingeon's Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Monday, November 10 It feels very important to parse through things very carefully today. I write down what I value: truth and beauty. mental and physical clarity. But then, there are other things, too. I don't experience life as this ethereal. Making big lists. Having big fun. Making big points. I write down: This is the thing I dislike about myself most; not experiencing things as this ethereal and wanting to make things like big points. I write down: when was the time you felt most transcendent? Remember: I'm not writing auto fiction. I'm writing my diary. It's weird - picking up the pieces of things. I feel disdain when I see people exercising bad habits. You cannot imagine my horror as I self destruct. Picture This: on the Upper West Side, things are quiet. The stone walls on the edge of the park are lined with trimmed hedges in the summer, but the branches are bare now, and so, you see, now, that the skeletons have always been jagged. The subway has been nicer lately, better to step inside when the warm air is a relief and nothing is steaming. I like the uptown F, the cars with the orange seats, the stations where there's no one there so you can hear the doors whoosh. Picture this: you go to The Central Park Zoo, you wear a Christmas dress, you go to Sarabeth's for lunch, pancakes, toast. After, you don't go window shopping but you do walk home. Not your home, it belongs to someone else, but it's familiar. You make tea by big French windows. The trees are bare already, remember, and so picture the precision with which you can watch the people on the street below. They don't look like little ants, you aren't that high up, they just look as they are - little people in and out. People looking for something. It’s like they are on a little treasure hunt. Imagine you would wish them the best. You wouldn't close the windows - not for a while, at least David told me I smelled like winter when I got home today. I didn't. I smelled like eucalyptus. You would too after a few minutes in that steam room in SoHo. I can’t stop spending money the instant that I make it. I can’t stop spending money like I have it. I have stopped purchasing stuff. I like to wear the same thing most days. I like to sort TheRealReal Black Blazers prices low to high and buy five at once, eight dollars each. When they arrive, they are still nice material and still from places like Armani or at least Theory and you spend little and you can sell them for more when it’s time to declutter. It’s been so wonderful to declutter lately. I’ve gotten rid of almost all of it - stuff, I mean. In the new place, there are no closets. I’ve gotten rid of all my storage space. I’ve gotten rid of all my streams of income. My Stuff is still in storage somewhere. Not in New York. I’ll sell it soon. You can have some but not all my earthly possessions if you want them. You can have the ones I’ve packed away. I like this idea – “Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence” Tuesday, November 11 My new favorite blog is this - Health Gossip. It’s an old school newsletter. The health advice is very Pure and True, but more than this, it is beautiful to consume. Health Gossip is my favorite thing on the Internet this week. Very rarely does something in digital form elicit a real sense of calm in me. Usually, things in digital form make me feel kind of manic and bad. I’m not sure why this project strikes me so profoundly. Today, I spend multiple hours reading Health Gossip. A writer texts me after last week's letter - “your writing is always “good” ie flashy/ineffable… but this one bummed me out.” I’m not sure if he’s referring to the happenings of the week, or to the passivity, lethargy, dare I say gluttony and sludge… with which I’ve been diluting my descriptions of it all. I don't ask him to clarify. Regardless, his assessment of the piece in some sense parallels my own, and an attempt to dredge out an opinion from an acquaintance I admire that might placate my own sense of shame does not feel like an endeavor of any significance. “it bummed me out to write… ”, I say. We’re at a large group dinner at Olive Garden Times Square tonight. The host picked this place with a genuine fervor, nothing snidely ironic about it, and so I am more good humored in this venture than would be my usual inclination. It's less kitschy here then I l expected, anyways. Wall to wall carpeting, lots of families, lazy susan’s, the color schemes of muted Americana. I have a healthy appreciation for Times Square Charm. I have a healthy Relationship With Capitalism. I can't really eat the food here but isn't some of it just so fun to look at. I'm drifting in and out of focus at dinner - preoccupied by unrelated concerns of wavering integrity and petty betrayal, not important, not interesting. When I do tune in, a girl across the table is talking about Politics. “My grandma is spending her time so worried about school shooters because it's an obsession of the news,” she says. “It makes me angry and so sad for her. She shouldn't be spending her time thinking about this.” I get her sentiment a little bit. A sensationalist sense of doom that makes my skin crawl at some family dinners. Sometimes, there is frost on the grass just outside the window and when it catches my eye during these conversations - look at the dew, look at the mist, there are fawns in the field - then I just want to scream. But then, I worry sometimes that I am not very empathetic. I am envious, sometimes, of people who become utterly consumed by suffering that for the most part, they could simply look away from. Nihilism is something I am trying to avoid for the main reason of - its been breeding cruelty more than healthy removal, lately. Walking through Times Square after, David asks me if I am ok. I guess my eyes have glazed over. I realize this now, that it's been called to my attention. “Of course,” I say. “I worry that everything in my life is going to very suddenly fall apart,” I say. I am reassured. The night passes peacefully. Thursday, November 14 I take the Q to the end of the line today. It's something I've always wanted to do - take the train until the cars stop and I'm the last one left on board and a voice comes on and says please exit the train for cleaning, this is the last stop on this train, please exit the train so the train can be cleaned. I'm in Bay Ridge to shoot a music video today. To be an extra in a music video, that is. I'm exceptionally bad at acting. I'm bad enough that I am even bad as an extra. I'm not particularly bad at lying, but I am bad at having an expressive face. The neighborhood at the end of the Q is nice. I've been taken to other places in New York like this before. Places where you feel like you're by the seaside, where you're under the bridge, where the architecture is more brick, more limestone, more instances of art deco. The Hudson widens into the open ocean somewhere not too far from here and so of course the air feels different. It's strange, even if anticipated, to take the subway ninety minutes to a place where the air feels different, to walk down strange streets and into an unfamiliar gothic building, to open the door to a room where I have never been, and to find it filled with people I mostly already know. The past few years have given me many instances like this. This is something I am very grateful for. The music video is for DDM / Uncensored New York. It's a cool concept. It's cool to watch things come to life. The shoot is outside, and I am the coldest I have ever been. I'm still having fun. I'm thinking about things like how monks orient their consciousness and focus towards the cause of their suffering, and then I am trying to think only about the cold. I am not able to transcend myself, but even freezing, I don't wish I was elsewhere. In the afternoon, I sit in a warm car and I thaw my hands. I have miso soup, tea, and cheese sticks. There is still a chill in me even once inside, which is simultaneously unpleasant and cozy. I'd been wanting a day like this very badly. Friday, November 15 Beckett's Tense comes together with serendipity. There was a crisis with the headliners, Lucy Sante was sick. Beckett ran into Penny Arcade outside of Madame Matovu on 10th. Now, Penny is the headliner. The unsalvageable is always salvaged. The bar can serve real liquor tonight. There's a lot of people here and it's a different crowd than usual. Tense is back in Manhattan. Penny says she’s here because she wants to see what the new New York is doing. I give Beckett a hug at Sovereign House. I say hi to Chris and Adeline. Chris and Adeline are drawing big Tense bubble letters on the chalkboard. The seats are already mostly full. I climb to the top of a ladder and I sit up there. From up there, I have the best view in the house. Tense is not just a reading series, Tense is a show, and this distinction is important. There is a program, an order of events, a flow of new and old. The serendipity with Penny’s arrival lies in this - she seems to understand exactly what Beckett is doing, and while she didn’t write her piece specifically for TENSE (she describes it as “cultural criticism you can dance to”), it speaks with exaction to the spirit of things. Here are some things that Penny Arcade says: I’d rather put a stick in my eye than go somewhere where everyone is the same age. When I was young, if I went to a party and everyone was under thirty I thought... I'm at the wrong party.”
Inline links: Health Gossip, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!BqEq!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F8d9f96c9-96e5-4a0b-9813-061226dc9197_3024x3775.jpeg, DDM, Uncensored New York, Beckett's, Tense, Lucy Sante, Penny Arcade, Madame Matovu, Chris, Adeline
Chloe Pingeon's Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Note: As I increasingly try to be a working writer making a living from my art, I have decided to enable a paywall for portions of the Substack. I’m looking towards some new projects, in person events, and notes that might fit better in a more intimate format. I plan to keep much of Collected Agenda free and available to the public, but if you find my writing interesting or useful and are able, please consider supporting this project.
Last week’s Collected Agenda is on Mars, along with a What You Should do for the whole month of December, and some notes from Noah Kumin on prestige vs popularity and the media inflection point. This may become a monthly column, so stay tuned <3
Inline links: Mars
I have 3 (!!) exciting guest edits coming next week. If you’re interested in contributing to Collected Agenda, or have someone you’d like to see featured, email me - chloegpingeon@gmail.com
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No direct inline source block was recovered for this mention.
No direct inline source block was recovered for this mention.
No direct inline source block was recovered for this mention.