It’s Not About the Door, Brad. It’s About the Audacity.

That One Time a Door Said Everything

A few months ago, I had a moment. Not a grand epiphany or a breakthrough in therapy, but a petty little flicker of disbelief that still lives rent-free in my brain. Picture this: I’m leaving the lift, heading into work, dressed up in my standard 4-inch heels, doing my usual strut of confidence and mild desperation (because I really needed the loo). One of the senior partners at the law firm where I worked was just ahead of me. Not a stranger. Not someone new. Someone I’ve exchanged emails with. Someone who I spoke about the benefits of green tea with in the kitchen.

We made eye contact. Real eye contact. The kind that says, “I see you, you see me, we are two humans passing through the same automatic glass box of corporate hell.” He reached for the door. And then? He let it close. Right in my face. Not a gust-of-wind-close. Not a my-hands-are-full situation. A full, deliberate, shoulder-nudge door closure. I was four metres behind him. Four. Metres. My arm was practically reaching for it. And Brad (let’s call him Brad, but we all know who I am talking about…) looked me in the eye and just kept walking.

Now, normally this kind of thing wouldn’t stick with me. I’ve been cut off in traffic (well, in the grocery aisle), ghosted after two great dates, and once had someone call me “ma’am” in a Kmart. But this stuck. Not because of the act itself, but because I’ve got the energy of someone who absolutely can open the door. And I do. I hold doors open all the time. For strangers, for friends, for people with prams and pensioners and anyone in between. It’s not about helplessness. It’s about the principle of the matter, Brad. You saw me. You had the chance to be kind. And you chose not to be.

When Chivalry Meets Corporate Life

I used to think chivalry was this old-fashioned, outdated concept that only popped up in period dramas or when your mate’s boyfriend pulled out her chair at dinner. But somewhere along the way, I realised that chivalry isn’t about outdated gender roles or expecting someone to drape their coat over a puddle. It’s about kindness. Thoughtfulness. Just… not being a self-absorbed door-slamming muppet.

The thing about Brad’s door move was that it wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t mindlessness. It was a very clear, very deliberate message of “I do not care that you are here.” In a world where we’re all just trying to feel seen and respected, that tiny act of not holding a door said everything. And I think that’s why it hit me in the gut a little. Because it reminded me this isn’t about being a woman or a man. I didn’t want the door held because I’m in heels or because I look like I can’t manage. I wanted it held because I’m a human. Compassion and kindness cost nothing. And I wasn’t expecting that lesson to come from someone who is supposedly a leader.

And let’s be honest, I wouldn’t have cared as much if it were some clerk in cargo pants and a Red Bull. But when it’s someone in a tailored suit who earns more than quadruple your salary and thinks adding “warm regards” at the end of an email makes them likeable? Yeah, it hits different. Especially when you’re in heels, carrying a laptop bag, and your matcha latte is sloshing dangerously close to your silk blouse.

Chivalry Hasn’t Died, It’s Just Shapeshifted

Here’s the thing: chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just evolved. Holding a door is one version of it, sure. But so is texting your mate to check she got home safe, sending a meme to brighten someone’s day, or walking a colleague to his car because it’s late and the office car park is dodgy. It’s the little things. The thoughtful things. And guess what? They’re not gendered. You don’t need to identify as a knight in shining armour to be a decent human.

Over the years, I’ve noticed that the people who still practise chivalry are usually the ones who’ve been on the receiving end of both good and bad manners. They know how much a kind gesture can mean. They’re the ones who smile at the barista, who notice when someone’s hands are full, who check in just because. It’s not performative. It’s not romantic. Quite frankly – it’s just good energy.

Brad, bless him and his overpriced LinkedIn subscription, might think he’s too important to hold a door, but I’ve had tradies, teenagers, and tired-looking dads with prams go out of their way to make sure I don’t get smacked in the face by a heavy door. Hell, I’ve held my fair share of doors too – for strangers, friends, old people, young people, you get the hint. That tells me all I need to know about who values connection, and who’s too busy checking their emails and exclaiming how busy they are to be present.

The Aura of Door-Holding Energy

I’ve always said my aura is “girl in heels who absolutely could open the door, but you’re already there so…” It’s not weakness, it’s main character energy. It’s not laziness, it’s the art of letting the universe do something nice for once. And if that blessing happens to be delivered by a guy in a Bunnings apron? So be it. Let him shine.

We seriously don’t talk enough about the power of small kindnesses. It’s not about being rescued. I’m not asking you to fight a dragon or hold my handbag. It’s about being seen. When someone holds a door for me – especially in this cold, overly scheduled hellscape of a timeline – it feels like a tiny handshake from the universe. Like we both agreed, silently, that being a decent human is still in fashion.

The older I get, the more I crave those little things. The “got you a coffee” energy. The “texted just to say I saw something that reminded me of you” energy. The “held the door because you looked like you were carrying more than just a laptop bag and some mild trauma” energy. That’s the vibe. That’s the standard.

Because sure, I can open the door myself – but why should I have to, when we could both exist in a moment of shared humanity and good manners? I’m not asking for a grand gesture. I’m asking for the napkin, the nod, the extra 1.5 seconds of awareness. That’s what tells me you’ve still got your soul intact.

Brad Isn’t the Problem. He’s the Symptom.

Brad didn’t ruin my day. He didn’t even ruin my morning. But he reminded me how easily we can slip into thinking we don’t need each other. That we’re all too busy or too important to acknowledge the people around us. And that’s where it gets dangerous. Not because of the door, but because of what it says about our culture.

We’re not meant to be islands. We’re meant to be door-holders. Kindness-givers. Tea-offerers. We’re supposed to look out for each other, even in the small ways. Especially in the small ways. And when someone stops doing that? When someone decides they’re above that? It makes you wonder where else they’re letting doors slam shut.

So no, this isn’t really about Brad. It’s about what Brad and his Capricorn messiness represents. A world where people forget that being thoughtful is a strength, not a weakness. A world where chivalry is optional, instead of a standard. And a world where the people in suits forget that the people around them are watching, noticing, and sometimes writing blog posts about them. It’s not about the door, Brad. It’s about the audacity.

Practising Chivalry in the Real World

You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to offer your seat on the bus with the grace of a royal footman. But if you see someone struggling with a door, a bag, or even just life in general, show up. Be the person who notices. Be the person who cares.

In relationships, in friendships, in offices full of awkward lift rides and even worse coffee no matter how fancy the machine, these little gestures matter. You don’t have to hold the door because someone can’t do it themselves. You do it because it makes things just a little bit easier. A little bit softer. And when the world feels cold and rushed and rude, being the one who brings gentleness is honestly kind of revolutionary. We carry so much already – the least the world can do is hold a door. Especially when we’re doing it in heels. With blisters. And the weight of single-handedly holding up the emotional weight of office culture…

So next time you’re faced with a door and someone four metres behind you with a latte, laptop bag, and a couple of decades of corporate trauma? Hold it open. Don’t be a Brad. Be better.

The door isn’t the problem. The problem is you forgetting you’re not the centre of the universe.

A Little Reminder for the Brads of the World

If you’ve ever let a door close behind you without thinking, this isn’t about shame. It’s about awareness. We all have our moments. But maybe this is your sign to notice more. To soften more. To carry a little chivalry in your back pocket, not because it makes you a hero, but because it makes you human.

And if you’re the person who’s had doors slammed in your face (literally or metaphorically), don’t lose your spark. Keep being gracious. Keep showing up. And keep your heels clicking. Because girlies like us? We deserve open doors. Always.

Now go out there and strut. The world owes you a door or two.

Quick reminder for the people in the back:
Chivalry isn’t gendered. This isn’t about men, women, or whoever you are in between – it’s about being a decent human with two working arms and a functioning sense of social awareness. Anyone can hold a door. Anyone can let one slam. This is about presence, not pronouns.

We Need to Stop Clapping for Basic Decency – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity

In today's episode of Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity, we're unpacking why we need to stop clapping for basic decency. You know the script. A man texts back within twenty-four hours and we're screenshotting it to the group chat. A man plans a date more than three hours in advance and we call him a unicorn. A man manages to listen, pay attention, and behave like a fully formed adult, and our nervous systems short-circuit because we genuinely don't know how to receive it.Here's the truth nobody is saying out loud. The bar has been dragged so low that Satan himself needs a chiropractor after a competitive round of limbo. We've been culturally trained to be grateful for behaviour that should not require gratitude. We've been told these things are bonuses when they're actually the entry requirement. And in the meantime, women have been quietly doing the basic decency thing forever, without applause, while men get standing ovations for outputs we generated for them.Today we're talking about why a great man is genuinely just an average woman, who benefits when the bar stays low, the invisible labour women have been performing for free for centuries, and the friend-test that cuts straight through every excuse we've ever made for mediocre men. Let's get into it.For more visit BryJaimea.com or follow over on IG @BryJaimea

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