I flew to New York in the hope of a week being introduced by our very charming big shot family friend to people in the fashion and media industry. The idea was to meet people that could shed some light on the opportunities open if I move my London city ass to the big apple. Within two days I am sitting in Kelly Cutrone's office, the biggest powerhouse Pr in New York being told straight that there are no fashion journalism jobs that will pay me anything worthwhile. My three-year degree out the window there then. But she gave me the advice to look beyond that title; there are more places I could push my way into other than magazines and newspapers. Hey if they won't have me maybe someone else will, I’ll make them if it means I can dance in Soho every night and still get a kick out of drinking afternoon Cosmo’s. Carry Bradshaw eat your heart out. Kelly is a reality TV star and her schedule between managing the firm and appearing on MTV as well as dashing in between hot spot cities for designer friend funerals actually found time to give me 5 minutes of no bullshit Cutrone trademark talk. Read her book. You’ll feel the fear. She never wears make-up and always dressed in Black. It’s as if she doesn’t need to do any of that shit, she works her butt off and just to really make you feel like you don’t try hard at all, she has a 7 year old daughter she independently puts through private education as well as everything else she has to list for the trophy cupboard.
Flash forward to Zac Posen’s party, not the glam celeb hoard that it could have been but reality? He needed publicity and he needed it mainstream. The shopping event filled a Target store with red carpet, instant Polaroid photographers and the reality cougar tv stars as well as Zac’s mother and father, two miniature people who didn’t have a ‘my sons a celebrity’ bone in their body and lots of other long limed and fashiony crowds.
In between trying to make myself sound worthy of being paid to work rather than continue another year interning for the good of my career, I met my new best friend, Emily, assistant to Mark baker (my charming family friend big shot). Working in nightlife we had the cheap luxury of spending evenings at clubs people would pay unreal amounts to get into and sampling menus of lobster and the best beetroot salad to name (in Juliet’s, Mark’s Supper club). We have drunk the hours away with champagne, cocktails and I wish I could say the occasional tequila but no drinking on this trip was occasional. I can feel the American cuisine stretching my new 7 for all mankind jeans I bought in Bloomingdales, that I must add, were so much less than we pay back home, another point to NYC.
Oh know! Stranded in New York due to Volcano eruption in Iceland, all flights cancelled for everyone heading back to London. Could you dream up a more idyllic place to be stranded? With the company of new friends, familiar faces who were also over in this adrenalin junkies paradise what more could I want. I still have a list that is most likely longer than the length of Manhattan with things I must do and see. Possibilities are endless and any fear of being a little Brit in a big city was whisked away with the incredible architecture and constant movement of the city life.
Now back to good ol' Blighty. Well after a de-tour stop first to Misanapolis, god help me if I had got stranded there. Back to the real world. Back to finishing a degree, putting clothes in the washing machine and eating in! I am sad to have left, I feel like I am leaving something behind. Have I forgotten something? Other than my entire savings that New York ate in 8 days of course. If I move their I will be leaving London and be back to the starting line in another city, but as Kelly Cutrone would advise, follow your intuition and as I sat in that overpriced bar at JFK airport it definitely told me that the fact I even have a shot to live in New York City is enough to take up the chance.
I have four months..
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