Working For Betsey Johnson In London, England
Sometimes, when you do something huge you have to protect it. It has to be sheltered from the wind and spoken about only between people you know you can trust. This is what I did when I moved to London, England. I WANTED to tell everyone. But it might have gotten too big. It might have spun out of control. And someone might have stepped on it before it had time to bloom. And I very much wanted to work for someone big in the fashion industry again. I had been doing my own clothing line for a while and wanted to play with the big boys again like I had when I live in LA.
I squirrelled away $5000 over 6 months which was the amount of money you need to get a Youth Visa to move to England. You also have to be under 31 years of age(no problem-I was 22ish). And you have to be Canadian. So that was all good.
When I got my visa everyone thought I was crazy and spastic because I hadn't mentioned it before. But it was carefully planned. I have an adventurous nature but I am also very organized.
The summer before I moved to England was one of the best- playing frisbee with my friends and running through sprinklers naked at nighttime in the park. Dancing around my parents swimming pool at my birthday party.
When I flew to England I arrived in Poole. My Aunt's friend lives there and she hosted me-which I am still very grateful for. I had no idea what I would do for work and no apartment yet. If you have been reading my blog you may have read about how I accidentally rented an apartment in the ghetto in LA once because I rented it while I was in Canada without really knowing where it was. SO, haha, because I prefer to make a large variety of mistakes and not the same ones over-and-over I decided to find my apartment in person and see it in "the flesh" before I moved in!
(Here is the link to my LA ghetto apartment story if you missed that)
http://brandymars.blogspot.ca/2014/04/lucky.html
After a few weeks in Poole I took the bus to London and had a big list of apartment numbers and addresses. Apartments in London are nothing like living standards in Canada. We are so spoiled in Canada. No joke. I ended up paying 500LB($850) for a bedroom in a house with 4 other roommates and it was in Leytonstone. Leytonstone was actually not so bad. It was ghetto but not the way LA was. LA ghetto is very scary. London people are just very drunk and broke. They aren't violent and aggressive. My roommates in London thought Leytonstone was awful. But they hadn't lived in LA....so I guess everything is relative.
After a month or so in London I got a job as a stylist at Betsey Johnson whom I love and adore.
Despite being incredibly impoverished 22 year old I still did a lot of incredibly great things while I lived in London. I climbed St. Paul's cathedral, took the train to Windsor Castle, hung out in Camden Town a lot which is where Punk originated, went to Shakespeare theatre and saw a play(even though the theatre is actually a re-creation because the original burnt down. They did re-build it by all by hand though so it would have the same "feel" as the original- either way it was a beautiful moment), I went to the city of Bathe where they have the smelly Roman sulphur pools, hung out in Trafalgar Square, backpacked through Germany, flew to Paris alone on Christmas morning, couch-surfed in Switzerland and watched "Bing Bang Theory" for the first time, met 2 fantastic new Brazilian friends at a hostel in Barcelona, went to the Saatchi Museum and every other art Museum I could find.
When I met the 2 Brazilian friends in the hostel in Barcelona I immediately invited them to stay with me in London. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do- although in hindsight that could have turned out terribly because I didn't know them at all haha. It didn't hurt that they were two of the most handsome men I had ever seen in my entire life haha. They ran a fashion blog and we had a lot to chat about. We had such a great time when they stayed with me-drinking wine and listening to Brazilian music which was totally new to me.
I also really loved that in London you can wear anything you want and no one cares. When I moved back to Canada people looked at me like I was an alien. In London I used to wear this giant pink tutu with a little rose on the front and my cropped motorcycle jacket to work all the time and people just smiled or told me how beautiful my skirt was. One lady even asked to touch it. It was great. I imagine dressing in England was a lot like what happens when people get old- they just stop giving a damn and wear whatever they want. It was very freeing.
I squirrelled away $5000 over 6 months which was the amount of money you need to get a Youth Visa to move to England. You also have to be under 31 years of age(no problem-I was 22ish). And you have to be Canadian. So that was all good.
When I got my visa everyone thought I was crazy and spastic because I hadn't mentioned it before. But it was carefully planned. I have an adventurous nature but I am also very organized.
The summer before I moved to England was one of the best- playing frisbee with my friends and running through sprinklers naked at nighttime in the park. Dancing around my parents swimming pool at my birthday party.
When I flew to England I arrived in Poole. My Aunt's friend lives there and she hosted me-which I am still very grateful for. I had no idea what I would do for work and no apartment yet. If you have been reading my blog you may have read about how I accidentally rented an apartment in the ghetto in LA once because I rented it while I was in Canada without really knowing where it was. SO, haha, because I prefer to make a large variety of mistakes and not the same ones over-and-over I decided to find my apartment in person and see it in "the flesh" before I moved in!
(Here is the link to my LA ghetto apartment story if you missed that)
http://brandymars.blogspot.ca/2014/04/lucky.html
After a few weeks in Poole I took the bus to London and had a big list of apartment numbers and addresses. Apartments in London are nothing like living standards in Canada. We are so spoiled in Canada. No joke. I ended up paying 500LB($850) for a bedroom in a house with 4 other roommates and it was in Leytonstone. Leytonstone was actually not so bad. It was ghetto but not the way LA was. LA ghetto is very scary. London people are just very drunk and broke. They aren't violent and aggressive. My roommates in London thought Leytonstone was awful. But they hadn't lived in LA....so I guess everything is relative.
After a month or so in London I got a job as a stylist at Betsey Johnson whom I love and adore.
Despite being incredibly impoverished 22 year old I still did a lot of incredibly great things while I lived in London. I climbed St. Paul's cathedral, took the train to Windsor Castle, hung out in Camden Town a lot which is where Punk originated, went to Shakespeare theatre and saw a play(even though the theatre is actually a re-creation because the original burnt down. They did re-build it by all by hand though so it would have the same "feel" as the original- either way it was a beautiful moment), I went to the city of Bathe where they have the smelly Roman sulphur pools, hung out in Trafalgar Square, backpacked through Germany, flew to Paris alone on Christmas morning, couch-surfed in Switzerland and watched "Bing Bang Theory" for the first time, met 2 fantastic new Brazilian friends at a hostel in Barcelona, went to the Saatchi Museum and every other art Museum I could find.
When I met the 2 Brazilian friends in the hostel in Barcelona I immediately invited them to stay with me in London. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do- although in hindsight that could have turned out terribly because I didn't know them at all haha. It didn't hurt that they were two of the most handsome men I had ever seen in my entire life haha. They ran a fashion blog and we had a lot to chat about. We had such a great time when they stayed with me-drinking wine and listening to Brazilian music which was totally new to me.
I also really loved that in London you can wear anything you want and no one cares. When I moved back to Canada people looked at me like I was an alien. In London I used to wear this giant pink tutu with a little rose on the front and my cropped motorcycle jacket to work all the time and people just smiled or told me how beautiful my skirt was. One lady even asked to touch it. It was great. I imagine dressing in England was a lot like what happens when people get old- they just stop giving a damn and wear whatever they want. It was very freeing.
My first job
My first job after I completed my degree at the Fashion Institute of Design And Merchandising in Los Angeles was designing luxury t-shirts on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. I actually can't tell you about working there because they made me sign a confidentiality agreement about 400 pages long on my first day of work lol
BUT! I can tell you about the interview which was it's own kind of hilarity.
This all happened before the economy went to hell in 2005. So basically, I decided I needed a job. Sent off my resume. The next day I had an interview with them. And the third day I had myself a desk. The man who owned the company was a large Italian man who could take up the space in a giant room with his presence. He had a tiny blonde ex-fashion-model wife who was waif thin. She must have had the tiniest organs in history.
I met him in the store which was across from Tiffany's. He led me to the office where he sat me in a leather chair and then just left without saying anything. He returned with a lookbook opened flat to his chest so I couldn't see the cover.
"WHAT YEAR IS THIS?!" he thundered
"1987!" I blurted out
He closed the book and looked at the cover.
"HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?! he demanded
"I just did..." I said
(Honest to God I have no freaking idea how I knew that. Like I said, somehow I just did.)
"BE HERE TOMORROW AT 9AM SHARP!" he thundered
And that is how I got my first job out of school designing luxury t-shirts on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.
BUT! I can tell you about the interview which was it's own kind of hilarity.
This all happened before the economy went to hell in 2005. So basically, I decided I needed a job. Sent off my resume. The next day I had an interview with them. And the third day I had myself a desk. The man who owned the company was a large Italian man who could take up the space in a giant room with his presence. He had a tiny blonde ex-fashion-model wife who was waif thin. She must have had the tiniest organs in history.
I met him in the store which was across from Tiffany's. He led me to the office where he sat me in a leather chair and then just left without saying anything. He returned with a lookbook opened flat to his chest so I couldn't see the cover.
"WHAT YEAR IS THIS?!" he thundered
"1987!" I blurted out
He closed the book and looked at the cover.
"HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?! he demanded
"I just did..." I said
(Honest to God I have no freaking idea how I knew that. Like I said, somehow I just did.)
"BE HERE TOMORROW AT 9AM SHARP!" he thundered
And that is how I got my first job out of school designing luxury t-shirts on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.
Lucky
I have a theory that I have a guardian angel protecting me. Also, I'm pretty sure I am just really really lucky. Here's why:
On my long and somewhat treacherous journey to fashion industry success I have lived in dangerous neighbourhoods in every major fashion city: Los Angeles, London (England), New York. And obviously, I am still alive.
During my second year of school at The Fashion Institute Of Design And Merchandising in Los Angeles I decided I didn't want to live in residence anymore. So, I was back home for the summer and my Mom and I found this cute little bachelor suit beside a park called McArthur park which has a lake. The google images showed a row boat and it was only 2 subway stops from my school so we were like "Rad!" and we sent the guy a cheque. When I arrived at the house the taxi driver said, "Are you sure you want me to let you out here?!" Which I think says everything about the events that followed haha
I rang the doorbell and this burly man with a belly answered. He let me into his suite on the ground floor. It had very high ceilings and long black velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room-which I found strange. He had creepy paintings and introduced his Vietnamese wife whose name was "Porn". Ok then.
He showed me my apartment which honestly was pretty awesome. I was 19 and structurally it was everything I needed. It had a tiny hallway kitchen and a teeny bathroom and just one room which was the livingroom/bedroom. It had a view of a plethora of ghetto stores-laundromat/donut shop, laundromat/noodle house, Mexican grocery store, pawn shop, many many Mexican dollar stores. In the downtown ghetto people seem to like combining food and laundromat stores- there must be some retail magic there. Who knows. It was South facing which was nice. Oh and the lake/park that I saw on google- it was a crack park. I never saw anyone in a rowboat on it like the google pic showed.
I have no problem living with any ethnicity of people. I have dated people of all races and ages. I am very open minded. Los Angeles is interesting because it is different than London. In London it's not so segregated. In Los Angeles it is VERY segregated. Which is dangerous.
Anyways, I befriended this poet who lived in the attic and he started getting super weird and leaving love letters under my door at night. I bought one of those chain locks and would lean my spoons up against the door at night as some kind of "alarm". I also found a cockroach in my bathtub.
The whole time I was telling my parents "It's great! The house is full of artists!" haha because I really liked living on my own and didn't want to go back to living in the dorms.
One day I was walking home and this van full of men was yelling at me. If you are female and live in LA you get used to this. So I was just ignoring them. But then the van pulled up beside me really quick and all the doors opened and the guys started to get out. I have never run so fast in my life. I should have hid behind someone else's house but I was in fight/flight survival mode. I hid behind my house and crouched down by the porch. My heart was beating so loud. I was terrified. I thought I was going to die that day.
And thats when I threw the towel in and moved to Hancock Park which is just outside Beverly Hills. I lived there while I finished my fashion design degree.
Cockroaches-not so bad. Creepy porn director landlord-not so bad. Almost being abducted in a van by a group of men-VERY BAD!
Haha, so, I am lucky.
I'm not really traditionally religious. But someone/something has an eye out for me. Maybe God just finds my life ridiculously hilarious and keeps me around to amuse him. "Oh look what she's done now! HAHA! Crazy girl! I'll keep her around."
On my long and somewhat treacherous journey to fashion industry success I have lived in dangerous neighbourhoods in every major fashion city: Los Angeles, London (England), New York. And obviously, I am still alive.
During my second year of school at The Fashion Institute Of Design And Merchandising in Los Angeles I decided I didn't want to live in residence anymore. So, I was back home for the summer and my Mom and I found this cute little bachelor suit beside a park called McArthur park which has a lake. The google images showed a row boat and it was only 2 subway stops from my school so we were like "Rad!" and we sent the guy a cheque. When I arrived at the house the taxi driver said, "Are you sure you want me to let you out here?!" Which I think says everything about the events that followed haha
I rang the doorbell and this burly man with a belly answered. He let me into his suite on the ground floor. It had very high ceilings and long black velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room-which I found strange. He had creepy paintings and introduced his Vietnamese wife whose name was "Porn". Ok then.
He showed me my apartment which honestly was pretty awesome. I was 19 and structurally it was everything I needed. It had a tiny hallway kitchen and a teeny bathroom and just one room which was the livingroom/bedroom. It had a view of a plethora of ghetto stores-laundromat/donut shop, laundromat/noodle house, Mexican grocery store, pawn shop, many many Mexican dollar stores. In the downtown ghetto people seem to like combining food and laundromat stores- there must be some retail magic there. Who knows. It was South facing which was nice. Oh and the lake/park that I saw on google- it was a crack park. I never saw anyone in a rowboat on it like the google pic showed.
I have no problem living with any ethnicity of people. I have dated people of all races and ages. I am very open minded. Los Angeles is interesting because it is different than London. In London it's not so segregated. In Los Angeles it is VERY segregated. Which is dangerous.
Anyways, I befriended this poet who lived in the attic and he started getting super weird and leaving love letters under my door at night. I bought one of those chain locks and would lean my spoons up against the door at night as some kind of "alarm". I also found a cockroach in my bathtub.
The whole time I was telling my parents "It's great! The house is full of artists!" haha because I really liked living on my own and didn't want to go back to living in the dorms.
One day I was walking home and this van full of men was yelling at me. If you are female and live in LA you get used to this. So I was just ignoring them. But then the van pulled up beside me really quick and all the doors opened and the guys started to get out. I have never run so fast in my life. I should have hid behind someone else's house but I was in fight/flight survival mode. I hid behind my house and crouched down by the porch. My heart was beating so loud. I was terrified. I thought I was going to die that day.
And thats when I threw the towel in and moved to Hancock Park which is just outside Beverly Hills. I lived there while I finished my fashion design degree.
Cockroaches-not so bad. Creepy porn director landlord-not so bad. Almost being abducted in a van by a group of men-VERY BAD!
Haha, so, I am lucky.
I'm not really traditionally religious. But someone/something has an eye out for me. Maybe God just finds my life ridiculously hilarious and keeps me around to amuse him. "Oh look what she's done now! HAHA! Crazy girl! I'll keep her around."
