My parents immigrated to NYC in the early 80’s. They landed in Queens, Far Rockaway to be exact, where I spent the first 18 years of my life.
We lived in a tall, 20 story building, with an identical one, right across the street. Right outside of our window was the A train and I’d hear the train come and go, multiple times an hour. Growing up, I’d always have people ask me “how the hell do you sleep with all of that noise?!” But on the contrary, it’s a sound that would lull me to sleep.
It was that train that took me to my first ballet at Lincoln Center, a tradition that would continue into adulthood. It was that train that took me to my first mega-club in NYC as I’d sneak out of my apartment late at night. I’d take that same train home at 3AM, because as a young girl, a yellow taxi was never something I’d be able to afford. A $1.75 train ride was way more my speed. It was that train that took my father and I to my first US Open, another tradition that would continue up until last year.
It was also that train that took me to my first city job. I was 16 years old and working as a receptionist in The Empire State Building. On Friday’s, I’d get my $250 paycheck and head across the street to Wet Seal and Steve Madden where I’d spend half of that on “going out clothes.” Black shiny pants, sequin halter tops and 5″ inch platforms. After my mini shopping spree, I’d walk around the city, looking up at the tall skyscrapers and knowing that I lived in the greatest city in the world. A city where if you work hard enough, your dreams could turn into reality.
After I graduated college, I got my first job in the fashion/garment industry making $32,000 a year. The building was right off 37th street and 5th avenue and I worked as the assistant to the VP of Sales. It was an hour and a half train ride from my apartment in Far Rockaway (I was still living with my mother at the time), but one I was ecstatic to make. A real job! a real salary! Over the course of the next few years, I learned a lot about the business, but I was ready for a new job. After several interviews, I landed at a large handbag company where I had the opportunity to take on more responsibility. For the next seven years, I’d learn a ton about the business side of the industry. I really loved it, but as the time went on, I was ready for something else. I’d find myself sitting at my desk, dreaming about New York Fashion Week. I wondered what it was like to sit at a show and watch everything come to life. I remember saying to one of my close friends “my dream is to sit front row at a fashion show.”
Around that time, I started Brooklyn Blonde. Blogs were a new thing, but I needed a hobby. I poured all of my creative energy into awkwardly posed outfit photos that Keith would snap on his new Canon T3. This was something I was doing for myself, never thinking anyone else would see or that anything would come of it.
A few years later, I got invited to my first fashion week at Lincoln Center.
A year after that, I was invited to sit front row at Hervé Léger.
I think about that moment often. Whether you call it manifestation, luck, hard work, having the opportunity or all of the above, I know that New York City and the people I was surrounded by, had a lot to do with it.
As I started getting a little older, I started to travel a lot. I went to Italy, France, Australia, Spain, England, Russia, Korea and many states in our country. I loved every single minute of it. The people I met, the cultures, the different foods, the art, the people watching, the fashion, the bars and clubs. All of it! But you know what part I loved most? I loved coming home. Every single time. As soon as I’d get off the plane, this feeling would come over me and I’d realize just how special New York was.
And the thing is, New York is not perfect. Who is?! It’s a city I get defensive over. You know how they say, “I can talk shit about a family member, but don’t you dare do the same.” That’s how I feel when others, especially those who aren’t from here, bash New York.
Right now, the city is hurting. Watching businesses close and people move out is like watching a best friend or family member go through this painful time. They say it’s a form of grief and I have to agree with that. It’s hard to watch. Hasn’t this city been through enough?
I’d be lying if I said that Keith and I didn’t having hypothetical “but where else?!” conversations as we talk about our future. Deep in our souls, we know that for us, there will never be a place like New York.
After all, it’s the greatest city in the world and it will bounce back. I have zero doubt. Until then, I plan to stand by its side, as I would for any good friend in need.
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