Hello, San Francisco

It's hot. Unseasonably hot. I just flew out from a country with wan, blue sunshine and I'm not ready for this warm buttery sunlight and heat.

Without sounding pretentious, I feel a little out of place here. I've spent considerable time adjusting to London and it finally became natural. Now I find myself feeling uncomfortable with how wide and open American roads feel, and why does everyone insist on driving on the other side of the road? Our money looks silly and I don't see the point in $1 bills. Tax is added onto shop prices at the till, service charge isn't added, and people look at me funny when I say, "cheers" as a thank you. I'd forgotten just how lazy Americans are about putting together an outfit in the morning- my god people, at east TRY to look nice! You're offending my eyes. The colour of the atmosphere and the colour of the buildings create a pink hue over all of San Francisco, and I'd forgotten how peach the street lamps are. The accents are all wrong. Heavy Californian accents (which I'd never noticed before) sound almost crass. Most English accents are softer to my ears, and I can't believe how many hard, loud Rs I'm hearing around me. I'm highly aware of the weather, the sense of space, the colours of the city, the high hills and massive amount of greenery dotted around the streets. I wonder if this is how visitors see San Francisco.

I'm not a traitor to my own people, but obviously leaving the country gives you a new perspective on the place you come from. I am looking at my city with slightly different eyes, and although little things will become habit, I suspect some things will never become invisible again.

My boyfriend seems absolutely thrilled to have me back. He keeps looking at me like he can't believe I'm really here. It warms my heart, even though I have trouble expressing how much I appreciate his appreciation.  And I realized yesterday that I am officially no longer "staying" with him- now I live with him. I guess that should feel like a big step, but it doesn't. We work well together as a couple, so it comes naturally.

Speaking of work, I start a new job on Monday. I know, right? Well, I *did* say I needed to hit the ground running when I arrived. It seems I'll be doing some design work for my boyfriend's company (it wasn't his suggestion, by the way. His co-workers suggested me because, yaknow, I'm awesome.) In between that, I'm going to harass the shoe designer here that I'd like to work for/with. I will be so friendly she won't be able to say no. I'm good at that.

It's only my first day here, but I miss my friends in London. I am both happy to be back and sad to have left. I miss a lot of stupid things too- like being someone with an accent, and it being a conversation-starter. I miss the feel of pound coins, and boys with smart coats, nerdy specs and perfectly wrapped knit scarves. I miss the weekend markets, the painfully fashionable Shoreditch twats, and the all night salt beef bagels. I miss the transit system (laugh all you want), and I miss brick buildings. But yes, most of all I miss my friends. I don't find friends of that calibre often, and leaving them has left mascara running down my cheeks in the back of cabs. I hate goodbyes. So so so much.

But hopefully I will be able to fly back and visit my people soon. I couldn't say goodbye to either city permanently. I think I will always feel that London is as much a home to me as San Francisco.

4 days pt 2

I'm confused by how many cleaners have suddenly appeared in my flat. There was one, then there were three, then four, now six, back down to three...

I'm having a bit of a white person complex right now because the cleaners are all non-English speakers from other countries. Somehow I didn't feel like such a privileged white bitch when my Indian flatmate was the one organizing the cleaning service. *shrink

So after waking early to wait for the Virgin Media guy to come collect the router, and waiting for hours, I finally called and they told me "oh, no one is coming to pick it up. Ooops. Just leave it." Great, thanks guys. There were so many things I could have done this morning had I not been sitting around waiting! I could have slept in!

I managed to get rid of my unwanted clothes and shoes by putting them downstairs in the entry way with a sign saying "FREE CLOTHES size 14 and SHOES size 8-9". They were gone in ten minutes.

Now I just have to survive the walkthrough with the property manager at 3pm. I anticipate a lot of arguing and drama. Hopefully I can either kill him with smiles and kindness, or turn on the, "I'm taller, bigger, and meaner than you," persona. It just depends on how he wants to play this.

Today is stressful. I just want this part of it to be over with as quickly as possible.

4 days pt 1

Waiting for the Virgin Media guys to come take away my internet. In the meantime I have the cleaners in, and one particularly stinky/sweaty guy is cleaning my bathroom. His scent does not inspire confidence but he seems to be taking his time doing details, so....

In the meantime, I am taking photos of stuff so I can determine which clothes I'm carrying down to the donation bin, and which I'm shoving into a bag to give to friends. I was going to donate my bike back to the place I bought it from (they are lovely and fix old bikes to sell at good prices), but luckily an equally tall friend of mine is in need of a bike for a few weeks, so I'm riding down to give it to her today and she's going to donate it for me!

I stupidly asked a friend to keep one of my suitcases at her place so I didn't have to bother carrying it around this weekend, but now I realize I need to put a few things in there. Oops!

I still feel like I have so much to do. I need to make a few phone calls, meet with the property managers for a walkthrough tonight (not looking forward to that), mail some books to a friend who forgot them, move all my stuff to my girl's house for the weekend, and then move it all to my friend's house on Monday, repack once I have the other suitcase, organize a car to Heathrow....

I won't rest until I'm on the plane. Now I just have to take vitamins and get sleep so I don't end up with a cold on my flight... that will hurt.

5 days: My Last Night in Shoreditch

It was a beautiful sunny day. I woke early to get a head start organizing all the bits and bobs involved in moving. At 2:30, the movers came to pick up my boxes, and by 4pm my flatmate had moved out. Suddenly the flat was calm, empty, and a place I didn't mind spending time. I opened the windows to air out the cigarette smell my flatmate left lingering while waiting for my aunt to return my call, hoping I'd get to see her today. But I never managed to get a hold of her, and instead I spent the day throwing out trash, and moving furniture around in preparation for the cleaners and final walkthrough tomorrow.

At 7pm I had to drop off a dress I'd altered for a friend from work, and I went down to a shoreditch bar to meet with the Tent London folks. I do miss working in that office- even though I only worked there for a short time, it was a great place. I had a few drinks, talked about corsetry and moving in with my boyfriend, before heading out into the Shoreditch night. I went to the first chip shop I experienced for my last meat and chips bonanza, and walked through the heart of hipsterland, across the park, and into my crappy little council flat.

I do love it here. But as my friend keeps reminding me, San Francisco will be good. I will be with my boy, with friends, with family, and London is always here waiting for me.

6 days

I am 99% packed. I have some forms to fill out, but all my boxes save one are taped, marked, numbered and ready to go when the shipping company gets here tomorrow. My suitcases are nearly full and there is almost nothing left in this flat that wasn't here to begin with.

It's real. I'm actually moving. It finally dawned on me today when I removed the last colourful bits of "me" from my bedroom and pushed the furniture back into its original place. Suddenly the room looked stark and empty, and no longer felt like home.

I was rereading old blog posts this evening- particularly those written when I first moved to London. I was so sad during that time. I remember the knotted stomach and unbearable loneliness, and my heart sinking the moment I saw the dorm room for the first time. And now I'm sleeping in a room that no longer feels like my own surrounded by boxes and suitcases, again. It's not the same thing, but there are echoes in the experience.

My flatmate is moving out tomorrow. I am glad to see her go because things didn't go as well as I'd hoped- I think we will part ways with the sort of stories about one another in which we call the other one "absolutely insane". Ah well. I'm looking forward to one or two nights alone in the flat before I leave on Saturday morning to go stay with my girlfriend for the weekend. Then on Monday I stay with a dear friend in Camden before waking early to get to Heathrow Tuesday morning. I have so much to do- so many odds and ends to take care of- turning off the utilities, organizing the donation of my bike and clothes, dealing with the property managers and our cleaners, sorting out my bank, my cellphone and internet, trying to fit in a few final goodbyes with friends and family....

I will get it all done of course, but I just feel sad about it all tonight. I will miss so many people and so many things about my time here.

7 days

This time next week I'll be on a plane heading back to San Francisco, and will no longer be an American Redhead living in London- I am moving back to the states.

I am a little too overwhelmed with the practicalities of moving to spend time focusing on how I'm feeling about the move, but when I have a quiet moment between things I sometimes reflect on how differently I thought this London story would end.

If I'm completely honest, I hoped that at this point I'd be working on my final collection at Saint Martins and talking my way into fashion jobs. I figured the long distance relationship would have been more than I could handle and that I would be alone. I was sure I would be working toward *finally* getting that degree. I was pretty sure I knew who my friends would be at uni, and I was absolutely sure I'd be miserably lonely, focused on trying to become the next big thing.

The last thing I expected was to fail miserably time and time again, pick myself up and try harder than I've ever tried before, fail again (ad nauseum) until I decided to leave uni, and leave fashion. I never thought I'd find something I love and am good at, intern with designers, and talk my way into (hopefully) designing my first footwear collection for an amazing high end boutique store in London.

photo by Ben Hopper

I didn't expect to help organize one of the most fabulous costumed sex parties London has seen, or to meet some of the most amazing friends I've ever had. I surely didn't expect to not only maintain and significantly strengthen my relationship with my boyfriend, but to also find find myself dating an amazing girl as well. I hoped, but never actually believed, that I would end up growing more independent, capable, or able to handle whatever life throws at me. I've always thought of myself as a particularly weak person, and I think London has made me stronger in a lot of little ways.


As my left wrist now says in permanent black ink, "change" is something that will always define my life. This is just another rearranging of my situation, and it's certainly not a goodbye to London. No, I will be back as often as I can.

I do have a few regrets. I try to not dwell on things I might have done differently, or how I could have used my time better. I did what I did and I learned stuff. I am happy I came here, and proud of myself. I will miss people and places, but I go back to SF knowing I always have a home here in London. It will always be the place where I came into my own, on my own, for myself and no one else. It will always be a special place full of magical things and wonderful people to me.... yes, even when the weather is this shitty.

Photo by Jon Cartwright

I have much to do and many zzz's to catch up on, so that's all I'm going to say for now. If you want to see more stuff while I finish packing and curl up into bed, go browse my Tumblr.

G'nite.

First Ink

I have had a tattoo idea in my head for nearly five years. I have always known exactly what I wanted, but it never felt like the right time to get it. I asked a friend to type out the word I desired on her vintage typewriter, and I carried around the image in my wallet for years, knowing I wanted it to look a little worn and weathered.

When I moved to London I knew I would get my first ink here. But the tattoo had to mark a moment in my life, and my first year in the UK was rife with stress and unhappiness. I didnt want it to be a reminder of a horrible time, so I waited. I thought I might get it done when I moved into the flat and began life afresh, but again, my life was in flux, and I didn't want to mark that in my skin.

But I believe I am beginning an upward trend. Although I am sad to leave London, I am starting something new, and embracing some big changes in my future. I am once again feeling optimistic about life. I knew it was time.

And today was the day I got inked.

I was terrified. Not of the pain, but of not liking the outcome. Before we began my tattooist asked if I wanted the word to face me or face outward. The question took me by surprise- I had never considered having it face outward. This tattoo is for me, and me alone. That's why I went to have it done alone.

So why "change."? If there is word that defines me, it is "change". I feel that I am always striving to change for the better, and to not get stuck in a rut. In English it is also a command and a reminder that if I don't like the way things are, I have the power to change them. I also enjoy the irony that the first permanent marking on my body is about impermanence.

I was terrified this morning, but now I love it! I'm going to be very good to it, follow all the instructions my tattooist gave me, and in two weeks it will feel as though it's always been there.

No Rest for the Wicked

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Leather, Friends, Pilates, and Awesome

My life is a nice mess of extreme emotions right now. My friends and my internship give me extreme (often creative) highs. For example, today I hemmed and hawed about leaving the house to go to my leather supplier. I needed to source some fabrics for my mentor and also pick out something for my evening shoemaking class. But once I left the house on a mission, I was so happy I could barely contain it.

It's so warm out today it could reasonably be called hot. It is sunny and clear and breezy. I walked along the canal and stopped to have a coffee and slice of cake by the water, while I read The Ethical Slut.

I then walked up to the new East London Overground (it opened today!) and took this silent, empty, smooth running train all the way to the docklands where my supplier rests in a cool warehouse stacked high with leather of every kind and colour. I wandered in, the owner recognized me, bantered with me, and secured his role in my life as Creepy Uncle Malcolm, the sex deprived leather supplier with a heart of gold.

Another example: last night I had dinner and drinks with my favourite redhead and we have planned to take some creative classes together, organise a craft weekend with our girls, go see some culturally educational shows, and all sorts of fun creative stuff. It's the best way to combine my favourite things- sexy friends and art!

Oh and another example: I've started taking classes at Frame and I'm becoming addicted to pilates. I can push myself, avoid hurting myself, and for the first time in my life, work my abdominals to the point of being in pain the next day. I'm so committed I've even scheduled an 8am class tomorrow just so I can get a workout in before I go to my internship.


What else.... oh, well this isn't a creative thing, but I have another piercing planned and I've decided I'm brave enough to do it. I think it's also a way of processing some difficult relationship stuff- pain, piercing, improving myself....

I am so in love with London sometimes. I have good friends, I have professional connections, and it's just plain awesome. Today just feels awesome. My feelings might have something to do with the raspberry mojito I'm sipping as I type this, but still.... awesome.

The Erotic Awards charity event

Hot girls, gay disco cowboy acrobatic stripping, nipple tassels, drag queens, human-ish mask worn over latex catsuits, and stripping midgets- all to the tune of champagne. Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday evening.

What I wore: A black beaded 20's style dress over a navy blue slipdress with inset lace. Thigh high stockings with back seams, and my space boots. Covered by a vintage black jacket with fur collar and long black gloves:

Heel Shapes

Post-brunch with a fellow faux redhead, we wandered into a few shops and found some amazing shoes. I was only able to capture one or two, but I thought I'd share some brilliant heel shapes I came across today:

We ran across these polka dot beauties in Beyond Retro in Soho. How fantastic are those heels?











Ok and these I simply HAD to try on when we visited the Irregular Choice store on Carnaby Street. I have had a love affair with Irregular Choice back from when they weren't owned by Office and were actually hard to find. And now, looking at their stuff, I really feel I would be well suited to design for them. Especially because things I was secretly drawing in my sketchbooks are showing up on their shelves...


I am in love with these monster heels. I need a pair. Size 42 please. Make it so.




Really, I should simply never go into shoe stores.....

I Need an Internship with a Shoe Designer

I am at a stage in my design where I need to start making prototypes. I have sketchbooks full of ideas and all I need now is practice and some specialized help in the mould-making area. My first step is to get an internship with a shoe designer. I thought I had one, but I just got word that it fell through for reasons that had nothing to do with me. So now I am seeking both a shoe design internship with an independent designer, and someone interested in helping me prototype unusual heel shapes.

So why should anyone want to have me as an intern?

I'm a good designer. I push boundaries. But I can also reel myself back in and design very wearable things as well.

I am pretty damn good at pattern cutting and thinking in terms of functionality. When I was at Saint Martins the pattern cutting teacher was overwhelmed by the number of students in the class, so I was given half the class to teach. Turns out I was a better teacher than the teacher, and so a lot of students came to me for help on future projects. I'm not into the 1mm details (I'm not a tailor), but I do what I call "brute force pattern cutting"- I can make things do what I want, I just might not go about doing it the proper way.

I am very interested in using new or unusual materials. Things that "shouldn't" be used are most appealing. I'd love to team up with someone interested in playing with materiality and conceptual designs. My time at saint martins gave me a real appreciation for experimentation, even if I don't know a lot about it yet.

I have skills! I've worked in a lot of different mediums. I'm not specialized in anything yet, but that will come with time. I have worked with leather, fabrics, and latex quite a bit, but I'm interested in almost any other medium as well.

I am easy to work with, and I like working with others and collaborating. I am eager to learn all about shoe design and the business of being an independent designer in the field.


Some stuff I've made:

  

Know of any shoe designers in need of some free labor? Send them my way.


Cheers

Returning to England

It's Friday afternoon and the realization that I leave in three days has suddenly hit me. I am starting to feel the stress that was so familiar to me this past year as I begin planning to leave The Boy and go back to London.

But this time is different from all the others. I am trying to balance out the familiar dread by reminding myself of all the good things about my life in London since I left CSM. This will be the first time I'll be returning to my flat and NOT the horrible student halls. It will be the first time I return without having to go back to another term at the dreaded CSM. In fact I am already looking forward to taking more classes in shoes, and seeking out an internship. I also have a job to return to. It is also the first time I'm returning with friends, events, and familiar habits waiting for me on the other side. So I need to keep reminding myself of this any time I start to dread my return to England.

My last year in England will be good. Remind me of this when I start to complain.

Boring Domestic Life

I am sitting in the lounge. Warm light, cool breeze, quiet music playing.

My flatmate is curled up in the other arm chair reading cheesy crime fiction while I surf the internet for electric pianos and latex catsuits. We're sipping tea, and eating toast made from the fresh bread we bought at the market today.

After a bike ride along the canal we spent the afternoon at Broadway Market sitting on the curb listening to a soulful guitarist, and buying fresh fruit, veg, and chicken to roast tonight.

Boring domestic life can be nice.


(Oblique Strategy for the Day: Disciplined self-indulgence.)

S&M Brunch

Brunch.
Tasty.

Sausages and Mash.

Growed Up

Today I bought a bike. My flatmate and I rode around Victoria park for hours enjoying the sunshine and the inevitable feeling of freedom that comes with having control over your means of transportation.

We then rode along the canal back home, and around our neighborhood. All in all I'm guessing we rode more than five miles today! Go team!

Then, a few hours later, in the cafe/vintage shop that is quick becoming our new favorite haunt I found an amazing piece of vintage art from the 20s. And seeing how much we loved it, the owner (who seems oddly fascinated with the fact that we are two girls originating in two of England's bastard children countries, living in London) cut the price in half for us. We had to say yes. With our birthdays only a week apart, and upcoming, we decided to call it Our Birthday Gift to ourselves.

We bought art. And ghetto bikes. I'm an adult. And a little hipster biker chick.

UK Air Guitar Championships 2009

In contrast to my last post about seeing a beautifully crafted production of Waiting for Godot, tonight I went to go see the UK 2009 Air Guitar Championships! A good time was had by all.

Raise your imaginary goblet of rock!

(I am VERY sorry for the quality of sound and video)
The opening to the show, an all air band!

Waiting for Godot- some damn good theatre

Image stolen from here

Today I saw the most incredible stage production I have ever seen. At 2:30 the curtain went up on Waiting for Godot starring Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen, and Simon Callow. What are the chances that three such famous and talented Shakespearean actors would appear on stage together? It was absolutely amazing.

I've never seen a Beckett play performed before, and this one was every bit as mysterious and cyclical as I thought it would be. For three actors with such incredibly large stage presence, they all played it very subtle and deep. I knew McKellen was an amazing actor, but I had no idea how physical an actor he was. Every step, every gesture was thought out, but evoked a character so set in his ways, so perfectly set in who he was.... even his most cartoony of moments seemed natural.

The two lead actors balanced each other beautifully- McKellan the cynic opposite Stewart the straight man. The mark of a good actor is not noticing when they are acting, and with Stewart and McKellen I found myself so enveloped in their characters and the strange hell/world they occupied that I forgot to notice that there were two very famous people who have played iconic roles, right in front of me. They actually disassociated themselves from Gandalf and Picard and became Vladamir and Estragon. They weren't even Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart anymore, they were just Vladamir and Estragon. Fucking. Amazing.

Leaving the theatre, I re-entered the world unsure of what is real.

If you have any chance in hell of scalping tickets to this show, go see it. It's worth every penny.

Celebrate

I find myself at home with a sudden head cold (no, it's not swine flu, for the last god damn time people!) and sitting in bed with little to do but drink tea and bemoan the fact that I'm not out celebrating right now.

So what do I have to celebrate, you ask?

Today my flatmate and I learned that our application for a flat in Hoxton was accepted! And not only that, but we both decided that we hated the student dorms so much that we opted to move out sooner than we originally planned. Instead of September 5th we are now moving in to our new place on August 10th. Yes, I am mere days away from a double bed, a bath tub, a real kitchen, and a living room. Can you believe it? I still don't. I am still skeptical, and sure that something will go wrong. It is too good to be true.

I've lived in a lot of different apartments, but I have always rented a room in someone else's flat. It didn't seem right to leave my stuff in the rest of the house, interrupting their routines and habits. But now? Now I can create my own living habits and my stuff can be anywhere! I can do logical things like make a place for my DVDs in the living room! I can leave my sketchbook and paints on the table without fear of being in someone's way. This is huge for me, you see. I finally get to occupy the space I have and make it my own.

Secondly, and in some ways more importantly, I would like to formally announce that I have decided to leave Central Saint Martins School of Shit and Bollocks.

This, I believe, warrants a drink. A toast, even. Raise your glasses if you will to the end of an era and beginning of another, far better one.

When I found out that Evil Tutor failed my latex project (despite telling me it was good all the way through the process) I made up my mind that I would not be returning to that awful sham they call a university, regardless of whether they wanted me to repeat 1st year or move on to 2nd year.

Words cannot describe how incredibly happy I am to be free of that place.

For the first time in years I feel inspired, eager to learn. Eager to make my own way, to go out into the world and absorb information. I want to do everything, create everything, experience everything. I feel free. I have no solid plan, just a good solid feel for the direction I want to head in. And that is liberating.

Of course I can't deny that CSM is a good name to have on your degree. Those three letters will open a lot of doors for a designer. Though, point of interest, I have come to realize that it will also close doors.

In making the decision to leave the school, I came across an interesting phenomenon in the design world. Being able to say "I graduated from St Martins" is great, but there is a certain respect I get when I say that I studied at St Martins only to realize that the reputation wasn't justified, and chose to leave. Funny, that.

In case I haven't made it painfully clear, this is not a school that will teach you anything, least of all actual, technical skills. Now I know that we all love the idea of simply drawing out a pretty sketch and handing it to someone else to make, but frankly that is bullshit. You need to follow through. True artists of any kind need to understand their materials, their craft, their process.... and often those things will inform and change their design. Half the stress/fun is in the process of trying to make one of your designs and seeing how it changes and becomes better.

The reason I got my internship with my awesome design mentor is not because I went to CSM, but because I studied at a technical fashion school and have a background in theatre and performance. I even said in my initial letter to her that "despite hailing from St Martins, I have not yet had my love for design or theatricality beaten out of me." She knew exactly what I meant.

My point is simply that there is something to be said for knowing how to make things. Any things. Whatever sort of things you want to make. And if you want to learn to make things, then St Martins is not the place to be.


So raise one more glass to the end of St Martins. And give Evil Tutor the finger for me, will you?

In the meantime I am looking into community college classes while I consider other universities. And should I decide to attend another uni, I have decided that the classes I take will not be in fashion.

I need a break.

But I also have a good solid foundation in fashion now, and it's time to start expanding outwards. In order to do this I am devoting four or five days a week to my internship to learn as much as possible from the designers I work for. And when I begin taking classes again, I want to learn to work with other materials so I can incorporate them into my designs- plastic, wood, metal, etc. I want to work in anything besides fabric and learn anything except fashion.

More shoe making and design courses are already queued up (more on that later), and from these classes I have also developed a rather subversive plan regarding my future shoe designs. See, a friend of mine at CSM asked if I was planning on continuing to learn how to make shoes, and if so, would I design and make the shoes for her final show at St Martins. I of course said yes! See, this way I get to have my final 3rd year show at St Martins by putting my shoes in the show, right under the nose of Evil Tutor and all those other fuckers who told me I was shit. BWAHAHAHAHA <---evil laughter and mustache stroking

Hell, if you've managed to read this far I think you deserve one more drink. Raise your glass one more time to the closing of a miserable year at an all-consuming, pretentious, and useless school, and the end of a year living in a moldy, tiny, uncomfortable dorm room.


Cheers.

Just Curious

In the US, we say "giving you shit". In the UK, we say "taking the piss". Why all the exchanging of bodily excretions as terms for "making fun of"?