4 days pt 3

The walkthrough seemed to go surprisingly well. They said I was one of their good tenants, and there were no major problems.

Hopefully I'll get most of, if not all of the deposit back.

I made one mistake- I gave them my keys, forgetting I might want to leave the house to get, say, something quick to eat. So now, while I wait for my girl to pick me up in a few hours, I have to order in food when what I really want to do is go down to the shop and grab crisps.

LAME.

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.

On Being A Girl Who Loves Shoes

As I tucked my new suede heels into their little box this morning a thought occurred to me- I am being defined by my obsession with shoes. People see ridiculous footwear and immediately think of me. While this doesn't bother me one bit (keep 'em coming!), I wonder if my choice of profession has finally defined me as the thing I dread most: "A Girl".

Being called "a girl" isn't something I've ever taken pride in. I never wanted to be grouped in with other girls as a child, and most of my best friends were boys (who I suspect turned out to be gay, in the end). As I've gotten older, I've begun to both embrace and loathe all the trappings of being female. I love a night with boys eating steak, gawking at girls, and playing video games. I am not squeamish about blood or real life gore, yet scary and violent movies make me hide my eyes like a child. I freely admit that I am a sex fiend who likes offensive humour and reads comics. I wear my scars with pride, but worry that I always look a little tired and a little chubby. One day I might be working with the table saw and the next I might be trying on latex clothing, obsessing over shoes and expensive lingerie, or hunting for a new eye shadow. As a liberated female who proudly calls herself a slut and doesn't abide by standard rules for feminine looks or behaviour, why do I feel like less of a person for being a girl obsessed with designing shoes?

Does a huge shoe collection mean I should be taken less seriously as a person? Does it mean my head is empty of any real thoughts? I worry that is the impression people will have of me as I approach Imelda Marcos levels of shoe ownership.

In my own defense, I am not sitting around drawing strappy "sexy" stiletto heels. I hate that shit. The sorts of things I design have weight to them. I want to work in unusual metals, wood, plastics, and rubber as well as the traditional leathers. Making shoes by hand involves a lot of industrial machines, hammering, toxic glues, and decidedly ungirly tools.

Now, having said that, why do I feel I need to "defend" myself against being considered a girl? Do *I* think girls that are obsessed with shoes should be taken less seriously?Do I see people who like fashion and makeup as empty-headed fleshlights on legs? Am I a female chauvinist pig who thinks that I gain power and sexual desirability by being one of the boys? (Which in turn means that this is all about showing off to get a boy's attention- something decidedly girly.) Perhaps I am the feminist's worst nightmare.

I truly believe that the whole point of feminism is that a woman can be however she wants to be, yet here I am judging myself for having feminine traits and interests such as shoes.

I have no answers yet, just lots of thoughts.

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.

25 pt 2- a shoe-filled happy day!

My 25th birthday was awesome! The only thing that could have made it even better would be having my boyfriend here with me.


As I walked home through the park, carrying a berry tart and a bag full of goodies I thought back to my birthday one year ago. I was turning 24 and spending my birthday alone. I didn't really know anyone, had just left Saint Martins and I was feeling pretty shaken up. And now at 25 I spent the day surrounded by some of my favourite people, feasting on tea and cake, and trying on shoes I could never afford with my favourite redhead!

The day began a bit badly when my birthday high heels were delivered and I found to my dismay that they'd sent the wrong size. Having planned to meet said Favourite Redhead at Liberty for tea and cake I suggested we meet outside Selfridges, so I could return the shoes I'd ordered.

I've always been afraid of big fancy department stores like Selfridges, but today I found it really fun to go in and browse. I returned the shoes and instead bought the ones I REALLY wanted in the right size. And because it was my birthday I  let myself go try on ridiculously high shoes and prance around the store for a while...

 

Then, to make sure the day was FULL of shoes, we visited the Vivienne Westwood shoe exhibit in the basement of the store. And Oh. My. God. SO inspiring! SO brilliant! If you are in London, and love the glorious Miss Westwood, go take a look at the mini-exhibition. It's worth your time, trust me!

Feeling a bit like a tourist with my American accent and big ol' yellow Selfridges bag, we made our way to Liberty- another store I've been scared of- for fancy tea and cake. We ate so much cake we both had an insane sugar high followed by an immediate food coma. But the coma was offset by the best birthday gift ever.... a miniature red silk fez, custom made just for me! It is made to sit on the left side of my head at a jaunty angle. I LOVE IT! It makes me go SQUEEEEEE every time I think about it!

After tea we wandered upstairs to the shoe department just for a looksee (because, yaknow, we hadn't seen enough footwear for one day) before heading out into the Carnaby street crowd. We passed Irregular Choice's new store and spotted a pair of boots in the window that I'd been curious about. So I figured, it being my birthday and all...... and the boots looked SO good and fit SO comfortably that I have decided to get them as soon as I can afford them. They are space girl rockstar boots!

Then it was time to head back to East London where my coworkers (have I mentioned my new job yet?) were having a September Birthday Do, as 4 of the 5 of us have September birthdays. I'd invited a few friends and took my shoes, my fez, and my girl with me to the bar. We were greeted with hugs and an open bar tab, and a huge red fruity tart just for me! :) How did they know I prefer fruity things to cake?

Friends turned up, drinks were had, chatting seemed to be going well when my boss suddenly pulls out his phone to show me a photo. "Lady Gray," he says (he calls me that in the office to distinguish between myself and the other Rachel),  "what is your opinion of these shoes?" He shows me a pair of United Nude heels that I have seen before and liked. Knowing United Nude is having a sample sale at Truman Brewery (get down there, people!) and knowing he's been looking for a pair for his Rachel, I gave them a thumbs up. Then he said, "well if you like them, they are yours! I found them in a size 41, and Rachel said you'd like them and I thought they might be your style, so...." My boss bought me shoes! SQUEEEEEEEE! 

 

The evening ended and I was full of gin and tonics, covered in birthday kisses and hugs, carrying cakes, shoes, a graphic novel my friend illustrated, and a fez made just for me all the way home.

It was a very good day.

25

In 40 minutes I will be 25 years old.
A quarter of a century! "Makes a girl think," as Marilyn Monroe said.

I really hoped things would be a little better by 25. I would have liked to have accomplished something significant other than gaining weight and drawing pretty things in my sketchbook. I feel I didn't make the most of my time in London when it comes to my career. I feel like a failure and this birthday feels like a marker of how I wasted this opportunity to make something of myself.

On the other hand....
Is 25 really old enough to have done anything?
What were you doing at 25?