StreetMeat: Prego Venezia! (Part 2)

 “If you’re feeling happy in your career path, you may receive an exciting promotion, a five-star opportunity to see your name in lights, or a plum gig that highlights your “expert” status. On April 10, the Aries new moon could bring an illustrious career victory, an opportunity or recognition that feels like a reward for all your recent hard work” Cancer horoscope at the time

It had been 9 months since I had become an editor in an industry that was always foreign to me growing up. I remember telling my boss during my interview that I didn’t represent the ideals that the magazine stood for, “you don’t need to be holding a Chanel bag in order to be a good editor,” she had replied to me. “It’s your creativity and talent that I admire.” Today, I feel that the reason why i'm doing good in my job is because it is so different than who I believe i am. There's a challenge, a mystery, curiosity to learn more about an industry i was never acquainted with. But no matter where Suki goes, I go with her. 

***

Day 2 of my trip. I headed towards the restaurant on the rooftop of my boutique Venetian hotel for breakfast. I joined the two people with whom I shared my taxi the day before, and as the morning sun expanded in the sky, it became clear to me the kind of history this city was drenched in. Literally. An old isolated prison in the distance, a long-standing glass blowing factory, a famous ancient church and boats criss crossing on the water marking their time in the present. It’s the year 2013, and you my friends have survived the wrath of modernity. Or so it seems.  

My mental synchronized swimming show starring Gondolas on the Grand Canal ended when I was pulled into the conversation on my table. “So what is your angle? What are you planning to write about?” I was asked. Let me give you some background about what press trips are. Brands organize and put together trips for the press, (editors, newspaper journalists and influential bloggers) to cover a certain event or novelty that their brand is presenting to the public. This could be the opening of a new store, an artistic collaboration with another organization, the introduction of a new product or any other newsworthy happening. The quality of the coverage depends on how creatively impressed these editors/writers/journalists are, which is why these trips are tailored to inspire them and feed their imaginative minds. Of course every editor thinks differently since they each have a different background, experiences and perspectives and most importantly, a different audience and readership! 

In my case, here are some of the components of my inspiration toolbox that I would carry around with me during this trip:

- My passion for history
- My culture’s close connection to craftsmanship
- My family’s involvement in bag making, shoe making, and even carving on silverware.
- My background in theatre

At this point, I’m not really sure what my angle would be and but I’m starting to panic because being “under-prepared” is not something the perfectionist in me can ever accept. (p.s apparently perfectionists are strongly prone to procrastination) I always had a habit of over-studying during high school and university and on several occasions I’ve completed more sections on an exam sheet than was required. Wasting both time and energy. So here I was, amongst journalists and fashion editors from the world’s most famous titles, with a two-day chance to stand-out and prove myself to, not just my boss/magazine/city, but to one of luxury fashion’s most iconic brands. Feel the pressure?
I met Mary in the lobby. She was the only other editor from the Middle East on this trip with me, and apparently we were destined to become friends. That’s what the brand’s pr people had told me. “You two are exactly the same! You’ll get along so well!” They were right. We bonded during our car ride to Fiesso d’Artico, which is the production facility where the brand’s shoes are made and distributed worldwide. From the waters of Venice, we had moved mainland. 

Waiting for the cars to take us to the mainland...

On the way, I admired the incredible old houses that somehow reminded me of Casper’s wooden house, with an underground laboratory and an electric chair that would spiral down to get you there on a rusty railway. I told her about my short time spent in Beirut and the blog I had started to keep myself busy. “Oh my God, Café Beirut? Of course, I know it! Lots of people were talking about your blog actually.” My intention for it was to be low-profile, I told her, and a means to an end. It did afterall, lead and prepare me for my job as a lifestyle editor today. I ran after things, I spent an endless amount of hours writing, designing, brainstorming for something that gave me no material benefit. On that day, it had brought me all the way to Venice.
I have mentioned before that my family has a history in shoemaking and repairs. Well, my grandfather was known for that. His shoes, God rest his soul, were always spotless and the habit of exceptional shoe-care was passed on in my family. There was an interesting event I attended during my days in Beirut, called Varbed Createur almost two years ago. There, I had the chance to make the acquaintance of a photographer and a shoe designer with whom I’d later collaborate. During my childhood summer visit to Beirut, I would spend lots of time in my mother’s cousin’s shoe factory which was/is right across from my grandmother’s house and is now almost run by my second cousin himself. When I say across, I mean two meters far. Shoe molds were everywhere, prototypes lined up across the shelves, the smell of cigarettes mixed with shoe wax and polish created the perfect aroma to an absolutely imperfect factory. To top it all off, the generators made an unbearable noise that neighbors complained about and the parrot they had as a pet would scream out insults in Armenian from time to time. I still remember the day they installed an internet connection on the bulky computer they had in the tiny office that reeked of Turkish coffee. I would go over to teach my cousin how to use it so that he can import designs from abroad and try to reinterpret them in his way. “Your style is too eccentric for the people here,” he would tell me. Granted the designs weren’t Gaga heels, but they were enough for the low-income families of the neighborhood. *Mental transportation back to Venice*
The LV shoe production facility did slightly differ in standards from the humble factory in Bourj Hammoud, I must say. Who am I kidding, the place a state-of-the-art shoe paradise and it was designed after the brand’s original shoe box. 

A massive sculpture inside the premises...

StreetMeat: Prego Venezia !

“Monsieur Nicholas, you’ve met Houry right?” yes, of course we met and even accompanied each other on the trip back to Dubai. I was now in the showroom taking a look at the samples from the A/W collection we would be shooting the next day. Our first shoot for the brand and my first big responsibility. “Ah yes, very good job with the article! She was going over her notes on the plane when I last spoke to her!” Of course, the iconic LV logo on my brown folder was highly noticeable, especially to the director of the Middle East. “You got yourself some brownie points, good job!” This meant a lot coming from the brand’s communications director, who was actually a magazine editor herself once. The thing that meant the most, however, came the next day at the right place and at the right time. I was in the middle of a crisis in the morning of the shoot, while I stood hyperventilating in the stuffy and jammed dressing room of the venue, (one that is famous for its freak show let’s just say) my boss walks in with…the Milan team. Baci. Baci. “You know your clippings werechosen as one of the best worldwide, everybody loved them!” Translation: my article/pages were chosen amongst the works of journalists from around the world, (France, Italy, UK, Australia, China…) as one of the best, I repeat. Now I’m hyperventilating even more. 

The first 4 pages of my Venice trip

My interview with the president of LV South Europe and the president of the MUVE foundation in Venezia

This is by far the biggest compliment I’ve been given on my work since I got back from my trip. Forget fans and clothing rails, dangerous props and heavy costumes for a second, and take it in. Time for a flashback.

 I’m in a taxi ride from the airport with the editor of Harper’s Bazaar Australia and the pr girl for LV. I’m way too distracted to socialize since I usually like to be alone in this moment, because the ride from the airport is the highlight of most of my trips. The feeling is very similar to the one you get at the pit of your stomach, when you meet someone from the opposite sex who impresses you at first glance, grabs your full attention and leaves you craving for more. You’re stoked, intrigued and curious but still you maintain a refined demeanor. While you’re planning a trip and anticipating it, you nurture all kinds of fantasies in your mind. This cab ride, and I say cab because somehow taxis symbolize their respective city, becomes the portal connecting your fantasy world to the real one. At this moment, the adrenaline rushes in. 

“Venice,Houry. Houry,Venice.” Nice to meet you. This time my taxi is a boat.

Taxi/Boat ride

We navigated through the labyrinth of canals, passing under small bridges and archways. The water in some areas even reaches the doorsteps to the houses, and the historic city shows signs of old age. This would be my topic of discussion with the Italian journalists I’d meet for dinner that same night. For now, I’m speechless and mesmerized by its imperfections. The Danieli hotel, the most luxurious one dating back to the 14^th century, appears in sight. I arrived before most of the international media which meant I had half a day to kill. And kill it I shall. I first spent some time sinking my eyes into the historic interiors of the hotel, today it would be considered a bit too old bourgeoisie with its golden chandeliers and pink patterned wallpaper But I love it, and I was lucky enough to be one of the few who got to stay in the “older” section rather than the renovated one. The sound of the staircase cracking beneath my feet became a source of joy, and the walk to and fro my room, a loophole into the past. I found myself wanting to run my fingers on the old wood…Now this.is.luxury.

Well Hello There! I love sensory indulgence ...

After indulging in the lovely surprises that greeted me on the dresser, I took to the streets. Oh how I love being lost in translation. Venice is a bit too touristic but if you walk far enough, you will find yourself in quieter calles and campos. I walked around for hours, without leaving any bread crumb trails. Along the way I did some shopping of course. How can I resist genuine Italian leather bags, so cheap yet so damn rich in quality? Or the unique, loose fitted and layered garments that are reflective of a nonchalant yet trendy style? This is my kind of shopping. I don’t care about labels, luxury for me is in the character and attitude that an item conveys. More so, it's about the story behind  it. “Welcome to Italy! Will you be joining us for dinner tonight? We are looking forward to meeting you!” This sms was sent to me 3 hours ago and now I was in the middle of nowhere and afraid I wouldn’t make it back on time! I drained the last bit of energy from my feet trying to find my way to a water taxi. The ticket booth was closed but the lady who operated the one heading towards my hotel was sweet enough to let me on and charge me nothing for the ride. If she hadn't done that, I would have had to walk back for an hour...which was physically impossible.
I put on my newest Italian purchase, a gray dress with ruffles at the bottom and a separate slouching top in macramé with a thick leather belt that wrapped across like a ribbon....

My Italian dress without the belt though...

I met up with the Italian journalists in the lobby and of course began to express my appreciation for Italian taste.  The Milan team, the sweetest duo, made sure I didn’t feel left out when the group got carried away in Italian. Even though I was enjoying it. “Venice is one of those magical places that we never get bored of,” says the Milanese editor at Vanity Fair Italia. “It’s very expensive to maintain these houses that’s why most of them have been turned into hotels and businesses and people choose to live in the nearby towns instead.” This is also why Venice was dead and deserted during the night, because most of the people there were either tourists or employees working during the day. Although they all knew one another from before, it wasn’t long before they made me feel welcomed, over a nice meal, delicious wine and funny industry stories.

***TO BE CONTINUED*** 

StreetMeat: Eat, Pray, Love, and Learn.

Flashback

It’s Christmas Eve and there’s a shopping frenzy at Club Monaco. It’s hard to stay in my “zone” which is the front section of the store, when there are so many customers to attend to. Nights spent meticulously making sure items were hung exactly 3 inches apart on the racks, have given way to piled up sweaters, mixed up sizes and…a blazer laying disheveled on the floor! *say it isn’t so* I snap out of it. This elegant lady is waiting for me to match the ruffled and extremely detailed skirt she’s chosen with the “perfect office party blouse.” I’m on it. I power walk to another zone, I know exactly which corner that God damn blouse is hiding in…I freeze at the invisible border I’m forbidden to cross. “Angela, cover me!” Angela covers my zone as I squeeze my way across the crowded store, grab that shirt, and get back in time to match that lady’s skirt with “the perfect office party blouse.” It's her turn to pay at the counter, everything seems to be moving in slow motion for me. From meters away I stand staring like a “friendly” stalker with that retail smile on my face, holding my breath nervously: “So maam who was helping you tonight?” *Please don’t say Henry, please don’t say Henry* “That young lady over there!” She points at me. *Score!* I exhale. Even though she didn’t remember my name, which was recently mistaken for Henry, I still got the sale!

It’s true that working in retail or in a restaurant during your university years, is the shittiest thing your fate can ever bring your way. However, I’d like to think of it as a stepping stone. First of all, I got to dress up in elegant Club Monaco clothes, in order to embody the brand’s image of course. Secondly, I got to put my styling skills to the test with some of the pickiest and snobbiest customers from whom compliments were never generously given. “If you think it’s so perfect, why don’t you buy it?” a man my father’s age tells me while I convince his wife to match her sweater with a gorgeous necklace I thought would look great on her. “Well, other than the fact that I have to stand around here for 10 hours helping ungrateful people like you shop in order to afford this necklace, it doesn’t suit me,” is what I would have liked to say to him. Instead I just smiled. 

 Back to Christmas Eve. The assistant manager is crying her eyes out, there seems to be a receipt crisis, you know one of those cases where a stubborn customer insists on their undeserving rights while being well aware that they are not allowed to exchange their items. It’s Christmas Eve for God’s sake, go have a gingerbreaded candy caned, frosty cinnamoned latte or something. “I don’t even want to be doing this, she complains to me between her tears, I just really need this job if I want to continue in fashion!” yeah, honey. We all have to do things we don’t want to do in order to get to where we want to be, just hang in there, one day your efforts will be rewarded. The night is finally over, I’m tired and anxious to go home to my brother, the only family I have here, and share a Christmas dinner. But wait, the out of breath team is gathered up for a pep talk. “Houry, since you had one of the highest sales tonight you get the Christmas bonus.” *Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Save the tears of joy for your wedding day* I squeeze that piece of paper in my hand all the way home and it makes everything disappear. The eerie 11pm bus ride home, my heels digging into half a meter of snow, the 15 minute walk in the -15 degree weather and the KFC meal I watch over an episode of Jersey shore with my brother on the first ever Christmas Eve spent away from my family. I had a weird feeling of hope, and reassurance, and couldn't stop smiling like a lunatic having confirmed that the effort we wholeheartedly put into something which we may think is going in vain, is eventually rewarded when we least expect it. How can we ever appreciate good times if we haven’t experienced hard ones?

A day at work 3 years later...

Other than learning the ins and outs of styling, a special asset of mine was highlighted during my time at this part time job. My ability to use my language switching skills to my advantage. I remember my manager being shocked at me speaking Arabic with people from Sudan, then French with French customers and even Armenian with an Armenian shopper! At the end of the day, communicating with someone in their own language gives them a sense of comfort leading them to genuinely trust you.

Mrs. Carrera walks to where Suki is standing on the cocktail bar, and reaches for a magazine. Her eyes follow the older woman's hands as they choose her magazine among others. She mumbles quickly to the waiter, who is dumbfounded by the one-way conversation, then returns to her seat next to her husband. The pr girls stand around quietly until one of them speaks up: “That’s the owner’s wife, she doesn’t speak a word of English.” By owner, she means, the owner of one of the world’s biggest jewelry brands “Carrera y Carrera”(which is pronounced Carrera “ee” Carrera in Spanish and not Carrera “why” Carrera). Soon after, as Suki waits for her colleague to finish interviewing the CEO of the brand, Mrs. Carrera makes her way across the room and sits beside her. Next thing you know, people are awed by the amusing conversation the two of them seem to be having. She was the only non-Spanish person Mrs. Carrera spoke to all day. It was her first time in “grandiosa” Dubai, she had flown in specifically for the store opening. She loved travelling and meeting ambitious women from different countries, she had a Lebanese friend who passed away and she loved her sons and grandkids dearly. 30 minutes and several hors d’oeuvres later, Mr. Carrera joins. With the little Spanish she had managed to learn, Suki was able to carry a conversation with the pleasant elderly couple long enough to have their team offer to show her around Barcelona if she were ever to visit. Her interest in languages led her to write a piece on young mothers and the number of languages their young children could acquire at a young age. The more languages a person speaks, the more perspectives they have in life. Which is why someone who is monolingual is scientifically proven to be a lot more narrow minded than a bilingual or multilingual individual. When you learn a language you also learn to familiarize with the different aspects of its culture. Whether it’s historical or modern. Whether it regards its colonial past or contemporary art scene. “What is Kuwait?” a gorgeous American model asks Suki during their latest photoshoot. “Dear God, do not ask this question to anybody else, for your sake.” You know Kuwait, being the core focus of the Gulf war which American troops were involved in…and also being one of the richest countries in the Gulf. Suki wished the girl had at least used the word “Where.” Speaking of Spanish, the day of President Chavez’ recent passing, Suki suffered from a common editor’s case of O.R.D. or Online Research Delirium, where she spent hours reading about his reign and the future of Venezuela. She wasn’t working on anything related to the topic of course, but she always wanted to know more about the powerful leader. Knowing more isn’t a bad thing when you’re working in this field; this is how you assert yourself in the industry, especially if you want to be taken seriously by the older more established journalists. Interesting small talk is the equivalent of a catchy headline, it’s using a few words or sentences to grab someone’s attention and make them want to return to you for a deeper conversation or exchange of thoughts. When I say someone, I mean, established people who otherwise wouldn’t give you the time of day. Especially if you’re a 24 year old fashion forward magazine editor who looks like a little girl. People judge, it’s natural.

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Suki hardly has time to admire the view from her hotel room; or the tv built into the wall above the bathtub. She quickly rushes down to meet the other journalists at chef Gordon Ramsay’s signature restaurant. She was in town for the opening of one of the region’s most high end dining venues: Culinary travel, her ultimate joie de vivre. “You know you’re the only luxury lifestyle magazine invited on this trip,” the pr girl expresses her fondness of the publication that's quickly gaining momentum. Suki sits on a table of 6 including journalists, and representatives of the luxury hotel itself. Not only am I the only lifestyle magazine, but I’m also the only girl and the youngest journalist to be more specific, she thinks to herself. Wait, did she just call herself a journalist? I like the sound of that.Quickly she notices that the table is divided into Arab and non Arab sides, herself being on the Arab side although she worked for an English publication. She then learns of the western journalists’ tendency to belittle Arab journalists. One of the Arab journalists had gotten sick right before the trip and was a no-show, and the other one was forbidden to enter the country due to the travel documents he had inherited upon birth. Suki was alone in this battle. Although she isn't of Arab origin herself, it would have been too complicated to explain how she had ended up on that side. Regardless, she always had a strong drive to fight for injustice and disprove unfair misconceptions no matter who the victim was, but her weapon of choice was knowledge. Sitting in front of her were 4 targets: An older British journalist from a culinary publication, another British journalist from a financial newspaper, a French reporter from a famous fashion tv channel and a British publicist. They move on to the restaurant to meet all the big people and conduct their interviews.She meets and converses individually with the general manager of the restaurant, the global CEO and the operations manager.
*2 hours later*
“This girl definitely works in fashion.” They all turn their heads to admire Suki’s daring outfit as they leave the venue and she enters.

Amongst the crowd of photographers she spots the general manager who pulls her towards him for a picture. Throughout the night he not only watches over the opening of his restaurant, but makes sure Suki’s having a good time. The operations manager comes by and gives her a tour,as she greets the CEO she met earlier in the day. She makes her rounds and notices all the eyes following her every step from head to toe. Her retro clown pants, color blocked tweed jacket, fur scarf, red lips and straight bangs had managed to make a statement much to her surprise. It was unexpectedly cold outside so she literally had to put on every item she had brought along. Like a mismatched collage....She then befriends the French reporter’s wife with whom she lingers around the kitchen trying the chef’s creations before they leave the kitchen.  

Turns out their daughter studies in Montreal. Score. She also studied in Canada. A point of reference=familiarity=more respect. She eventually lures the rest of the journalists into her circle thanks to her charm, interesting conversations and their intake of alcoholic beverages.By the end of the night she's won them all over except for one who refuses to budge and crack a friendly smile. At the heart of prejudice lie two concepts: ignorance and fear. Come to think of it, in any certain social environment we as human beings are like ducklings who follow one another with a mother duck leading the pack. No duckling wants to be left out and go off on its own. *Do not think of the live duck station* Eventually, having noticed the positive impression Suki had made on the whole group, that one stubborn individual caved in. 

I leave you with one of my favorite passages from Charlie Chaplin, in The Great Dictator: 

"Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost..."

Street Meat: Luxury Shmuxury. A tongue twister.

“No behind-the-scenes pictures allowed. No posting anything on facebook.” He points at me, “and I’m talking to you!” Um, okay. It seems my presence has made someone eerily uncomfortable. I haven’t taken a picture, or said a word. I am merely an observer today, even though my editor-in-chief has brought me here for the sole purpose of fully putting me in charge of photoshoots in the future. Nevertheless, stay on the sidelines, do not unwillingly intimidate anyone, this is the world of high fashion. Here’s a trick I use, be super nice with a touch of naiive, until you are misconceived as vulnerable = you’re no competition to anyone. Then BAM! Let em’ have it. Always expect to hit a wall and wait for the bricks to crumble, because not everyone is nice, not everyone is accepting, not everyone has good intentions and not everyone is selfless.

The set of the photoshoot...

The NYC themed photoshoot was beautiful, the outfits were so elegant and the model looked every bit like Audrey Hepburn. Instead of sharing the “behind-the-scenes” photos, I’ll wait for the issue to come out and share the finalized ones. If you asked me a couple of months ago when I was having fun taking pictures and doing little shoots for my blog, it would’ve never crossed my mind that I’d be in charge of shooting for high-end brands. I mean I myself never understood luxury fashion, and I never got my hands on it. The idea of spending 1500$ on a purse completely blew my mind away. That’s my freakin’ 2 months rent! (Uptown Toronto, definitely not downtown Dubai) My idea of fashion was never throwing clothes away, collecting my cousin’s old clothes, and coming up with outfits that literally made certain people think it was off a D&G runway. “No, just change the letters. H&M” Nevertheless, that was not my intention. I never understood the point of bragging about the expensive designer clothes one buys. Shouldn’t you brag about bargains instead? I mean how is spending so much money on garments, an accomplishment? Shouldn’t you brag about looking like a million bucks, while you’ve only spent 50 on your outfit. Or nothing for that matter. My point isn’t directed towards money, it’s about fashion being an expression of individuality, not wealth… which brings me to my next little story.

So it was my first Ramadan in Dubai, and I noticed that contrary to Saudi, iftars and suhoors are part of the lifestyle here. A social thing. During my first two weeks at work, there was an influx of invites. Tissot, Rivoli, L’Occitane…all these big companies inviting the media out for gatherings. Of course, the sole purpose of attending these affairs is networking. For many, it’s being seen at the city’s most extravagant “tents.” (For all you western readers, Ramadan tents aren’t the ones that you’ve seen in Aladdin, they are elaborately designed halls that have the aura and atmosphere of a tent. From the arabesque décor, to the entertainment and the food) There are two specific dinners of this sort that stood out for me. One of them took place at the most famous tent, which I should mention, was worked on by a famous Saudi female interior designer who’s going to be featured in my magazine next month. When I came toDubai, I was a bit worried that I would unconsciously alter my personal style to fit in with my surroundings. In other words, I was scared to lose my sense of individuality. One of the ways in which we express our uniqueness, is undoubtedly through the way we dress. From A to Z. From head to toe. Sometimes we take on a job that forces us to adopt a certain dress code for example, and the next thing you know, your wardrobe looks as dull as those identical beige towers I’m looking at right now from my window.

Anyway, so I get to the suhoor, and we have this awesome corner vip section just for us. Oh la la. Contrary to what extroverts are misconceived as, I am not comfortable with unwanted attention nor do I like being put in a pretentious situation. I’d feel like a baby who’s struggling to get out of their high-chair. Nevertheless, I had a feeling something meaningful would come out from this. I got to meet an awesome designer who had just come back from presenting his collection at the Paris Fashion Week. But most importantly, I spent most of my time chit-chatting with his pr girl. She’s originally Moroccan but grew up in Amsterdam, and was now living in Dubai. I’m not sure how the subject came up, but after we got kind of close and began talking about personal things, I shared with her my fear of being sucked into all of this. We spoke about the different cities we’ve been to and lived in, around the world, and how we missed those genuine, authentic hang outs that give an identity to the urban life. We spoke of how that’s lacking here in Dubai. I told her about the time when my best friend was in a lounge with her husband who decided to play the piano, and they told him to stop because he didn’t have a “license.” I remember being in London, and the musician actually inviting him to play along….anyway this is saved for a post on its own.

Fashion Designer Rami Al-Ali and moi

“I knew you were a blogger, the second you walked in here. All eyes were on you.” she says to me. “There’s just something about bloggers, they’re probably the only ones who aren’t afraid to express themselves through fashion.” I smile. I tell her how I feel like it’s so clean-cut here, and dressing differently comes off as trying to get attention. “If there’s anything I learned from moving here, is that you have to fight for your individuality.” She continues. “I remember this girl came up to me once, dressed in all these brand names. She said to me, ‘you know, I should be in Fashion!’ I just wanted to tell it like it is and say, no you shouldn’t!” She went on about how many people relate fashion to luxury around here, rather than style and personality. Then we went on to speak of the life in Dubai and the illusion of luxury. How everyone here seems to be living luxurious lifestyles. I wanted to get to the bottom of this! Afterall, I may look like I’m living the luxury life, but I don’t even have my own place yet. I’m still a gypsy, couch surfing. Albeit it’s a pretty comfortable couch I will soon inherit from my humble friend. I’m not a moocher. No sir. It just takes time to settle in to a new country, I’ve done it many times before. After my long and meaningful conversation at the suhoor, I wanted to embark on a little social experiment. I wanted to take this illusion of luxury, one step further. Those who are rich and can afford it don’t need to think twice before spending a fortune on luxury, but what about those who think it’s reasonable to spend half their pay check on a purse? Let’s try to make some sense of this. Living in Dubai, facilitates this illusion. It’s a city. There’s some degree of anonymity, so it’s easier to get away with not being yourself. In Toronto, not being yourself would mean blending in with the alternative crowd and developing a free spirit. That’s what the city does to you.

Lebanon, had a nice balance between the superficial and the alternative, almost like being in the middle of a pendulum and being constantly hit by both sides. Contrary to my preconceptions, there was plenty of room for individuality. 

In Dubai, however, you have to fight to keep yourself from being sucked into a pretentious lifestyle.

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” 
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Any thoughts? 

Street Meat: New York, New York

Flashback. I take a cab from La Guardia airport on the way to my friend’s house in Tribeca, and I have a moment. Like every taxi ride from airport-to house, I fall into a trance. As cliché as this may sound, I’m on the Brooklyn Bridge, looking out at the Empire state building and Jay-Z’s song comes up (I kid you not): “New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of”…blab la bla “lights will inspire you, they’ll make you feel brand new. Now, you’re in New York, New York, New York!” My heart feels like it’s going to explode from happiness and excitement. This is it. I wanted to come to this city years ago, but it never worked out, especially not on the student budget that I was on. Typically I stayed with my friend from childhood (also from Saudi) who was attending the New York film Academy, doing her masters in Acting. I couldn’t have asked for a better guide to show me around this city. The kind who would stand in the middle of Time Square where all the billboards for musicals are and break out into a hairspray soundtrack with arms facing towards the sky: “Good morning, Timeeeee square!your lights are woooonderful!”  The kind who would watch The Lion King musical with me, even though she’s watched it 7 times already. The kind who would walk me across the Brooklyn Bridge and back and central park from one end to the other. The kind who would patiently take my picture while I posed in front of every landmark that made the vaguest reference to my childhood. John Lennon memorial site, the café in which Friends was filmed, the Rockefeller center where Kevin stands in front of the huge Christmas tree and reunites with his mother in Home Alone 2: lost in New York…the cathedral where Carrie gets married in Sex & the City. Okay, that was adulthood not childhood. I was living the moment, not thinking for a second about life after graduation, “the real world,” and all that bull. Not because I didn’t care, but because I had cared too much in the past 22 years.

After a month long inspiring and impromptu graduation trip to Toronto, New York, L.A,Vegas and London, which I will have flashbacks to more often in this thread, I returned to… Saudi. No, that wasn’t easy. My heart was very happy to be there with my family, in my old room, with my old albums and cds, and memories of a time that seems eons away. But my mind was elsewhere….oh this mind of ours how it can completely paralyze us and stray us away from the present. Why was my mind driving me crazy? Simple. I was anxious to get this thing started. I was impatient and didn’t want to “waste” time. And I was uncertain of where I was going. It drove me insane to think that I was sitting in Saudi doing “nothing” after spending 4 four years working my ass off and living like a polar bear to obtain this piece of paper that was supposedly going to help me get a job I love in no time. Deep inside though, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I knew that it was going to be a challenge, because that’s who I am. I am not satisfied with something I haven’t earned, or struggled to obtain.

So I complained and complained, for my parents to send me to Lebanon. Then like a crying baby who eventually shuts up and realizes that they’re being annoying, I stopped and said: “alright, if this is where I’m meant to be, bring it on. I’m ready!” My dreams and ambitions can wait a little bit, let’s see what my time here has in store for me. Perhaps a spiritual objective, or something related to family bonding?

Still my mind was restless. I started jotting down ideas, making business plans…maybe I’ll design purses? Or wait, I’ll start a matchmaking service…my grandmother did it, my mother did it, I do it all the time, we should be matchmakers! I did the whole planning only to get this feedback: “people are gonna think you’re pimping girls out.” So I dropped that one. Or did I? Maybe I should start a network for artists in the Middle East? Or do something that exposes me to creative people? A blog perhaps? That is when I started brainstorming on CafeBeirut, but guess what else I ended up doing? the reason behind my NYC flashback…

My mother is a nursery teacher, and the school she works in was begging me to be a substitute teacher as they had a teacher who was going on maternity leave and they desperately needed someone. Which grade? Kg2. As in 6 year olds. As in 24, 6 year old kids. Oh Hell to the no. I didn’t get a degree in media studies only to become a kg2 teacher! At the time I turned it down, I was still in the whining and complaining process. The time when I was constantly reassuring myself: “Oh I’m only here till January, no need to fill up my time with nonsense. I’ll just read some books, work on my blog and chillax.”

2 months later. I took the job. And I must say I’m glad I did because it was a unique experience that I cherish. I acquired patience (to some extent) with kids, thanks to my assistant of course who made it easier. I learned that the New Moon, is when the moon isn’t at all visible in the sky. I got to feel like I’m actually good at math. Most importantly though, I got to laugh. I got to laugh at how simple life used to be when we were children, and didn’t have a care in the world besides receiving a sticker from the teacher we’re trying to suck up to. Their innocence made me put aside my overachieving self, and not take life so seriously. Give every moment the time it deserves and understand that if it’s there, then there is something to take from it. I refer to this story everytime I’m in doubt about something…

Finally, the part about New York. The graduation song that I taught the kids for their “transition” to the 1^st grade, was a variation of Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York.” 

It went something like this: "Start spreadin the news, we're leavin' today. We're gonna BE a part of it. 1st grade 1st graaaade!"

Ha, from cab ride in Manhattan, to KG2 classroom in Saudi. Who would’ve thought? 

Fastforward to the present: I'm standing in the middle of a huge studio, looking at a photo of the Brooklyn Bridge on a projector screen, preparing to do a photoshoot for Carolina Herrera, the theme is Breakfast at Tiffany's and the model looks every bit like a resurrection of the late actress...to be continued

(see previous post - Street Meat: The Move)

*New thread* Street Meat: The Move

INTRODUCING A NEW THREAD CALLED: STREET MEAT

Here’s how it all started.

After 4 years of studying in Canada, 2 years of cloud surfing and roaming around. I am where I am today, because of the transitional period I spent in Lebanon discovering its alternative culture, its art, its newly enriched youth and generation of tree huggers. Those 9 months enriched my whole experience and encouraged me to finally start this blog I've been talking about for years! This was the right place and the right time.

Even though my makeshift goal was to look for a legit job, and  I did so by going to a dozen interviews, at the bottom of my heart I was sure that this wouldn't be the place to start my professional life. So I did some work on the side, and focused on this non-paid, "activity" of mine as many people saw it. But I knew that this blog, the people I would meet through it and the impression I would work hard to make, were the epitome of my career hunt. This was going to help me land my dream job. You might say there’s no such thing as a dream job, but I believe that if you look forward to waking up every morning, then that’s a dream on its own! Living alone in Lebanon as a returning expat for the first time, surrounded by a gang of family members, it was going to require lots of patience, and persistence to dodge the constant interrogations. But I blogged away...in the meantime hitting two birds with one stone. Never had I known that I was actually training for my future job, and my efforts did not go in vain.

Moving to Lebanon was a big, somewhat “irrational” step for me. Many people did not understand it. To tell you the truth, I didn’t either. “Why would you leave Canada, and come to Lebanon!?” You see I always got this insurmountable inspiration from that country, one that is unfortunately often overshadowed by all the flaws that bring it down.  I challenged myself in so many ways and had an amazing adventure. Not to say it was all rainbows and butterflies, I did live through two tragedies which pushed me even more to believe that I was meant to be there. From day 1, I trusted my instincts, even though the end was not clear and full of uncertainties. I did not once regret my time in Lebanon, however when it was time for me to leave. I felt it. I made my decision in one day, packed my bags and took to the road. 

While in Saudi, I decided it was time to give Dubai a try. And I did. I applied for pr jobs but landed an awesome position as a magazine editor, on the other end of the spectrum. For the first time in my life, I made no calculations, had no hesitation, no pre-planning or predispositions. This was meant to be, and I’m gonna take it! I jet setted between Saudi-Lebanon-Dubai for a couple of months until all papers were done. patience. 

courtesy of my Iphone...Ah, the irony

I’ve been in Dubai for a bit more than 2 weeks now. I must say I have plenty to write about, and I promise for it to go beyond my diary. In hopes that you would enjoy reading of course. At first I was confused as to what would happen to my blog once I move here, but again, it all works out when you trust your instincts. I would love to write about my day-to-day life as an editor in this city, at the same time use my contacts and industry relations to publicize the awesome artists and designers I encounter through my blog! 

Dubai, is quite an intriguing place. As you can see in the photo above, which I took at the beach, there's an insane amount of contrast. Women in abayas lounging on the beach (or melting) next to a western lady sun tanning half-naked, while a bedouin passes by on his camel with a backdrop of high-rise towers. The culture is just as contradicting and ironic as this photo. When I came here initially, I saw it as a point in-between Canada, Saudi and Lebanon, a "city" that combines a piece of each of these places. And it does, which is why I always see people who led similar lives as me, a gulf-west-lebo combination. The middle ground being, Dubai. 
I'll leave my thoughts about this city for later, afterall, I've only been here for 3 weeks. And let's just say, now  would be a biased time for me to make any remarks. (Extreme desert heat + Ramadan = not the funnest place to be) 

I've decided to write my own version of Ugly Betty, since I religiously used to watch that show, and now I actually get to live the experience. This is the Middle Eastern version though. Dubbed in Arabic. *Just kidding* Betty was "ugly" compared to her ridiculously gorgeous colleagues, yet she was hard-working and succeeded even more than they did, thanks to her passion and ambition. The contrast on my side is that, I'm a free spirit, a recessionista and my style is the farthest thing from luxurious. However, the magazine I work for is a luxury magazine. I will remain true to myself (thanks to this blog) yet I will have to enter the luxury fashion industry, meet lavish people, and accept invites to dinners and gatherings from the world's most exclusive brands. This will be a challenge, but I'm ready to take it, and share my stories with you! 

I've decided to call it,STREET MEAT. why? Firstly, Street Meat literally refers to those hot dogs you eat on a drunken post-clubbing night, from street vendors. Metaphorically speaking though, I loved the irony in this word composition when used to talk about the superficial world of luxury fashion. Somehow I imagine myself all decked out grabbing a hot dog after a red carpet event...annnnd....yup there drips the ketchup on my dress... 

New Thread: Interested to read?
Yes or No?

REPRESENT,Lebanon...

Downtown Beirut...decades ago          (Vintage postcard)

Downtown Beirut...Today

Photos by: Nareg D.B.

Location: Saifi village, Beirut.

Musical Inspiration:

Adonis - Ma Kan Mafroud

                                                                      

Read my review of one of my favorite Lebanese folkloric pop bands....

So I've sort of become the ambassador for these "Lebnen" bags by Designs by Kay...I wore them around Beirut city and now I'm parading them in Dubai. It's like taking a piece of Lebanon with me wherever I go..these statement pieces are simple yet powerful...

I've already mentioned where exactly you can find them in Beirut, in a previous post, on the link above. 

If you live in Dubai and would like one of these bags, but with "Lebnen" written on it not "Dubai" get in touch with me and I'll make sure you get one! :) Check the fb page for sizes and colors!

My Style: Ohoy! My ship has docked in Saudi!...for now

From the Lebanese docks in Byblos to the coast line of Saudi...There's nothing like enjoying a little seaside relaxation in a country where your "things-to-do-list"only includes one item:
"Overdose on chillaxing.." My dad moved here more than 30 years ago, during the war in Lebanon, like many other Lebanese..sometimes it's hard to believe I lived here for so long and that I consider it my home...but one day I will never be able to return and see the house I grew up in and the school I went to...the expat policies are complicated. That's the reason why I'm here and not in Dubai working at my new job...because my papers are taking time! What's interesting though is the new generation that's making a home out of Saudi..my friends who are married and living here with their husbands..or the guys who finished their studies abroad and are working here now...It's a whole new dynamic from just 6 years ago when we were in high school...Saudi is about people. It's about friends. It's never about places or things to do. You are forced to enjoy the simple things here, because there is nothing else! No one ever says: "Oh sorry, I'm busy I can't see you today!" or "I don't feel like socializing and seeing people today!"
I like to call my trips to Saudi, "Intermissions." You're watching a show, it's exciting, it's entertaining, it's full of suspense...then you have an intermission where everybody goes up to take a break and reflect on the show, each in their own way. Whether it's by taking a walk, having a smoke, drinking coffee or chit chatting with other people. Then they go back in to continue watching the show. Saudi is that intermission, that 15 minute break you have to reflect on your life. There are no distractions, you can't get run away from your thoughts.At least, that's how I've come to think of it...

Style-ights:
Mix of patterns (polka dots n' stripes)

Gold statement necklace
Head band/scarf
Leather men's belt

Photos Via CaféBeirut

Photographed by: Nora Salem

Styled by the both of us!

In this Mélange

Corset top: Bebe

Skirt: Top Shop

Denim blouse: Forever 21

Shoes: Zara

Gold statement necklace: Forever 21

Black belt: Giordano (from my brother's closet)

"Varbed Createur" dans la Maison Rose called Badguer

"BADGUÈR is the Artisan's locale, a meeting place where young designers and artisans, passionate about art and culture can testify the living cultural heritage of Bourj Hammoud and its inhabitants.”

La Maison Rose in Bourj Hammoud

Following the first genocide of the 20^th century, a large part of the Armenian population settled down in Bourj Hammoud, Lebanon. Low income housing, poor living conditions, they all came with the package of a thing called war and injustice. Over the decades, these strong minded people rose back to the top and introduced their unique heritage to a country ravaged by war itself. Long gone are the days when Armenian youths had to guard their streets during the night and risk their lives for the safety of their families and the elderly who had already survived a genocide to say the least. Although they left their treasures behind, buried in the ground, forever irretrievable; there is one thing that has stayed and will stay with them forever, and that’s culture. Armenian artisans and craftsman have now made a home for themselves in this humble location. Leather, bronze, silver, jewelry, textile, embroidery and traditional cuisine are but a few fields in which these people have excelled and passed on their skills to a new generation who isn’t afraid of artistic expression.

La Maison Rose (the pink house) stands inside one of the buzzing streets. The house isn’t difficult to notice, thanks to its beautiful architecture, color and the sound of a piano playing inside which easily draws you towards it. Each room is dedicated to a certain type of art, with the Varbed Createur on standby for any questions or discussions. Varbed is translated from Armenian as “professional” and “createur” is translated from French as creator, or maker of things. As the name of the launch event states, each artist is a professional at what he/she does, a master of creation.

First stop, is Hrag Pailian from Pailiani Design, a shoe designer whose work easily caught my eye.  From the bright red platforms, to the yellow suede. From the crystal heels to the immaculately engraved fabrics…From the second I saw the shoes, I knew we’d have a love affair. The shoes and I, that is. Instantly we made a connection and I got to try them on. It was a match made in shoe heaven.

Hrag Pailian's colorful sketches and samples

“I do, I do!”  *tear*

“I never thought this day would come.”  My skinny feet had always been the twin sisters, but on this day, they were Cinderella. Ideal for Italian size shoes, which brings me to the next fun fact: After comparing his style to that of Guiseppe Zanotti’s, he confirmed my observation. He is a former Zanotti intern who studied shoe design in Italy! Of course, shoe making is a popular Armenian craft that is passed on over the generations. Almost 2 out of 3 Armenian families have some kind of shoe making history. Hence, the extensive use of shoes for smacking naughty kids. Easily repairable.

After chit chatting for a while, I convinced Hrag to collaborate with me on a photoshoot since he didn’t have promotional material yet for his work and was looking for exposure. The shoot was a success, which I’ll share with you in a later post. (check my facebook group for a teaser)

Moving on to the second floor, another designer caught my eye; MissakHaji Avedikian. Since the world is so small, his name sounded familiar. A new friend in Saudi had mentioned his sister being friends with Missak, but other than that, I had seen him somewhere before. “You’ve changed a lot!” He says to me. Aha, it clicks. I saw him in Krikor Jabotian’s Atelier where I temporarily worked in the winter. Anyway, so he was hard at work on an Emerald green dress with a corset. I wonder how that would look on me. I guess we’ll have to find out on Saturday when I pay a visit to his Atelier, and get to be Cinderella for one more day!

Fashion Designer Missak Haji-Avedikian

Last but not least, I met Nareg D.B, the photographer whom I first saw being interviewed on a talk show called Bi Beirut. He spoke about Badguer and the upcoming launch...luckily for me we had a mutual friend so I got in touch with him before the launch in hopes that he would collaborate with me. His fortay is street photography and he's part of the Beirut Street Photographers group. If I were to tell a story about his photos, I'de say this:  "You pass by a local shop in Bourj Hammoud, selling colored spices aligned on the sidewalk giving off an unbelievable aura...while the whole place is buzzing and alive...an old man sits on his chair. Barely visible to passerbys who are preoccupied by the chaos around them. To him, this street is his home. It's where his parents settled after the genocide. It's where he was born. Where he rode his bicycle for the first time. Where he walked to school everyday and where he barely missed the fatal remnants of a missile. This is where he found love, and where he lost it. This is where his children got married. This is the place they abandoned. This is where they left him...sitting on his chair." And this is the part where I have a small tear rolling down my face, as I look at this photo, I see my own grandfather. I'm sure many Armenians can relate to this feeling.
The stories in Nareg's portraits are drawn with the thin lines covering the faces, each crease representing a different struggle. However, other than portraits, he captures everyday moments which is what makes his photography so genuine.

Clearly, I had make a connection with this guy. I had to make him a part of this blog. And, I did. :) Soon, you will discover how.

Nareg D.B. with his photos

The house is a very unique concept that motivates the preservation of art and culture. Its doors are wide open, and the atmosphere is highly welcoming. After the launch day, BADGUER will serve as an ongoing promotional center and space for artisans and creativity.

Don’t forget to pay La Maison Rose a visit, and check out the Badguer website!