Street Meat: Meet Suki, the protagonist.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who can sit at a desk all day, editing books. It requires a lot of patience, and you have way too much energy to pursue this as a career.” An academic advisor said to me four years ago. It was -15 degrees outside, and one of those days when irrational behavior was completely expected. I wanted to take on professional writing as a minor and couldn’t stand the fact that I wasn’t actively devoting my time to writing. Even though I wrote 15 page research papers almost every week. So I took her advice, and dropped the idea. But it still lurked somewhere inside my head, since the 6^th grade, I wasn’t over it yet. I wanted to tell stories.Whether it was through dance, theatre or writing. How do you get inspired to tell stories? Well, you live everyday as though it were a story to be told. You observe, you take in, you reflect, you connect, recollect, and decorate the final image you have in your head. Everybody has a story to tell, you just have to convince yourself that who you are, where you are and what you are doing at the moment, is all part of that story. Hence, nothing is bad nor good. It just is.  

Take me for example. At the moment, my character plays a high end magazine editor in the city of Dubai. No she doesn’t work for the Anna Wintour type, like in the Devil wears Prada, she actually has a strong yet acknowledging and compassionate editor-in-chief whom she looks up to very, very much. Her boss only met her once, and the union wasn’t planned nor expected. 

Photos from "The Devil wears Prada"...kind of what I look like at the moment.

Suki, (my character) had spent almost two years, doing this and doing that, feeding her indecisive mind with nonsense. Or so she thought. She later would discover that nothing is nonsense, and in fact, everything she did was part of a larger ball of energy that would bring her closer to what she’s always imagined for herself. Until then, she had to master “the art of uncertainty.” Suki arrived at the airport, an all too familiar place that had witnessed the beginning and ends of many chapters in her life, but this time there were no tears. She found herself in the same spot she stood in, 6 years before, comforting a loving mother who was about to send her 18 year old daughter into the world. A lot had happened in the past 6 years, and while it may not seem like a long time to you, it represented a lifetime to her. A brief flashback and a deep breath later, she was in the boarding section waiting for her plane to arrive.

She waited, and waited. But her plane wouldn’t arrive. 5 hours after her initial boarding time, she was still there, waiting. A sandstorm in the City of Life, had caused a delay to her flight. I repeat. Only her flight. During the 8 hour wait, however, she met some very interesting people. One of them was an Australian consultant who ended up reassuring her that if she were to miss her flight and fail to make it to her interview, he would contact all the people he knew at that company, to tell them her case. He proceeded to give her a mock interview, and train her in corporate pr. 8 hours is a long time… That whole week she went to her interviews, dressed up in her corporate attire, pretending to be someone she’s not. It didn’t speak to her heart. Perhaps, their meeting was not a coincidence? A couple of days later, she would be revisited by someone in her past.

That someone had met her only once and was impressed by her enthusiasm, attitude and ambition. As it would turn out, the “nonsense” she had been up to, would open the doors to her future. But Suki had been looking through the window and was hesitant about the sudden U-turn her mind would have to take if she were to change the direction of her eyesight. She trusts her strong instincts, after all she is a cancer, and sits in a café after her interview. She looks down at the stack of magazines laid out in front of her, and glides her hands over the glossy papers. 

My first day at work, flipping through the magazines..

She flips the pages, breathes in the fresh odor of newly printed paper and her 12 year old self appears in her mind. She is reminded of the joy she felt as she organized her Goosebumps collection on her shelf. The sight of her novels lined up according to size which then developed into bulky academic books she refused to get rid of. She was attached to her books, they were her prized possessions. The reason behind her current technophobic habits. *The sound of construction outside obstructs her nostalgic thoughts* Without thinking any further, without planning or calculating she decides to take the job. Discrediting her initial thoughts of irrationality, a newfound belief in herself gives her a rush of confidence.

***

It’s hard to believe that it’s already been three months, and I just closed my second issue. When I first moved to Lebanon last year, I wanted to meet people. Through CaféBeirut, I met Rana and through Rana
 I met my current boss. I put myself out there, and took initiative. I interviewed designers, did photoshoots for fun and promoted artists whose work I appreciated. I got invited to fashion shows and launches, and after leaving Lebanon I was asked to review St.Elmo’s restaurant. Sure, it was fun. But it all felt too small. Never did I think that I would end up doing all those things on a higher more professional level.  Was it possible for me to get paid to write about food, well-being, fashion, society and health? I guess the energy that I put into this blog is what led me to the life I’m leading now….

1 month later..my first issue 

The life of an editor is quite interesting actually. It all starts with laying out an issue and brainstorming on what will go in there. Other than working on the issue itself however, there’s a lot of networking involved. My calendar fills up with events, media presentations and launches for high end brands that I have to attend. This is where the pr comes in. Some events stand out more than others. Many of them take place in malls, and others occur in luxury hotels and special venues. Some of them manage to stand out, others fail to do so.

                                                                        ***

Suki arrived at the media breakfast for a high end jewelry brand. It was in her nature to socialize over a meal, and breakfast was her favorite one. But on this morning she was nervous. Afterall, people were starting to notice the new face and were becoming more and more interested in putting a name to it. Walking into the venue was like walking into a high school cafeteria as a teenager, on your first day of school. Standing at the entrance, glancing around for a spot to sit in, fully aware of all the eyes that are measuring your every move. Trying your best to look nonchalant while hiding your braces and the fact that you’re actually a nervous wreck. You wait for that one smile, one wave, one sign of friendliness that can instantly bring back your confidence. Suki was surrounded by successful people, not 15 year old high school students. Editors and sales managers of some of the biggest magazines in the city, and around the world. But it felt the same. The popular kids sat together, laughing and chit-chatting. And even though some of them recognized her, no one invited her to come sit with them. Holding her dignity very high, she proceeded to the back of the room where she would find a comforting seating with her colleague. Then it comes, the first sign of friendliness. Two people she briefly met before, join her table and express their fondness of her. They go on to introduce her to other people. Although she may seem like a social butterfly, she actually gets very nervous on these occasions. When she senses a positive vibe, she doesn’t shy away from talking to people, introducing herself and making a connection. But it seems as though, that positive vibe doesn’t come around that often in this field. Why can’t everyone just be…nice?  

the media breakfast...just so you have a visual :)

Stylights: "Gather ye Rosebuds, while ye may"

If you like this outfit, scroll down to read my Stylights

The Cambridge Satchel in Neon 

The Belt turned bracelet

The Feather necklace turned belt

The Scarf turned turban, perfect for bad hair days!

The neon tipped camel heels and antique cuff (found at the old souks in Lebanon)

AND VOILA! THANK YOU, COME AGAIN.

I hope you you liked this outfit...If you just dig deep into your existing wardrobe, you'd be surprised at the multitude of outfits you can come up with! Think outside the box and use your long necklaces as belts and your thin colorful belts as bracelets! If you're having a bad hair day, wrap a scarf around your head as a turban. They're cheap, flexible and a must have for styling this season!
Stay tuned for more of my tips!

"Gather ye Rosebuds, while ye may" - Robert Herrick
a.k.a. Seize the Day/Carpe Diem

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)