New York Minute
When I was nine, I drew a huge rainbow peacock on a white poster board and stood along temporary guard rails, while I waited for Al Roker to turn around and wish me a happy birthday on live T.V. He wished me a happy birthday of course, but during commercial break... The Today Show viewers didn't get to see my artful sign, and the big break in my T.V. career surely didn't take off. The Naked Cowboy stood along the street and played his songs in his American Flag Speedo as the crowd dispersed after the show. It was a sight I never wanted to see, and can absolutely never forget. He was almost like a ratchet version of Kid Rock (I should say more ratchet). The Naked Cowboy got his big break, I didn't. He's famous in Manhattan. I'm famous in...my family? And that's even a stretch.
A few days before my missed stardom and my encounter with the Speedo guy, my cousin hurled a plastic Easter egg at my face. It came at me in full force, pink plastic and all, and careened into my forehead, or cheek, or eye? I don't really remember exactly where it touched down, but it made an impact for sure. Maybe it didn't leave a bruise or anything, but I'm pretty sure I hated him for a solid year after that. When it hit me, everyone else laughed, including my toddler cousin.
During many obstacles that Earth has thrown at me in my short twenty-two years, Earth has laughed, and I have taken the impact. But those short moments of impact, no matter how large or how small, have pushed me even harder to throw my force right back. Of course, I couldn't throw a plastic egg back at my three-year-old cousin, but I damn well wanted to. At the end of an eventful ninth birthday week of missing being on live T.V., being blinded by the Naked Cowboy, taking an Easter egg to the dome, and finding out that the Easter Bunny wasn't real (oh yeah, I forgot to mention that part), I should have loathed Manhattan, but instead, I was determined to come back and make my mark on it, just like it literally made its mark on me.
In the following years, I visited my cousin (involuntarily) and explored the city more and more with my mom. I grew to absolutely love it. Maybe it was because I was conditioned to (it was/is my mom's favorite place), or because every time I went home from NYC, I was draped in shopping bags and new clothes. Hmmmm, maybe this is where my obsession with clothing started? I made my decision. I hadto live in Manhattan when I grew up. I guess I grew up because here I am.
I am currently bundled up in my bed, in MY New York apartment, fighting to keep my eyes open, and praying that I don't have to get my feet amputated after the long day I had. Let me just go ahead and teach all of you girls out there a lesson. DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT wear high heels to work on a day that you know you are going to have to stand a lot. You may convince yourself that they're actually pretty comfortable before leaving your house, but I promise that it is the worst decision you will ever make. Three hours in, your feet will have serious battle scars. I'm talking blisters, bruises, exposed screws in your heels (I am not exaggerating. That really happened today), and tears welling in your eyes. I wanted to crawl from the taxi, across the sidewalk, up the thirty stairs, and into my apartment tonight. I could not physically speak to any of my roommates until the God forsaken pieces of sh** were off of my feet and out of my sight. I must say, once my shoes were off, I turned into a much nicer person. The moral of the story: don't wear heels to work when you know you'll have to stand a lot, or maybe just not at all.
Eventually, I was supposed to get to some kind of point that everything that happens to me, and everything that I see in the city is one hundred percent absorbed and turned into inspiration. Anything from architecture, music, graffiti, makeshift homes on the sidewalks, stickers on light posts, and smushed cigarette packages glued with gum to the streets inspire me in some sort of way. If you can't take what Earth pelts at you figuratively or literally in my case, and mold it into some kind of craft, what is really even the point of it existing? My craft just happens to be clothes. What's yours? Find it, make it your own, be great at it, and throw it right back in Earth's face.
Update: I don't hate my cousin anymore. In fact, I'm getting dinner with him on Friday. Hopefully, he doesn't throw an egg at my head this time.
xoxo
Zoey Leigh
xoxo
Zoey Leigh