by Garance Dore
11h00 — Ouch, the morning flies by when you start at 11 when you’re focused. By now I’m starving, so I eat my team’s snacks order my lunch in advance. Then I take a break to have my fifteenth coffee of the day meditate for five minutes in my office. I love it ’cause it’s bright and totally messy super minimalist.
11h10 — I’m back in business, and it’s time for appointments. I usually pick my outfits for the day straight from our fashion closet in the morning and forget them at my apartment bring them to work. It’s impossible to get organized so great to finally have some boundaries between my life and my work!
14h05 — My afternoons are all pretty different; I can be on a shoot, in meetings, illustrating on my computer. Sometimes I also give talks, but my favorite thing in the world is to sleep on the studio couch prepare for our editorial meetings.
16h00 — Editorial meeting begins. These meetings are important, which is why I like them to be a time for talking about whatever is on my mind focused and as short or long as inspiration is with us on time. We always have some macaroons, banana-quinoa muffins, and salted-chocolate cookies from The Smile fruits and healthy juices on hand for fuel.
When we get short on ideas, we love to open a bottle of wine brainstorm.
I don’t know how my team can keep up with my mess passion for my work, but they do. Whenever they get stuck, they know they can come to me for distraction advice. I’m always the one to invade their personal space, start a dance party, and tell them to not stay too late at the office who puts the whole team right on track.
19h00 — We’re done, so it’s time to walk back home with Beyoncé in my ears jump back into my heels and go for a drink. I like to use my evenings to watch twelve Game of Thrones episodes in a row meet people and create synergies. That’s how others I roll in New York!
22h15 — After a long day, I finish a pint of Ben & Jerry’s sit and do some meditation before going to bed. Maybe that’s why I wake up feeling so bloated fresh and ready to kick my alarm clock in the face conquer the world.
This is everything I need to work wherever I am — on an airplane, on the beach, in a car…As long as there’s an internet connection, I’m good to go. With my tablet I can illustrate straight into my computer and then publish to my blog. I always carry my camera and a little boom box to listen to music. I do most of my writing on my iPad, but my computer is still the one place where it all comes together. Optional but appreciated: my watercolors, good earplugs (I love music when I illustrate, but I can’t write with noise), notebooks, and the books that inspire me when I’m lost in front of a white page. Oh, and dark chocolate, of course!
ON CAREER
ONE ON ONE WITH A WOMAN WHO INSPIRES ME
GD: I’m fascinated by the way you lead your career and your life. How did you get your start?
DVF: I did not always know what I wanted to do, but I knew very, very early that I wanted to be a woman who was independent, who was in charge of her life, who could pay her bills, and who did not depend on a man. The man would be a choice.
GD: How important for you is what people think?
DVF: The most important opinion is your own. The most important relationship you have in your life is the one you have with yourself. If you have that, then any other relationship is a plus and not a must.
GD: How do you deal with difficult moments, where you feel like something you’ve done was a failure?
DVF: When you are at your lowest, it’s probably the most interesting time, because that’s when you put yourself in question and you re-invent things.
GD: Do you ask for advice?
DVF: I ask and then I don’t listen. (Laughs.)
GD: What would you tell a woman trying to build her career?
DVF: First of all, identify what you’re good at. Then go for it. You should be serious about it. But you cannot be narrow-minded. Always be open to new things and new people. That’s the beauty of life, and life goes so quickly.
PARIS VS. NEW YORK
THINGS NEW YORKERS DO
So much has happened in the five years since I moved to New York.
I’ve learned to navigate the New York City subway, I’ve unlearned how to speak French, I’ve learned to massage kale (yes, that’s what you’re supposed to do!), and I have come to observe (and, of course, make fun of) some New Yorker habits, before realizing that I’ve joined their ranks myself.
Yes, I confess, there are…
THINGS NEW YORKERS DO THAT I DO.
Fighting over cabs. Yelling at a cab because he didn’t stop yet had his light on. Threatening someone who is trying to steal your taxi. Throwing some colorful insults at the dirty thief and getting the thumbs-up from everyone on the street. Ending up on the subway.
Thinking, The New York subway, it’s pretty nice! I should take it more often!
Living with a to-go cup of coffee permanently attached to your hand.
Having your own super-specific coffee order. Mine? Tall latte with a half shot. And no one looks at me weird when I order it.
Planning on working out every day, never making it to the gym, feeling super guilty, ending up drinking tequila at a bar with your friends to get over your guilt while cursing the impossible standards New York forces us all to try to live up to.
Talking about healthy food, eating macrobiotic, and colonics, all while devouring a burger at Black Market because it’s the BDBNY (the Best Damn Burger in New York).
Being adamant that you know the true BDBNY.
Ordering EVERYTHING. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, wine, shopping, clothes, weed, sex, love, movies. Ordering ANYTHING anytime.
Saying, “I’m going on a yoga retreat.”
Saying, “I can’t sign any contracts this week because Mercury is in retrograde.”
Saying, “I’m looking for a healer. Do you know a good healer?”
Using “Oh my God” to open or conclude any sentence and to express sadness, joy, surprise, anger, boredom, and pleasure. Oh my God, yes!
Saying, “Oh my God, we haaaaave to get coffee sometime!!!!” and then never ever getting in touch.
Wearing sweatpants for every occasion—to go to the gym, to take your dog for a walk, to run to the deli, to go to the spa, to head nowhere at all, to meet friends for brunch (but make everyone think you’re coming from the gym—pick a good pink blush for this). Point is, sweat-pants, everywhere, all the time.
Almost losing your sh#t because you just realized that the dinner you said yes to is in BROOKLYN.
Not seeing your friends for months, even though you live on the same street, and bitching about how everyone is too busy. Then hearing yourself say, “Dinner? Yes, of course! How does three weeks from now sound to you?”
Spending three weeks planning said dinner, sending a thousand e-mails to get four fu#*ing friends together, then an hour on the phone with the restaurant to get a good table at a decent hour (okay, any table. Okay, 9:30). And then…
Canceling at 9:27 because “Oh my God, I’m so exhausted. Would you be upset if I…”
Being totally blasé when you say, “Look, Cameron Diaz is seated at the table behind you.” “Oh, so annoying, they’re shooting Girls on my street again.” “Yeah, there were tons of paparazzi by my house today.”
Being in a good mood all the time. Smiling, talking to strangers in the street, being super friendly, holding the door open, and being generally very well behaved, unless some asshole is trying to steal your taxi.
Never carrying cash and HAVING NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH YOURSELF if some shop only takes cash. “What? Cash? What’s that? How? Why?”
Hugging everyone like you’re best friends that haven’t seen each other for years, even if it’s only the third time you’ve met.
Saying, “OMG, I LOVE YOU,” to someone you think is nice.
Saying, “Seriously, that guy? He’s a modelizer.”
Taking two years to say, “I really like you,” to the guy you love.
Being super excited about
pretty much everything, working all the time, always having a new project, doing seventy-five different things at the same time yet still thinking that you’re not doing enough.
THINGS NEW YORKERS DO THAT I DON’T DO YET, THANK GOD.
Scheduling a weekend like a back-to-school Monday: 9:00, yoga; 11:00, pre-brunch with friends; 1:00, brunch with your love; 3:00, mani-pedi with your best friend; 5:00, run all over town to figure out what you’re going to wear for dinner; 6:30, cocktails; 8:00, dinner; 11:00, head out dancing.
The next day, pick different people, different places and do it all over again. (Personally, I’m much more into having no plans at all, then finding some friends and hanging out for as long as possible with nothing on the agenda. Sometimes, if I stay too long, my New York friends start to think I’m weird. I just say: “I’m not weird, I’m French.”)
Having lunch in front of your computer at work.
Working until 2:00 a.m. without complaining because that’s the price you pay for having a “creative” job. Okay, complaining a little, just for the pleasure of it.
Swearing by Soul Cycle, Ballet Beautiful, or Physique 57, three different workouts that supposedly give you long lean muscles and that are known for their difficulty, their exorbitant prices, and the impossibility of finding a spot in class. “Yeah, yeah, what you’re saying is true, Garance, but you have to try it! It changed my life! I’m addicted!”
Having a dog and someone to walk it. Or putting your dog in doggie day care, where he can “spend time socializing and playing with other dogs” (yes, “socializing” is now a word for dogs) instead of just waiting for you to come home. It’s so much better!
Throwing down ten thousand dollars per year on a trainer and justifying the expense by saying that if you’re in awesome shape, you’ll spend less on clothes, which is completely false.
Enduring the weekend ritual of Holy Sacred Brunch, where you have to shout to hear anyone, throw elbows to find a menu that only offers eggs anyway, and where the bill’s on the table before you’ve had the chance to put your fork back on your plate. Doing it all again the following weekend.
Pretending you’re enthralled by the conversation you’re having with a fellow party guest while scanning the room to decide which person you’re going to say hello to next.
Going on vacation to Tulum, or the Hamptons, or upstate, to “get away from the stress of New York life.” Then realizing that all of New York had the same idea and finding yourself at a work dinner while on vacation, with the same people from New York but a little more tan and a little more drunk. Complain together about life in NYC.
Coming back and shedding a tear the first time you see the Empire State Building through the window of the plane. Instagramming from the plane, because who cares about scrambling signals? New Yorkers know that scrambling signals is a myth, because they’re smart like that. Posting #NewYorkILoveYou.
Yes, New Yorkers are crazy and hilarious. But don’t make too much fun: I feel like one of them already. Guess what one of the favorite New Yorker pastimes is?
Talking about being a New Yorker.
Whatever is given to you on the day you are born, you are the one who decides who you will become, every day. Beauty grows as we grow into ourselves.
My sister, Laetitia Beveraggi, on the streets of New York City.
Growing up, I was not the pretty one.
Or let’s say I was the pretty one—until the day my younger sister, Laetitia, became devastatingly gorgeous.
I was about fourteen, and Laetitia, who had been a funny-faced, long-limbed, scruffy tween, turned into a fantastic beauty overnight. What a tough moment for a teenager—I even remember plotting to shave her head while she slept. Good thing I never got up the nerve. Instead, I lived and I learned…
…THAT BEAUTY MAKES PEOPLE CRAZY.
There she was, tall and slim with full lips, a tiny, delicate nose, and big, wide eyes. She had perfect teeth, and even her toes, I thought, had a much better shape than mine.
It was fascinating to see the effect on people. Out of nowhere, photographers wanted to take her picture. She received flowers at home from men who had only seen her walk down the street. And, of course, people started to say she should be a model.
I remember it all so well, because I agonized through every moment, as only a teenager can.
I had always been incredibly cherished in my family—possibly a little spoiled—and in the blink of an eye, I was a mess of hormones; I developed acne and put on weight. And I had a crazy-beautiful sister that no one could stop talking about. I felt myself disappearing in the eyes of those around me, and it hurt.
You could say the people around me were being insensitive, but I don’t think they meant anything by it. I learned that beauty fascinates and intoxicates.
…I ALSO LEARNED THAT BEAUTY IS RELATIVE.
If not for my sister, I might have gone on living as if I was a great beauty, who knows? I might never have known how it felt to lose my parents’ unconditional adoration. To me, a dramatic teenager, it felt like a fall from grace.
You have to forgive my parents. Part of it was that they saw a future for my sister—she didn’t like school much, whereas I had always been the one with good grades. In a few months’ span, I had become the smart one and she was the beautiful one, which was as insulting and diminishing to her as it was to me.
But that’s what happens with beauty. Depending on who’s around, you can be the most amazing creature in the room. Or not worth raising an eye at. I’ve seen it happen with models, poor little things thrown into the big scary fashion world, where there will always be someone more perfect or more beautiful.
But at the time, things just seemed easier when I stayed away from my sister. So I did, and we grew apart. Unfortunately for her, I was not the only one. She had a tough time finding and keeping friends.
…I LEARNED THAT BEAUTY CAN MAKE YOU SUFFER.
People are often as repulsed as they are attracted by beauty.
My sister was not what you might imagine. At fifteen she decided that she was not interested in modeling and that everybody should leave her alone. That put the brakes on the drama of photo shoots and meetings at modeling agencies every weekend.
She never talked again about it. She really didn’t care.
She loved fashion, though, and grew into an incredibly stylish woman, and everywhere she goes, she makes heads turn.
And as thrilling as those adoring looks can be (I know, I live vicariously through my sister very frequently), it’s not easy.
It makes relationships with people complicated. Beauty is blinding, and it takes depth and intelligence to see through it to the real person beneath.
The danger is that if you make beauty the focus of your life, you attract people who do the same.
…BEAUTY IS NOT THAT IMPORTANT.
You live and you learn. As an adult, I reconnected with my sister, who turned out to be a warm, smart, honest, wonderful, and happy person. Today she is my best and closest friend in the world. Through her, I saw some of the complications and pitfalls beauty can bring to a life.
I finally stopped envying her beauty and started liking my flaws. I came to recognize my own type of beauty, began seeing myself as whole, and I found that I am more inspired by women who make life exciting than by perfect plastic beauty.
I also realized that looks have absolutely no correlation to the quality and the beauty of the life you create.
Beauty, as it turned out, was not that important.
Because the thing is, whatever is given to you on the day you are born, you are the one who decides who you will become, every day. Beauty grows as we grow into ourselves.
My beautiful sister managed to become a deeply profound, strong woman in spite of the false dreams people threw at her.
Laetitia and I have both grown to embrace this truth as we age and as beauty becomes more about what we’ve made of ourselves and less about what we were given.
Oh, and
I almost forgot to tell you.
Today, with her compassion, love, and infinite admiration, my sister is the one who makes me feel like the most beautiful person in the world.
I was with a friend, walking around
Bed Bath & Beyond—I know, so glamorous—when suddenly I heard her cry out.
“Aaaaaah! Emergency!!! Tell me that’s not me!”
Right there in front of her was a magnifying mirror framed by a bright light-up ring to illuminate your face. I walked up carefully behind her and, as I got closer, I saw the reflection of my own nose cross the mirror like the Starship Enterprise.
“Oooooh my God. What is this thing?!? My nose is huge. My freckles look like cornflakes. AND I’VE GOT A WRINKLE ON MY CHIN!!! Where did that come from? I didn’t even know that could exist!”
“Seriously, do you see my pores?!!! My skin is like the moon! There are craters everywhere!!! Oh my God. Hold my hands. Let’s cry.”
“Heeeeey, wait wait wait, I see something. Hold on, you’ve got a hair there. See it in the mirror? Wait, don’t move. I think I have some tweezers in my bag. Oh my goodness, it’s HUGE! It’s like a tree trunk! Come here, turn toward me…. Well, now I don’t see it anymore. Wait, go look in the mirror again.”
“Aaaaaaaah! Help! Help! The tree trunk has returned.”
“Okay. Pinpointed its coordinates. Turn toward me…. Bahhh, it disappeared again.”
“Actually, ummm, Garance, I don’t see your chin wrinkle at all. I did see it in the mirror. But now it’s gone. With the naked eye, honestly, there’s nothing there…. So what do we do here?”
“We buy this thing, right?”
“OF COURSE.”
