Still Lolo

by Lauren Scruggs

  I didn’t show my offbeat side very much. But as the months at Texas A&M passed, I began to realize that it wasn’t my calling to stay at that school. As a middle-class church girl in Texas, I was expected to go to college, get married quickly, work at a job for short time, then settle down into child rearing. I wasn’t against any of those things, but it just didn’t feel like a direction I was going to head anytime soon.

  One afternoon at Texas A&M, Brittany and I got into an argument. I don’t even remember what it was about. Arguments are rare for us, but once the heat died down and we both went to our own corners to cool off, the argument became the catalyst for me to do some serious soul-searching.

  In high school I’d read the book Roaring Lambs by the late Bob Briner, an Emmy Award–winning television producer. He writes about being an authentic Christian wherever you are and encourages young people to go into industries that Christians traditionally don’t enter. When I was growing up in Sunday school, the expectation was that if you wanted to live for God, you’d end up being a missionary or pastor’s wife or working for a Christian organization—something like that. That was fine for people who were led that way, but it just wasn’t me. Briner says that God purposely places passions in our hearts and doesn’t intend for us all to end up in the same locations or careers. God wants us to be excellent in whatever we do for the sake of his glory. He wants us to use our unique gifts and talents to be influential in every walk of life.

  I felt as if I could relate with that open-ended direction much more than the traditional approach. I began to feel a specific nudge to the fashion world or maybe art. I knew I’d need more training and should probably attend a university in New York City. I had no idea about any of the specifics of the calling. But I knew that this rough day at Texas A&M signaled the beginning of the end for me there. Brittany and I patched things up quickly, and she expressed her support for anything I wanted to do. I called my mom later that night and told her what I was feeling. She said to step forward courageously. A day later I called Dana Crawford, my mom’s good friend, and she counseled me to do the same thing—go where God was leading me, wherever that might be.

  At the end of that semester, I left Texas A&M for good. Brittany wasn’t positive she should stay there either, but she decided to stick it out until the end of the year. I attended community college near home that spring semester. Tim and I broke up sometime around then as well. Clearly, my life would be moving in a new direction, though I didn’t know where I was headed just then.

  That next fall I still didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing. I enrolled at community college again and kept chipping away at general education courses. I figured that it’s wise to do the next most obvious thing, even when the future remains unclear.

  About that time my mom started talking to me about taking a research trip to New York. Dana was going to come along. Her son, Chace, is three years older than me, and he had recently begun working as one of the lead characters on a new TV show called Gossip Girl, which was being filmed in New York. His mom told me about meeting Eric Daman, the wardrobe guy there. “Eric is great,” Dana said. “Very positive and creative. You could learn a lot from working at a place like that.”

  That November my mom, Dana, and I flew to New York City. We’d set up several tours at art schools and universities that offered majors in photography, art, and fashion, but the trip didn’t have a specific agenda. It was mostly to explore the landscape and determine what the next step for me might be.

  I’d been to New York before with my family. It’s always exciting to fly into JFK Airport, catch a cab, and see the big city. Right when we landed, Dana called Chace to tell him we’d arrived. He said he had a fitting with Eric Daman that same afternoon and invited us to come over and say hello. A fitting doesn’t happen every day—it’s more like a once-a-week thing—so we knew we’d lucked out to arrive on a day when Chace would be meeting with Eric.

  We went to the production studios and met Eric’s assistant, Sami, and toured the wardrobe department at Gossip Girl. She’s naturally pretty with long brown hair, which she wears up most of the time. Sami proved to be instantly approachable and down-to-earth.

  I had this image in mind that the wardrobe department of a TV show would be luxurious and glamorous, with lots of high-profile celebrities walking in and out. But it wasn’t like that at all. In the fall of 2007, Gossip Girl was just getting started, and most of the actors were pretty much unknown then. The people I met that day were all very professional but still very normal. They were passionate, driven, and artistic—and yet just the same type of people you’d meet up with in a coffee shop. I quickly felt very comfortable around them.

  Eric Daman was carrying on with his normal workday. He had all these magazine pictures taped up in the wardrobe room that inspired each character’s look for the show. Chace explained that it was fairly rare to run into Eric like this but told us not to worry. He introduced us, and we started talking. Eric Daman was totally cool. There wasn’t any plan to our conversation. It wasn’t even a meeting. It was more just hanging out, getting a tour of the set.

  On her own initiative, Dana asked, “Eric, do you ever do internships here?” (We hadn’t talked about this before among ourselves.)

  “No,” Eric said, then turned to me. “We never have before. But I think we’d be up for it if you could arrange it through your college.”

  I just smiled and said, “Wow, okay.” And the conversation was over, as quick as that.

  Mom, Dana, and I went out to dinner that night at a Cuban fusion restaurant in the heart of the city. We dined on lightly seared tuna and delicious crunchy salads with soy-lime vinaigrette. While we ate, we talked about the university tours lined up for the next day.

  “You know, Lo,” Mom said, putting down her fork. “I think you should consider pursuing an internship at Gossip Girl.”

  Dana agreed. “It might be a bit uncomfortable to leave your home and family and come to the big city all by yourself, but I know you could handle it.”

  I took another sip of water and thought, You know, I think I would really like that. But it all seemed so improbable. So out of the norm for me. How could a specific calling to the world of fashion begin to take wings all because of a random meeting with Eric Daman and a quick question about internships?

  Surely God was working behind the scenes, leading me forward to a new, unknown world waiting to be discovered. I couldn’t explain it any other way.

  CHAPTER 11

  New York City

  Lauren

  In early January 2008, I flew to New York City to begin an internship in the wardrobe department at Gossip Girl. I was nineteen years old and ready to be on my own in the city for four and a half months. True, it was a big step for me with a lot of unknowns, but I also felt peace about this next season of life. Mom, Dad, and Brittany all flew out with me to help me get settled. Fear was the furthest thing from my mind. When the plane touched down, I almost laughed out loud. Taking this journey into unfamiliar territory was exactly what I wanted to do.

  There was only one problem. A big problem. We landed smack-dab in the middle of a writers’ strike, and production of Gossip Girl shut down. Tons of other shows throughout the industry were in the same predicament.

  We had known about the strike beforehand. It had started a few weeks earlier, but everybody in the industry was confident the strike would be over soon. Some of the unscripted and reality shows were still running, and some shows had all their writing completed for the season before the strike began.3 So I was confident that even if my internship on Gossip Girl were delayed, I could still make a lot of good contacts and land a position somewhere else in the industry. All I needed to do was get to the city.

  I’d arranged to rent an apartment with two other girls in a complex owned by The King’s College. Our apartment was located in midtown Manhattan on Thirty-Fourth and Sixth, right next to the Empire State Building. One of my roommates, Lindsay, was a friend
from high school. Our other roommate, Kristin, was new to both of us and had been assigned to us by the college. Both girls were also doing internships—one at NBC and the other with a public relations company.

  I was the first to arrive at the apartment and unfasten the heavy locks. The door swung open, and I peeked inside. I’d heard stories of New York apartments being small, and ours was no exception. There was a living area, a kitchen, a bathroom, and another room, but the entire unit was about the size of a master bathroom in Dallas. I chuckled when I looked out the window. It had sounded glamorous to hear that our new home was located in the heart of the city, but our building was sandwiched between two other buildings. The view out the window showed a tiny sliver of Thirty-Fourth Street and two brick walls. I could hear traffic, sirens, horns, people walking by. We were most definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

  I’m sort of a neat freak, and the first thing I wanted to do was clean. The apartment was tidy, but it smelled different from anything I’d ever experienced in Dallas—older, musty, like a lot of people had lived there before. While Dad went to find a hardware store to get a part we needed for the sink, Mom, Brittany, and I stayed and did some deep cleaning. We turned up the music and danced around. It was fun to have them there. My family was set to return home the next day. That night we all went to a hotel together. The next morning they hugged me good-bye and flew home. My roommates would be arriving the following day, so that night I stayed in my apartment—alone—for the very first time.

  Around midnight I went to bed. I opened the window and gazed outside at my new view of the brick walls. A dumpster opened and closed somewhere below. I shivered from a chill and closed the window. I wasn’t afraid. Some furniture had been delivered—two desks and a couch. I’d shipped my sheets because it was cheaper that way. They hadn’t arrived yet, so I lay down on the couch and pulled a blanket over me. I could still hear the traffic of the city. Horns. Sirens. I was here. Truly here. A huge sense of excitement crept over me. God, thank you so much for this first night in New York, I prayed. I can’t wait for whatever happens next.

  It was good to have Kristin and Lindsay move in. Lindsay is pretty, with brown hair and blondish highlights. Kristin, the girl I hadn’t known before, was from Rochester, and I sensed we’d become close friends. Kristin is short and cute, with dark brown hair. We all hit it off well. The day after that, both their internships started, and they left for work.

  But me?

  Oh boy, I thought. I need to get a job.

  I had e-mailed Sami, Eric Daman’s assistant at Gossip Girl, several times already. Sami was confident the strike would end quickly. She promised to contact me immediately whenever word came, but so far all was silent. Yet I didn’t worry. I had no doubt that God had led me to New York, so I didn’t doubt that God would provide another job in his time and way.

  That same afternoon I was walking around Rockefeller Center by myself when I took a good look around me. The Center was about fifteen or sixteen blocks from our apartment. All around me skyscrapers towered—the huge GE Building, Radio City Music Hall, the Time-Life Building, stores, shops, restaurants, offices, apartments. The crowds on the sidewalk moved quickly. People looked grittier than they did in Dallas. Everybody was well dressed and fine featured but more natural looking than back home, wearing less makeup. I wore heeled boots over my jeans, a cute top, and a faux-fur jacket. I felt funky and hip, and I wasn’t nervous at all. The fast pace energized me. God, I prayed, if it’s not Gossip Girl, then where do you want me?

  Right then, a voice in the back of my mind said, Call Lindsey again.

  This wasn’t Lindsay O., my apartment roommate, but Lindsey R., a girl a few years older than me who knew our family from when my dad worked with the youth group years ago. This Lindsey had always been like a big sister to me, and I knew she worked in New York. I’d called her a few weeks earlier to ask about the industry, but she’d never called back. Calling her again seemed kind of silly, but I felt a new sense of confidence being in New York all by myself.

  “Lauren Scruggs!” she said, her voice in a rush. “Oh, it’s so good to hear from you. You’re at the top of my list to call. I’ve been traveling, and it’s been a crazy last couple of months. What are you doing, anyway?”

  I explained my situation. She knew all about the writers’ strike.

  Lindsey paused, like she was thinking hard. “Lauren, have you ever heard of Michael Kors?”

  I smiled. “The Michael Kors? Sure—I love what he does.”

  “I’m working for his showroom now in the women’s division. Why don’t you intern here? You could start right away, and if the writers’ strike ends, you could leave anytime and go back to Gossip Girl.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Just like that—an opening!

  Two days later I started work as an intern at the design studios of Michael Kors. That first morning I walked to the check-in desk inside the showroom and couldn’t believe my eyes. A designer’s personality is reflected in a building. Michael Kors is known for doing amazing things with neutral colors (camel is his favorite), so everything was painted camel and white. Tall, leggy models were walking in and out of the building. A huge TV was showing a Michael Kors fashion show from the previous season. Everything was beautiful, inspiring, and completely incredible.

  Michael Kors is one of New York’s top clothing designers. He creates women’s and men’s clothing, women’s handbags, shoes, and other accessories. He has full collection boutiques in New York, Beverly Hills, Palm Beach, Manhasset, and Chicago. Celebrities who’ve worn Michael Kors’s designs include everybody from Michelle Obama to Jennifer Garner. I’d seen him on the TV show Project Runway, where he was one of the judges. In the fashion world, he’s known as being a very professional and yet caring man. From the moment I walked into his showroom, I could tell he loved his work and absolutely put his heart into it.

  Lindsey met me at the front desk and took me on a tour of the building. Every room we walked through oozed class. Every person I met bustled with energy. Lindsey showed me through the various design areas, the men’s section, the marketing department, the PR department, and the mailroom, and then she escorted me back to the women’s area where I was going to work. Throughout the building, people were sketching designs, meeting with clients, talking on the phone with media and advertising representatives, and planning photo shoots for magazines. Fashion Week—the citywide seasonal spectacle where all the designers showcase their upcoming lines—was coming up in February, and people were preparing a seating chart for the big show. That was no easy task, I was told, because everybody wanted to come to a Michael Kors show.

  “We call this ‘our home,’” Lindsey said with a slight smile. “Basically that’s because we live here all the time. But we love what we do. We wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  I got right to work. Hour after hour went by, and when it was time to leave, I couldn’t believe the day had flown by so quickly.

  The next morning when I came in, there was a completely new task for me to do. Each day was like that. Some days I’d be researching on a computer. Another day I’d design a marketing poster. Some days I worked with Michael Kors’s mother. It sounds funny to say it. Here is this world-renowned designer in his midfifties, a talent-filled creative genius who could hire anybody he wants—and his mother works for him. She’s a totally great lady—fun, with a cute and sassy personality. I loved every moment I spent with her.

  I met Michael Kors in person only once. One afternoon when I was in the showroom, he came in with a few people around him. He’s of average height, with blondish hair, and he’s tanned but not bronzed. He dresses in his own clothes and always wears solid, neutral colors. That afternoon he was wearing a camel-colored pant, narrowed at the bottom, with a white shirt. He looked elegant and professional. There was an air of sophistication about him.

  “Michael, meet Lauren Scruggs,” Lindsey said. “She’s one of our interns here, and she’s doing a fabulous
job.”

  Michael smiled and shook my hand. With that, he was off again and on to the next thing.

  Working for Michael Kors had little to do with actually meeting the man. The experience was much more about immersing myself in that environment. During one week, my job was to dress three models for Market Week, which happens right before Fashion Week. During Market Week, buyers from stores like Saks, Barneys, and Macy’s come in to a big conference room area in the designer’s showroom. It sort of looks like a big closet lined with Michael Kors clothes for the next season. The buyers look over all the new offerings, so the pressure is really on.

  The models and I had a lot of fun. For up to seven hours a day, we were stuffed in a tiny walk-in closet (roomy, but still a closet) where they got dressed. Basically all we did was play dress up all day long with fancy clothes—a dream come true for a girl like me. There were always snacks on hand—fruit, nuts, chocolate, and bottled water. People asked me if I was insecure around all those models, but I never felt that way. We just had fun together. All three of them were laid-back and down-to-earth. They told great stories and respected each other.

  I realized how easy it can be to form stereotypes about people. I’d always heard negative stories about fashion models—that they were all stuck-up, or anorexic, or chain-smokers. But these girls were none of those things. They were wonderful people and worked hard. They were confident in their own way, but they didn’t try to be something they weren’t. They were just themselves.

  Weeks ticked by, and the writers’ strike continued. Most of my waking moments during each weekday were spent at the studio, but the weekends were free. Kristin, Lindsay O., and I vowed that we’d learn as much about the city as we could during those days off. Each Friday night we came up with a plan. Often we’d take the subway to a new section of the city and go exploring. We toured the Meatpacking District and SoHo, Little Italy, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Queens. We went to parks and restaurants and clothing stores and just walked along the streets with our eyes wide open. There was never a free table, so we just sat down with whoever was around and started talking. On Sundays we went to Apostles Church in the heart of the city. The services there were raw—not focused on entertainment, but focused on truth. Sometimes I’d just strap on my iPod and go running. I ran on the trails in Central Park along the Hudson River and often on the city streets. It felt like I was in my own little music video, running against a wall of people.