I’ve always studied people like paintings, colors and shapes, pigments of a larger canvas, but never human beings with a pulse. They’ve always been objects of admiration, things to be marveled at, tucked away for comfort where they can never be broken. People will tell you this is nostalgic. They’ll look at you like you’re delicate. Sensitive. An old soul. No one ever tells you this is a foolhardy way to live.
***
Quite coincidentally, when I met S we were in the same age bracket, profession, and zip code. And by that, I mean I had mildly stalked her online prior to rolling up in her city and asking her out for coffee. No, this isn’t a You situation, but kudos to you for getting that reference. I was traveling to Toronto, a hiatus from real life after a breakup from which I was still reeling. Like the good early-stage entrepreneur I was, I had done a lot of research on who I could network with while in town, and S came right up.
Black hair, easy stature, a slow gaze that defied her frenzied work ethic —one I was sure I could mimic—S lived her whole life online. Through almost daily blogs outlining her vision for the music industry, weekly Instagram posts highlighting the wins she’d secured for her PR and Artist Management clients, and endless participation in podcasts, panels, and speaking engagements, S had laid out the entire roadmap for the life I wanted. All I had to do was step into it.
For weeks I studied her. The type of musician clients she worked with, how she grew her business, what she offered that no one else could. I took careful note of what I liked about the way she ran things (everything) what I didn’t (nothing). She was a hustler; that much was clear. But her strategy wasn’t just throwing the proverbial album at the wall and seeing what stuck. It was more calculated than that. It was relationship-building on steroids. It was giving back to the tune of huge block parties, city-wide events, free gelato on coveted rooftops. Invite only. City views. It was exclusive, but it was also community. And community I understood.
***
When I started my music blog back in 2009, I knew only one thing: I was obsessed with the band on stage, and I absolutely had to speak to them. I often joke that I started my blog because it was the least creepy way to talk to these guys, but it’s kind of true. The fangirl in me wouldn’t be silenced but I was also terrified of being Penny Lane. I didn’t want to be Penny. I wanted to be William, the journalist interviewing the bands. And if you don’t get that Almost Famous reference, that’s ok, it’s pretty dated and pretty niche. But here’s what you need to know: the way my unrestrained ambition met my nervous demeanor was, in a way, fated. I was always going to be behind the mic.
***
October 2014
11:20am
I made my way up the old industrial staircase, palm dragging against the cool brick. Knicks and cuts from the rough interior were nothing if it meant the chance to be near her. Tucked away in an enormous two-story brick building, it was everything I’d ever wanted for myself. I gave my name to the receptionist—receptionist! — and took a seat, willing my eyes not to wander and failing at every turn. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched from distressed wood flooring, crashing into exposed beam ceilings. Dozens of employees typed away at press releases, emails, marketing campaigns in the works. There was no hiding my curiosity as I stood and pretended to stretch, peered over someone’s shoulder, tried to absorb the greatness around me.
“Sorry I’m late,” S stepped in front of me, skinny jeans and a band t-shirt I hadn’t yet fallen in love with dangling loosely from her. She looked so at home here. And why shouldn’t she? This was her creation.
“Things have been so crazy today.” How I longed for things to be this crazy for me. For lunch to be a luxury. “Ready?”
Back at the Starbucks, we took a seat, S tearing a rice krispies in half and holding it out to me —“split this with me?” —as if we were already old friends. I pulled out my phone and stared down at my questions. How do you get started? Where do you find clients? What do you include in a retainer? How much do you charge? I swallowed hard. That last one felt so invasive. Money.
I flipped it over, trying to manage the weight of her generosity with the expectations of her time. That she’d answered my harebrained Facebook message, my rambling hello I’m a new music publicist and I’d love to buy you a coffee and pick your brain! still shocked me. I re-read that message recently (for torture’s sake, I guess?) and got such visceral secondhand embarrassment that I couldn’t believe I’d ever been lucky enough to occupy the same space as her.
So, we sat. Sipped our lattes while I tried to balance that impossible line of cool but professional, casual, but serious. I never could be anything but the latter.
“You want to build your relationships….”
“….try to get involved in as many events as possible.”
“Always charge upfront. No exceptions.”
“…that’ll be the easy part. The tricky part is…”
She held nothing back. Through slow pulls of the marshmallow bar and quick glances at her phone, she spoke to me like we were equals. There was nothing she wouldn’t divulge. There was no gatekeeping, only honesty. For that moment, I wasn’t just another PR company coming to sweep all her clients. I was a woman trying her luck in one of the most notoriously cutthroat and ruthless industries. S saw no competition, only sisterhood. She was there to help.
***
Standing outside, the sharp intake of Autumn air filling my lungs, the reality hit me. Starting my own company meant stepping out of the shadows. It meant conversations, mixers I was uncomfortable at, and, as I would eventually learn, lots and lots of hiding in bathroom stalls just to steel myself for a moment. It was plastering on a smile as I swung open the bathroom door and greeted strangers with forced but sincere compliments, like “I love your shoes/hair/bracelet/style!” as an entry point to the conversation.
To be liked was everything. It was primal, but at this point, it was also survival. These extroverted tendencies had no place in my cozy little introverts world, but if I was to make it as a new entrepreneur, I had to adapt.
—
Thank you for trying out this new format with me! I’ve been wanting to try story-like essays for a while after reading ’s fantastic In L.A., Love is Essential series. Next part comes next week. (Probably) Thanks for being here!
😍 omg loved this Angela! More pls🙏🏼