My parents arrived in New York in the early 1980s, settling in Far Rockaway, Queens—a neighborhood that became the backdrop of my childhood and the foundation of who I am today. We lived in a towering 20-story building, mirrored by another just across the street. Out our window ran the A train, its steady rhythm cutting through the air day and night.
For most people, the roar of trains every few minutes might be unbearable, but for me, it was the sound of home. That train wasn’t just noise—it was the thread connecting me to the city and all the milestones of my life. It carried me to my first ballet performance at Lincoln Center, to late-night adventures in Manhattan’s club scene, to the US Open with my father, and eventually to my very first job in the city.
At 16, I was a receptionist in the Empire State Building. Every Friday, I’d clutch my $250 paycheck and head straight across the street to splurge at Wet Seal or Steve Madden. Half of my earnings went to shiny pants, sequin halter tops, and sky-high platforms—all essential for a teenager eager to conquer New York nightlife. Then I’d wander the streets, craning my neck to take in the skyscrapers, filled with the certainty that I lived in the greatest city in the world—a place where ambition and hard work could actually change your life.
After college, my first “real” job in the garment industry paid me $32,000 a year. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start. The commute from Far Rockaway was long—an hour and a half—but it didn’t matter. I was part of the city’s rhythm, learning the ropes, building experience, and slowly imagining something more. When I eventually landed a role at a large handbag company, I spent the next seven years immersed in the business side of fashion. It was challenging, rewarding, and formative. And yet, I found myself daydreaming about the fashion shows I read about—New York Fashion Week, the runway, the spectacle. I would joke with friends, “My dream is to sit front row one day.”
That dream planted the seed for something new: Brooklyn Blonde. At first, it was just a creative outlet. Blogs were still a novelty, and I never imagined mine would find an audience beyond family and friends. Keith and I would snap awkward outfit photos with his brand-new Canon, posting them for no one in particular. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, things shifted. One invitation to fashion week turned into another. One year I was just grateful to be inside the tents, and the next I found myself front row at Hervé Léger.
To this day, I think about that moment. Was it luck? Hard work? The energy of the city pushing me forward? Likely some combination of it all. But what I know for certain is that New York made it possible.
Travel eventually became a big part of my life. I explored Italy, France, Australia, Spain, Russia, Korea, and so many corners of the U.S. I fell in love with each destination—the food, the art, the people, the fashion. But the most powerful part of traveling was always the return. Nothing compared to stepping off the plane, back onto New York soil, and feeling that familiar rush of belonging.
Of course, New York isn’t perfect. Far from it. The city can be messy, noisy, and relentless. But it’s also resilient, beautiful, and full of opportunity. It’s the place I feel protective over—like a family member. I might criticize it in private, but if anyone else dares, I bristle.
And right now, the city is struggling. Businesses shutter, friends leave, and neighborhoods feel quieter than they once did. Watching these changes unfold feels a lot like grief—like watching a loved one endure something deeply painful. I’ve had moments with Keith where we ask ourselves, “What if we left? Where would we go?” But deep down, we both know that no other place could ever quite compare.
Because this city is in my bones. It raised me, shaped me, and gave me everything I once only dreamed about.
And just like it has before, New York will rise again. I have no doubt. Until then, I’ll stand by it—faithfully, fiercely, and with gratitude for everything it has given me. After all, this isn’t just where I live. It’s home.
