Do you agree to these terms?

This is the welcome post.

Hello and welcome. I’m here to write, and I’ll explain the strategy with that towards the bottom, but I’m curious why you’re here.

Did you read anything I wrote at xoJane, on my Tumblr, or at Into The Gloss? Do you identify as a reader of Eyewitness Beauty? How do we know each other?

From 2009 to 2014 I could comfortably call myself a writer, but in transitioning out of my role as editorial director of ITG to focus on building Glossier, I had to give up a byline and learn to trim the longform fat to write copy. Thank God for that—focusing on efficiency of the written word has made me a better editor.

Who’s your audience? Where are they? What do you want them to do?

Words alone were deficient to convey much of what needed to be said about Glossier, so all manifestations of content were at play. The first campaign, with the sky blue seamless and shiny, smily faces was Emily’s vision, though I was right in the thick of it—producing the behind-the-scenes content with each of the models, modeling myself, and shamelessly sleeping with the photographer (my boyfriend and roommate at the time).

At that point we’d already launched the Instagram account. I still remember the exact moment Emily went public with the @Glossier handle while we sat on the steps outside of Smile To Go on Howard Street. It was exciting, even if only the two of us knew it existed, fully exposed at that moment. She was behind Instagram for those first few months, posting cryptic teasers, selfies of models she wanted to cast, and occasionally reposting aesthetic, inspirational images that didn’t belong to us (remember when brands used to do that?). Meanwhile, still straddling the two entities as editorial director, I created the content strategy for how to not only inform, but excite the substantial ITG readership into paying Glossier customers. Then, of course, I had to create the actual content—campaign concepts and images, demonstrative videos for the product pages, educational emails with gifs that weren’t too large to load on mobile, Glossier’s foray into the #getreadywithme trend on Youtube, down to every last Instagram post from launch day in 2014 through when I left in 2018.

The feedback loop from an engaged audience is immediate and constant—an always-on focus group honing my decision-making skills as a brand architect at what was promised to some very rich and important people to be a fast-growth startup. It became increasingly clear that every single decision made at the company was customer-facing, and whether intended or not, communicated a message. It’s why Raymond Meier shot the product photography. Glossier might be a brand you’ve never heard of, can’t pronounce, and which you can only buy online, but would the man who created images for Calvin Klein, Burberry, and Clinique cosign a flop? No. Raymond Meier images said “this stuff is legit,” which obviously is copy I would never write. It’s why we couldn’t work with certain models, who, thanks to Instagram, could no longer be used as a blank canvas which brands could decorate as they please and ascribe a tidy, palatable list of core values.

Blah, blah, blah, all of this is to say that I had an incredible, though quite sudden turn from my intended career path: writing. Sometime around late 2016/early 2017 I realized I’d been swept into the pink tidal wave, very much of my own making (of course alongside my brilliant colleagues and Facebook’s low, low customer acquisition costs), and I had become caught in the ever-quickening current. Swimming out proved to be a struggle. I put in at least two weeks notice, though with no commitments to anyone on the other side (except, you know, my writing career), it was basically impossible to turn down a generous offer to stay. Another year went by before officially parting ways with Glossier in 2018, which is when I started writing my oft-mentioned “book.”

That spring I had the discipline, and crisp stimulant prescription, to write every morning from 7-9 am at the counter of 9th Street Espresso on 10th Ave. When New York felt too distracting, I’d rent an apartment in Mexico City and tap away at my MacBook for hours…on the first day. Then I’d meet a dreamy gallerist and lose all motivation to stare at a screen, with art to see and parties to go to and purple jacaranda trees in full bloom. This kept happening, this impossible windfall of distractions—cherry blossom season in Japan, never-empty glasses of grappa while sliding down the Dolomites, the masochistic urge to take up surfing, and fall down surfing, over and over and over. My purest goal is to have an interesting life, and for a long time achieving that preceded any progress on the book. Plus, I was making up for lost time. Until that point, the only true vacation I’d had in years was when my wisdom teeth were removed under full sedation. Now, the book itself has become most interesting thing in my life.

The half-written book was eventually shelved in favor of another I wanted to write, which only made it to the outline stage (at which point I called it a screenplay). Then there was the other screenplay—the sorority girl thriller in the Texas Hill Country (also still an outline). Eventually, the original book came back off the shelf and was reworked into some Bizarro World version of itself so it, too, could be a screenplay. For the past six months I’ve been reversing that decision and finding myself stuck in editing mode, some days trimming more words than I’d written in an entire week.

Which takes me here, to this glorious platform made for longform prose. They say to be a good writer, you have to have the discipline to do it every day. So on the days I can’t force a few hundred words for the book, I’ll put it here instead. It’s kind of like having an accountability partner, though you’ll never know if I’m lying to you about having a successful day of book-specific writing. We’ll go by the honors system.

You have to agree to the feedback loop, though. I’ve asked several questions at the top, so please answer. Introduce yourself, include a fun fact. Another thing—let’s keep all that’s mentioned here on the page. I don’t plan to make any provocative revelations, but I’m sure we’d all appreciate a safe space for candor. And remember the most important term, which you hereby accept by continuing to read:

All of my opinions are your own.

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