#GIRLBOSS (6 page)

I finally found a job at a hydroponic plant store. We jammed out to A Tribe Called Quest while I balanced the pH levels of the water. I took care of a giant banana tree that was rooted in lava rock that resembled enlarged rabbit droppings. I loved that job. After that, I did landscaping, thinking it would be good exercise to be outside, lugging hoses and a wheelbarrow around an office complex. This lasted about two weeks. Go ahead, you can laugh and wonder what I was thinking, because seriously, what was I thinking? But no matter the job, the outcome was usually the same—I got bored and quit.

Yet when I started Nasty Gal, I found that I enjoyed work and thrived on challenges. My days passed by in a happy blur because I was too busy to look at the clock. This was very different from having nothing to do but count the minutes while someone who was no smarter than me dictated eight hours of my day. I’ve always had issues with following
the rules, which has made Nasty Gal the only thing I’m capable of doing.

What all of these jobs taught me is that you have to be willing to tolerate some shit you don’t like—at least for a while. This is what my parents’ generation would call “character building,” but I prefer to call it “#GIRLBOSS training.” I didn’t expect to love any of these jobs, but I learned a lot because I worked hard and grew to love things about them. Admittedly, some were way below anyone’s intelligence level. But no matter what, I approached them with a sense of tourism and experimentation. Rather than being tied to how it all worked out, I felt like I was just going to see where things went. When you approach everything as if it’s a big, fun experiment, then it’s not that big of a deal if things don’t work out. If the plan changes, that can be even better. There are secret opportunities hidden inside every failure, which I’ll get into in another chapter, but start looking now—they are everywhere!

And the shitty jobs made the good ones more meaningful. Most people don’t land their dream job right out of the gate, which means we all have to start somewhere. You’ll appreciate your amazing career so much more when you look back at your not-so-amazing jobs in the past, and hopefully realize that you learned something from all of them. What I did before starting Nasty Gal gave me perspective and a diversity of experience, which for me was as important as everything that I’ve done since. It took me a while to recognize this, though, because I wanted a
Chutes
and Ladders
experience with only ladders and no chutes. I was looking for something that would pay me to do nothing and still get ahead in life, and that, my friends, just does not exist (unless you’re Paris Hilton, who I’m not sure is actually ahead in any way, especially when it comes to fashion).

I recently heard someone use the acronym “IWWIWWWIWI,” which stands for “I Want What I Want When and Where I Want It.” One might call this the motto of my generation. We’re Internet kids who have been spoiled by our desires being no more than a click away. We think fast, type fast, move fast, and expect everything else to happen just as fast. I’m guilty of it, too. I didn’t have the patience to finish high school, or to go to college, or to wait for a career that would take a long time to develop. As an employer I see this often from new hires fresh out of college who expect to immediately get an awesome job that satisfies all of their super-pure creative urges and pays well. Hey, that’s a great goal. But, like everything, you’ve got to work for what you want. I see so many résumés of people who’ve interned at 20 million amazing places. That’s great, I’m glad that you were able to explore your interests and gain exposure, but if you’ve been interning for five years, to me it seems as though you don’t
need
to work. I respect people who are willing to just roll up their sleeves and get the job done, even if it’s a shitty one. Trust me, there ain’t no shame in that game, and I can make one hell of a tuna sandwich to prove it.

School: It’s Not My Jam

I was who I was in high school in accordance with the rules of conduct for a normal person, like obeying your mom and dad. Then I got out of high school and moved out of the house, and I just started, for lack of a better term, running free.

—Iggy Pop

By now, you’ve probably picked up on the fact that school and I didn’t quite hit it off. Frankly, I have conflicted feelings about that. There have been many times that I wished I had the vision, patience, and discipline to have stuck with college for four years. I have a lot of respect for people who do. But school wasn’t my jam, and the whole philosophy behind this book is that true success lies in knowing your weaknesses and playing to your strengths. In short, when you suck at something and don’t want it anyway, cut your losses and move on. I sucked at being patient and sucked at seeing anything long term, which I have now outgrown. But if you’re driven, patient, and want to go to school, I’ll be the last one to tell you to do anything otherwise.

There were times when I hated school not because of the other kids, but the wacked-out adults I was stuck with. Remember the rapid-learner program teacher who didn’t believe in math? Well, she lived across from the zoo and brought in raw owl pellets, dumping them on our desks for us to dissect. It smelled like barf because it actually was barf. I hated that teacher. In fourth grade, my Catholic school teacher sent me home with a note that detailed my daily transgressions. Ms. Curtis was convinced I was bonkers. My sins included getting up to drink from the water fountain too often, getting up to sharpen my pencils too many times, and taking too long on trips to the bathroom. My mom, completely exasperated at this point, said “We know you’re not nuts . . . right?”

No caption needed: This report card says it all.

“Nope, I’m not nuts!” I said, so we negotiated. If I brought home a good note for five days in a row, then she’d take me to the Sanrio store. Soon enough, every Friday I was picking out Hello Kitty this and Kero Kero Keroppi that, my
backpack filled to the brim with positive notes from my teacher.

In seventh grade, I asked my science teacher if I could stand on a chair while giving my presentation, because I was proud of it and wanted to make sure that everyone could see it. He said no. Hey, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is for permission: I took him literally and stood on a lab table instead.

As the years went on, I only felt more alienated. I went to high school in the suburbs, which was a sterile environment, and not in a good, non-owl-barf-having kind of way. All strip malls and outlet stores, there was little more to do than smoke weed by the river and sneak into apartment-complex hot tubs. High school was all bimbos and jocks, and popularity was a matter of how clean you could keep your sneakers. In those days, I wore flared jeans, platform Birkenstocks, and always a belt, usually one that was covered in spikes. I wore a do-rag, and my septum piercing was concealed inside my nose.
Obviously
, I was destined for a career in fashion.

The pure mechanics of the traditional school system were spirit crushing. I felt it was the Man’s way of training America’s youth to endure a lifetime repeating the behaviors taught in school, but in an office environment. I felt like a prisoner. I woke up at the same time every day and sat in the same chairs five days a week. I had no more autonomy than a Pavlovian dog. First-world problems, right?

My favorite teacher was Mr. Sharon, the one I ate lunch
with on a nearly daily basis. He believed in me. He was vegetarian. He taught us U.S. history from the book
Lies My Teacher Told Me
and brought in bits of writing from anarchist Emma Goldman. I learned that Helen Keller was a Socialist! I was proud of my video project, which was a series of pans with Bad Religion’s angst-ridden song “Infected”
as the soundtrack.
Bam
, shot of the Nike factory outlet store.
Bam
, shot of money.
Bam
, shot of a graveyard.

Mr. Sharon, my favorite teacher and lunch buddy. He wrote poetry,
man
.

But aside from Mr. Sharon’s one-hour fart of freedom wafting through the jail bars, high school was a wasteland.

It was around this time that a psychiatrist diagnosed me with both depression and ADD. Though there was no doubt I was depressed, I refused to take the pills that he prescribed, instead throwing them away. I knew then that my utter misery and universal disinterest were not due to a chemical imbalance. This wasn’t something that could just be medicated out of me—I just hated where I was.

It’s unfortunate that school is so often regarded as a one-size-fits-all kind of deal. And if it doesn’t fit, you’re treated as if there is something wrong with you; so it is you, not the system, which is failing. Now, I’m not trying to give every slacker a free pass to cut class and head straight to Burger King, but I do think we should acknowledge that school isn’t for everyone. So, #GIRLBOSS, if you suck at school, don’t let it kill your spirit. It does not mean that you are stupid or worthless, or that you are never going to succeed at anything. It just means that your talents lie elsewhere, so take the opportunity to seek out what you are good at, and find a place where you can flourish. Once you do, you’re going to kill it.

PORTRAIT OF A #GIRLBOSS:

Madeline Poole, MPNAILS.com (@MPnails)

When I was really young, before I knew what was up, I wanted to be a cleaning lady (because I loved making patterns on the rug with a vacuum) and a basketball player (because I loved the outfits) and I wanted to live in Connecticut and have a royal-purple foyer that I would call a “fo-yay” with a French accent. I wanted to be fabulous. Some things have changed but I’m still striving for fabulousness. I knew I didn’t want to worry—I wanted a well-traveled, creatively inspired life where money was not my first concern.

I’d had countless jobs, usually creative but always low on the totem pole. I wrapped presents at a jewelry store, served snow cones, taught swimming lessons, cut bagels, worked at a coffee shop, and at a few restaurants—even Panera! I was breaducated. I restored posters, I catered, I nannied, I worked on an ice-cream truck, I sewed sequins on headbands, sewed tags on T-shirts, painted walls, murals, removed wallpaper, assisted a prop stylist, a food stylist, and some
Devil Wears Prada
–type fashion stylists.

My dad gave me a hard time, and all I could tell him was that I wanted to be an expert. Whatever I ended up specializing in, I would make sure to be the best at it. I was a hard worker, I always had been, and finally . . . I saw a lady painting a model’s nails on the set of a photo shoot and thought,
I would be really good at that!

I quit my various part-time jobs and enrolled in LA’s cheapest beauty school. I was at my all-time most stressed and poor, sitting under fluorescent lighting, wearing a dust mask, watching a cheesy lady demonstrate airbrush makeup on a fake head. But I always knew it would work out.

Now I’m an on-set, freelance manicurist on fashion editorial and commercial photo shoots, I develop nail products, and I work on lots of creative projects that have anything to do with nails. In short, I’m an expert.

When I’m not working, I’m still working. I’m always observing, I’m taking photos of patterns and colors I see on the streets, I’m jotting down ideas, I’m meeting new people, connecting the dots, researching my craft, trying out new products, giving my friends manicures, working on my website, updating my social media accounts, working on my own products, on collaborative projects, putting together
inspiration boards or sketching new ideas. I’m working on my craft and my business not because I feel obligated, but because I love it. I’ve always had to work hard because I had no other choice, but I always believed in myself.

I always knew I’d be a #GIRLBOSS.