You are not alone.  I just want you to know that. You don’t know me but I’ve  followed the news.  I am sure the last thing you want is someone trying to talk to you about your life, but you need to know, you are not alone. You should know that, full stop.  There are thousands if not millions of men and women who support you, stand behind and know that what happened to you was a horrible, violent crime and nothing less. 

You are sixteen, simply sixteen.  You have experienced something horrible and traumatic for anyone at any age.   And there are people who stand behind you, who will support you, who will be at the other end of the phone should you need it and who will hug you without question. 

This was not your choice, the rape, the trial, the coverage and the backlash. You didn’t ask for any of this and yet you bear a bigger burden because of it.   You are in a role you did not want and did not ask for, and despite the current media noise, there are people, strangers even, who know that. 

My hope for you is that your healing will come quick, but I fear that it may not. It may not and I want you to know that it is ok, that your life has changed but it does not have to be for the worst.  You do not have to let these events define you, and you might not believe me now but you will be stronger because of it.  I want you to know that you are allowed to be sad, hurt, angry, resentful, but please do not be embarrassed. It was not your fault. You did not ask for this.  You will, are and can be stronger then the series of these events and should you falter along the way, we will pick you up, we will carry you through, because you did not ask for this. You are not alone.

Let those who care for you be there for you, let those you trust listen to how you feel.  And when you want to scream, scream.

My thoughts to you and your family 

Mayor Koch died early this morning, if you are on the social media feed of any native New Yorker you knew that.  Remember Ed Koch spurred a great memory that seemed more pertinent then ever.  When I was in kindergarten I drew a picture of the New York City skyline inside a big red apple.  My teacher suggested we send it to the mayor, so we did.  Weeks later I received a big envelope at my apartment, addressed to me! We lived a block away from the mayors mansion and my dad joked that he could have dropped it off himself.  Inside was an autographed photo of the mayor and a letter, addressed to me, thanking me for my drawing and wishing me good luck in school.  Its a great memory.

What strikes me now, at this time in our history, is the following: I was six, I got to be six, I had an art class, a teacher who thought to engage me more than just collecting the drawing at the end of class.  I never would have believe New York wasn’t safe.  26 years after sending a crayon drawing to the mayor I managed the design department for the President’s reelection campaign. 26 years later I got to hug the President.  It might be a stretch to say that event paved the way for my future. I always thought it was the Carebears movie my dad took me too when I was five that made me fall in love with film, the entire ceremony of it. 

I guess the point is, what happened to us? When did kindergarten become something we were scared to send our children too? When did we decide we’d rather spend money on war and tax breaks than after school programs, like chess (thanks Nicholas Kristof) or art. Don’t we want our kid to hug the President or better yet be the President (oh! if only I was born here). 

There is this great video on the New York Times site about Ed Koch, his common refrain is “I’m just a Jewish kid from the Bronx” aren’t we all just something? And cant we all change we surrounds it just by the courage of our convictions? I think we can, the president thinks so, Bloomberg does, Koch did, the thousands of people who worked on the campaign did, most teachers do, and I’m sure most six years olds do.

I have been meaning to engage this dialogue since I first read the announcement in the New York Times that one Sunday in Portland. Alexander Wang, the under the radar, impossibly hip, somewhat minimalist New York designer has just (just is a loose term) been named Creative Director of Balenciaga. So what do we think? 

On one had so we celebrate the young designer getting the top job at a major fashion house? Sure we do! Of course we do! What put Balenciaga back on the map in the early 2000s, the motorcycle bag, so lets celebrate someone who’s great with accessories using that angle to relate high end fashion with it bag and street style.  But we’re skeptical, aren’t we? Is it the bag as a liaison between street style and high end that brings us pause? Or are we waiting for the next stiletto to drop?  I think we might be.  

We live in an age where everything, from pop culture to historical references are available at a single key stroke, which got me thinking - what seemed to bring pause were the two narratives that were being put forth for Wangs selection.  One, he is Asian and that market is growing rapidly, would it grown more, make more money with an Asian face to relate the consumer too.  The second narrative is they were following the Marc Jacobs appointment at Louis Vuitton in 1997, are they looking for a hip young name to revive a brand?  Has our world of immediate access limited our ability to be original? Could Wang have not been selected based on his presentation of a palatable collection with an appreciation for one of the most central tenants of fashion - tailoring - to a luxury brand that is not couture house? 

It is my opinion that Wang represents a breath of fresh air, and new and younger perspective. Youth and perspective are key in fashion, it will always go forward.  It is one of the most dynamic art forms or business as the case may be, because it will always be new, but what makes it great is rooted in the old. 

Lets raise a retro glass to the success of the Balenciaga lable and congratulate Mr Wang, it will be great fun to see how he engages the house rich past and strong Spanish influence with his modernist aesthetic. 

As we’ve noticed, the campaign is over and I have neglected you once again dear internet. To be truthful with you, its been out of fear.  I am not sure if my writing is still good, relevent or funny. Or frankly if it ever was.  

I managed to lose all short term memory on the campaign.  Post campaign, I found it hard to relate to the outside world. I didn’t know how to not check my phone, I didn’t know how to process priorities since nothing was as important as well… preserving equality and my reproductive rights, but we won. We won, we celebrated, we slept.  

To not feel completely useless I did what I do best, I dove into life, headfirst. I saw all of the museums, cultural centers, dinners. For months afterwards I still only knew how to sleep 4-5 hours a night. I got on a plane and went to New York. I saw my oldest friends, my dearest friends, the people who I don’t know how to live life without.  I met my friends kids, my “nephews”.  Mere and I drank wine, watched Girls and talked about boys, while her seven month old boy drooled on me. It was great. I went back to NYC, got on another plane, headed to Chicago, had a birthday, had a party, went to Portland.  I spent Portland with some of my most favorite people on the planet, the Spindts, we picked a Christmas Tree, exchanged Hanukkah gifts, played dress up and painted princess.  I got on another plane and went to San Francisco. Oh San Francisco, I did the epic tour of some great people, in an not too bad city ate some great food and said goodbye as I aint going back. Not for all the money in the world.  ”Here, here’s all the money in the world, go live in San Francisco”. No. Nein. Not gonna happen. I’d rather waitress.  From there came LA. Oh LA, I hate everything about LA but always have a great time when I am there.  From LA back to Chicago and here we are.  Well, there was a last minute party and road trip to NYC for New Years but lets just get to it. 

Now that I have time, I am reading more, which is great, and in that reading came across an article on the Rich brothers in the New York Times, sons of Frank Rich writers in their own, well, right.  They discussed their father’s work ethic, which was writing for 8 plus hours a day.  It stuck with me, to get better, to be good, you have to write more.  I know I have said this before so I will spare you with the earnest pledge to write everyday, but I will finish the half assed thoughts I have about something or other. So, forgive me, dear internet, its time to bombard you with all of the posts.

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