Your success is defined by how you define failure.

I woke up this morning feeling as I imagine Rihanna to feel on any given morning: Sexy, Fierce, and ready to slay the day. I had minimal drool on my face and even managed to drunkenly brush my teeth before bed. I had already declared the weekend a success.

Until I waltzed into my closet and froze. Everything looked basic.

What bothered me today was that none of my black t-shirts looked like me. Not only had the planets shifted, but they took me with them. I felt different. Like Mandy 2.0 with a closet full of the dumbest looking shit that not even a blind kindergartner would pick out.

(Have I mentioned I tend to be hard on myself?)

This became an instant crisis. If my wardrobe is rejecting me then I'm basically rejecting myself because I curated that shit. WTH? Clothes are only supposed to betray you when they don't fit! I felt betrayed by Mandy 1.0 asking myself, "Seriously Mandy, who were you? Ew."



I shed my former self last week and I'm not mad about it.

Ever since I handed over the keys to my salon (over a decade ago) there's been a big gaping hole inside of me. I tried to fill it with experience after experience that was so terribly wrong I honestly can't believe it took my mom until last spring to suffer her first heart attack. I have so many stories it has taken me FIVE YEARS now to assemble all of them in a rough outline of a memoir.

I remember a former lover telling me: "Why don't you just quit this hair stuff and go get a normal job with a paycheck." Bye Felicia. He didn't get it, but what I understood was that he got the same thrill I got from being an Entrepreneur by skydiving and banging other chicks.

I'd rather Entrepreneur.


After over a decade of career complacency that had turned me into a single white privileged female I needed to feel alive again, and since none of that other shit was working I figured the only way I'd feel normal again was if I set out to achieve a big, hairy, audacious goal. THAT is when I truly feel like Mandy.

I needed to feel the risk, the highs, the lows, the cracked out up at all hours gambling on yourself entrepreneurial roller coaster.

I was tired of playing it safe. And this morning my entire wardrobe looked like playing it safe. The version of Mandy that was too afraid to live her dreams so instead she tried to fit in.

I'm not stuck on possessions really, but what I am stuck on is self-expression. And the clothes that now reside in my closet don't represent who I am. They all looked basic, and for a creative that's akin to death.

I am a successful woman who learned a lot of shit by fucking up a lot. And I finally realize that success is defined by how you define failure and I don't believe in failure anymore. I believe that in order to grow you have to fuck up. The bigger you want to grow, the more you fuck up. 

You only fail when you stop trying.

This time as I build Mandy 2.0

I'm a little older. A little wiser. And a lot more sophisticated about it.

Now I just need the wardrobe to match.



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