The fashion weak–we all pretend.

Chaos it is.

NYFW Fall/Winter 2010 is coming soon– join me.

find me @seoulcialite

When many of my friends first asked me—a 22-year-old recent graduate cum faux writer—to write a bi-weekly column for them in this blog, at first, I guffawed. I mean, aren’t columnists supposed to hold a firm grasp of the American lexicon let alone language? Shouldn’t columnists be able to pull a French word out of thin air to create prose considered belles-lettres? Most importantly, aren’t these writers worldly—a potpourri of jaded narcissists sprinkled with haughty attitudes, who feign genius and possess David Sedaris-like anecdotes?

And then when they asked me to write about my personal life in the City—how I scrounge around on a small budget, meander aimlessly from street to avenue, all the while attempting to build my resume and name, I was a little concerned. How much of my life did I want to reveal to the world? Would people judge me? And if so, how would it affect my personal life?

Never one to back down from a challenge, I came to terms with myself and figured this would be a cathartic experience to document–much like a journal—the often too good to be true stories in this city.

From walking in-and-out of NYC Fashion Week shows and its parties, to interviewing celebrities too grandiose to name, to writing about sex—ahem, my day job—I promise you, dear readers, that I will be unabashed, truthful, and as honest as I can be. 

A male version of Carrie Bradshaw I am not, a journalist with a pocketful of lint I am, I don’t pretend to live a glamorous Sex & The City life, in a fantasy loft in the Upper East Side, nor carry my MacBook around in a 3.1 Phillip Lim bag. I’m just a plain young West Coaster who doesn’t know quite where he’ll be in five years let alone in the next few days.  Where waking up the next day is as taxing as it is exciting. Where hustling and bustling becomes almost, nay, it is second nature. 

And like all who are courageous (or really naive) enough to relocate into this city, I need to work on building thicker skin, a stronger work ethic, all the while branding my name. Follow me on my journey as I attempt to knock down doors, while meeting the eccentrics of New York, and ultimately pursuing a career in the uncompromising publishing industry.

Will this urban matrix, where the big city lights, the concrete jungle, and the overly ambitious (and vicious) denizens consume me? Will I change into an urban monster—one that I’ve always told myself I would never become? And how exactly will I get to my dreams?

They say in New York you gotta fake it until you make it.

And I intend to be a bigger fraud than your mother’s immaculately stitched Prada bag.

By day I may be a self-deprecating 9-5 working journalist, but come nightfall, I transform into a different creature, one who basks in the Big City lights, hops in between important functions via taxi, a grandiose social butterfly that takes a huge bite of the Big Apple.

Welcome to this life, the life of The Seoulcialite.