Once I've tipped the stylist, I hop on the subway to get back to my apartment to finish getting ready and send a few emails. I'll take an Uber or a cab to get to the gala later, but for now with no one watching, the subway is perfectly fine.
Back at my building, I hotfoot it up three flights of steps—you have to love the built-in cardio, and I squeeze my glutes as I go for some extra activation—I'm unlocking the door to my little chunk of heaven in the city. It's not big, just a one bedroom (and even that's generous, it's a 400-square foot living room-slash-kitchen and tiny bedroom with an even tinier bathroom). It's not much space, but I've made it into a modern little haven, thanks to a white L-shaped couch that wedges perfectly in the corner, a cast-off from a wealthy client, made with actual linen cushion covering and real wood frame—she loved it but with her new young step-kids, it didn't make sense in her space anymore. It's one of the earlier 'get rid of this, get this instead' wins that felt really good at the time (she got a gorgeous tan leather sofa instead, much easier to clean and still super chic).
The coffee table is a dramatic slab of white marble, leftover from a construction project from another house I was helping to re-organize. We decided (well, I nudged the decision) that black granite was the way to go, though I admit that I may have waited a tiny bit longer than I should, until the white marble had been cut and delivered, to push her in that direction, leaving the marble up for grabs.) It adds a lot of light to what might otherwise be a dark little spot. The bedroom is equally lush, with a linen duvet and high thread count sheets from that new mom client—again, who wants white with tiny kids crawling into bed?
The bathroom is packed with barely used or still new-in-box creams and toners and lotions that clients were going to toss as we cleared out their bathrooms. There are a few I feel slightly guilty about sneaking into my bag instead of a garbage bag, since they would have worked just fine for my clients, but let's be honest: They can afford to buy new skincare as they use things up. Me, my oily skin needs the finest quality ingredients that their money can buy—and that they weren't using anyway.
In fact, my bathroom shelf is looking particularly great right now, with some new Chanel lipsticks neatly lined up in an organizer, next to the Nuxe dry oil that I never use but looks so French-chic that I keep it around anyway. The light is just right, so I snap a #shelfie and upload it. I may not have a million followers, but my clientele expects a certain presentation from me—basically, they need to know that my life is more fabulous than theirs, if they're going to trust me to improve how they live. In fact, that was one of Shannon's number one rules when we started working together: You always need to present an image of competence, confidence and style, but do so without completely relying on showing off high-end clothes and gadgets. "Make it aspirational, but not like you bought it," she said. It's a hard line to walk, aspiration without price tags associated, but I understood exactly what she meant. Some high-end makeup and skin care shows that you can afford the best, but having a Maybelline basic mascara and maybe a bar of Dove soap sitting in the same #shelfie shows that you're not just buying the high-end stuff because it's expensive, you're buying it because it works. That high/low mix on you is what convinces clients that you're not just going to scam them into buying a ton of high-priced clothing, you're going to find what suits them best and works for their lifestyle (though, of course, your ultimate aim is to get them to buy the expensive clothing, preferably through the three brands that Shannon has an affiliate connection with). But establishing the trust that you're not going to always opt for the pricey option is critical.
The same is true for everything from home decor to food to service providers to gyms. And the lifestyle isn't always easy to keep up with. I haven't actually sat on my white couch in months, between being out most nights trying to hit up the key events for networking and getting to the gym to scout for new clients and workout. Plus, the couch is gorgeous, but I'm a little terrified I'm going to stain it if I snuggle in with a coffee or glass of wine, so I tend to sit on one of my big throw pillows on the floor instead. I've considered getting a slipcover to keep over it so the couch itself stays pristine, but since I end up needing to snap so many photos of my apartment—from the very edge of my balcony, using a selfie stick and a wide-angle attachment to make it look more spacious than the shoebox that it is—it's not worth the hassle of constantly covering it up and then pulling the cover off. And I like looking at it and knowing that my place could be covered in a style and design blog at any moment and look incredibly chic.
I don't exactly spend much time in it—and case in point, as I try to scavenge the kitchen for something to eat, I realize that I have next to nothing on the shelves. Most mornings, I do a breakfast meeting at the cafe down the road where I can get the client to cover a fresh-pressed juice or a smoothie plus all the coffee that I need... or matcha, if it's a wellness-oriented client. Lunch is the same, always trying to squeeze in a meeting. And as Shannon reminds me regularly, our kind of client is more comfortable meeting over a meal rather than in an office. This saves cash on a rental space and on daily dining, but more importantly (or at the least, equally importantly), it makes the client feel like our interaction is more akin to a friend giving a helping hand versus a business proposition. Clients who are looking for life coaches want you to sort out their personal and business lives, but they don't want to think about it like a business investment. It's more business coach slash therapist slash best friend who has your back in any situation. And that is much harder to accomplish in an office setting, much easier over a meal. Plus, as Shannon also reminds me, ordering something aspirational for your breakfast or lunch, like a matcha with a smoothie bowl, serves to show—not just tell—a more 'lifestyle-focused client' (AKA one who needs to lose weight in addition to other life-straightening-out work) what to do without being forceful. It's a gentle nudge in the right direction, while getting my healthy breakfast covered. Juice in NYC? Who has the money for that?
Right now, I'm wishing I did, because the only thing that I can find in my rummaging that isn't disgusting or way past its expiration date is a Starbucks Via Pumpkin Spice Latte. I can't ever oder a PSL in public, it's just too overdone and basic, but God, I love them. So, I sneak the instant packets in with my occasional grocery orders when I can and enjoy the experience in private. And for the moment, that will have to be enough of a snack until I can get to this dinner, so I toss a mug in the microwave to heat up some water. I have got to get a tea kettle one of these days, I think, and scribble a memo to myself in my notebook. This isn't the first time I've set this reminder, and one of these days, I'm going to get around to doing a full grocery restock and kitchen fill-up. But who has time to cook, and who would want to when there are so many free meals to be had in the city?
The microwaves dings and sparks a bit—I really should replace it, but honestly, who wants to go microwave shopping? I'll just wait until a client is redoing their kitchen and make sure the microwave is part of the 'getting rid of this thing' process. In the meantime, I mix up my admittedly pathetic snack while the shower starts to heat up (ahh, Manhattan plumbing). I take a careful shower, trying to avoid wrecking my already done hair, and quickly slink into my new gown for the evening. Luckily, it's a perfect fit other than some minor adjustments in the boob area. But I have a whole sewing/adhesive kit for occasions like this and a bit of double sided tape solves the slight gaping issue.
As a rule, I don't like adding any holes with safety pins or stitching anything, since this dress will make its way to consignment tomorrow. It's not the most comfortable, but it looks appropriately glamorous for a night out. Though, as I'm moving my essentials into a clutch, I look longingly at the one box tucked in the back of my closet—about as unglamorous as you can get, it's where all of my oldest hoodies and sweatpants are stashed. Not the sexy lululemons, this is the Old Navy fleecy pajama pants and men's large sweatshirts that I've had since high school. I should chuck them, but the idea of not having a single piece of comfort clothing around is too hard to handle. So I don't wear them, but I like knowing that they're there waiting for me if I need them, like old friends. And at the moment, I can feel a full-body sense of something a lot like sadness weighing down on my shoulders. I'd love to pull on my oldest sweats, copped from an ex boyfriend when I was 16, order some takeout Chinese and curl up and watch Netflix instead of going out.
I give my head a little shake. What am I thinking? Clearly, I need to just take a quick little break for a meditation, do a bit of visualizing, really get myself in fighting shape for tonight. Obviously, I don't want to lay around like a lump on the couch for an evening. That's the old me. The new me is all about seizing the opportunity, making sure i don't miss a single chance at success.
Phew. That feeling is going away quickly, but just to get into the zone, I put on my favorite manifestation meditation just to be on the safe side. Ten minutes of deep breathing, picturing myself floating around the party tonight stealthily handing out cards, making connections with women who need my help, looking gorgeous and attracting admiration from all of the people there. I can have it all.
When the bell dings to signal the end of the guided meditation, my heart is racing a little faster than normal, but that's just excitement. I live for nights like this, changes to talk to dozens of prospective clients at once. And galas are the perfect place to spot the women who need my help the most—nothing brings out vulnerability like the need to look great in black tie and to make small talk while not getting any food caught in your teeth, spilling wine, forgetting someone's name or introducing someone wrong. It's a minefield, which—as Shannon always reminds me—is the perfect time to score a new client. Right when someone is sure that she's epically fucked up, that's your time to shine as a life coach. And that's why my clutch has a mini-sewing kit with double sided tape and safety pins, for emergency hem and nip slip fixes. No one is more grateful and willing to hire someone to help her get her shit together like a woman who just had her boob out in public (unless she did it on purpose, of course). I also have mints, makeup removing wipes, aspirin, a few mini-lipstick samples, and some Tums.
The mini-lipsticks are my most inspired trick yet: They're this gorgeous shade of deep red, and if there's one thing that can instantly make a woman suddenly feel like she's pulled togehter, it's a pep talk followed by the application of a deep red lipstick. Instant boss-bitch mode. I've found that using these at key moments, typically when a woman is giving herself a sad pep talk in a ladies room mirror or when she's outside sitting on a bench alone at a party has a 75 percent success rate when it comes to that woman booking me for at least one coaching session.
That's one trick I haven't shared with Shannon, since I came up with it myself—and she hasn't done too much for me lately.