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Published by nasrin khosrowshahi
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Categories:Types, Brochures
Published by: nasrin khosrowshahi on Jan 28, 2014
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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01/28/2014

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ONE nasrin khosrowshahi 2014 1
One
“I work for Comme des Garcons.” She looked in the mirror, repeated her words. “I work for Comme des Garcons.” It sounded much better than “I work at Comme des Garcons”,
 it sounded as if she is some kind of design whiz, some kind of public relations person. It sounded like a jet-setting marketing person, it sounded like anything that she was not. She merely lands jobs as a stock person, but she likes to tell people that s
he works “in fashion”. In New York, to boot.
 Nobody needs to know that she sweeps the floor in a store in Queens Center, nope, she moved to the city to take Manhattan. The Comme des Garcons part is pure fibbing, but she likes the French words, the French enunciation. After all, it is a Japanese company or at least the designer is Japanese. And the name is about being something you are not, pretending to be one of the boys. Maybe not. maybe it is not about faking it to make it. she is not quite sure, she is late for her screen writing class. if the fashion thing does not work out, she might try her hand at writing. she always got an A in English. somehow this should translate into a publishing contract. Anything  but ending up with some kids and a pickety fence house like the girls back home. she vies for glamour, though she lives in a city where eight million are trying to do exactly the same. Jo walks faster, she turns into 20
th
, by Bloomie nails, by the small 24-hour store, where they have seven flavours of Milano Cookies. Mint Milano, Raspberry Milano, she walks by the black wrought- iron fences, thinking `bout cookies, she tries to lose weight and it does not work. She opens the door, 301, third floor, opens the door, the big green plant is over-whelming the whole apartment. The whole miniscule apartment that costs 2500 per month, as a sublet. The job in Queens Center pays 3000, she lives on 500 per month. tuition is payed by Staff, this is not how
 
ONE nasrin khosrowshahi 2014 2
she imagined her NYC adventure. the job pays peanuts, you feel like you are always in second gear. And no, she does not have friends, no Rachel, no Joey, no Phoebe. She has her youthful optimism though, something like that, something of that kind. Two She always wanted to work in Chippy`s Bazaar. Even when it was at its old address, long before it moved to the place it is at now. She walks faster, she is late. Up the stairs, she has reached Stephansplatz, out and past the two hotels, Alsterhof, Basler Hof, fast, fast. It is windy, Hamburg in February, she makes her way to Chippy`s. Well, she works as a saleslady, the money is good enough, but one day she will leave this place, move over the pond or to Drueben, as the locals call it. Drueben, over there, that is how people in Hamburg refer to the US. Three The old woman sits in her TV-room, on the telly, Monk, she once more tries her hand at penning the great NOVEL, all- American or all-anything, the one that will start up her literary career. At age sixty-five. Writers have to be young, Francoise Sagan was, J.D. Salinger was. Your breakout novel has to go with a narrative of youthful genius, in order to be aggressively marketed. You cannot write a breakout novel at age eighty. Grandma moses, that works only in painting. Or as a  picture in the upper left corner of a TV-dinner.
 
ONE nasrin khosrowshahi 2014 3
She has two characters already, both female, one lives in nyc, one in hamburg, they both work in female clothing stores, one in an upscale place, one in a pretty dowdy place. they are both in their twenties. She described them, pretty much like caricatures, it is all about being believable. Character A, character B. Four She takes the car to the starbucks on arbutus. well, walking would be better, for the environment, for her health. But, hey, we are lazy here, it is so easy to take the car. besides, it is cold, it is dark. The coffee shop will close at eight, she has one hour to pen her stuff. well, actually one hour and ten minutes, maybe one hour and eleven. She obsesses about details, that is what makes her a writer. She is not a doer, she only writes. and walks. And drinks coffee or chamomile tea. Outside, cars are driving by, it is Friday evening in January. Late January. Not many people in here, but still enough. the woman at the other table reads, another one talks on the phone. All thees souls that are here before closing time, that are filling their days with inhaling this macabre substitution for community. Ah, coffee shops, coffee shops. Five April in Chelsea. It is seven thirty, she will still go out and grab a pizza. But at this time, it is just nice to sit near the window, look out onto the street, listen in to the tap-tap of the shoes of a  passer-by, listen in to the music of eight avenue, looking out at the last minutes of the day, when darkness is not quite there, when brightness seems so far away. The poetry of silence, here in one of the busiest cities on the planet. Jo ponders, she should really look for a job here in manhattan,
the trek all the way to queens is quite a drag, besides, she really wants to be “in fashion”. Not
  just sweeping the floor in the plus-
size store, that is not really a “fashion” job. That is not why

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