For the next few weeks I would come home from work and make my patterns and cut my pieces and sit at my kitchen table and sew. It’s funny how nostalgic I feel about that time. Even though I was kind of lonely and Los Angeles seemed so unfriendly, I remember sitting in that tiny studio apartment in Woodland Hills with my sewing machine whirring and KROQ playing on the radio and scraps of fabric and loose threads everywhere. It made me happy to make beautiful clothes. It was also achievable, it was something I could be great at and it felt magical even back then, turning nothing into something.
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