IMAGE IS EVERYTHING

When you go from making a healthy six figure salary to unemployment, you get resourceful, quickly. In some ways, the obvious restrictions make life simpler. No more shopping, no more Groupon purchases (mine never get used, anyway), no need to read Daily Candy for the latest sample sales or restaurant openings. Some overall basic housekeeping – minus actual housekeeping - another budget cut.

But one day, I received an incredibly tempting email offer, forwarded by my friend Jordan Feldman. Jordan is a tastemaker whom I trust implicitly. Once he went into an almost screaming diatribe about a medium-sized purse I wore to a party. “Are you going to L.A.X after this? Because that THING looks like a duffel bag. I would CHECK it.” Jordan's stylist friend, Amy Keller, was offering a closet-editing session at a “friends and family” rate, for a limited time.

I have always, always, always wanted a stylist. It is the ultimate Hollywood fantasy for girls. As evidenced by every grocery-aisle magazine, reality show, Red Carpet special and of course, SEX AND THE CITY. I longed for a more sophisticated wardrobe, dynamic color and pattern plays, and a strategy for all the clothes I purchased but had yet to wear. But a stylist was a luxury item, and only necessities were included in my budget.

But then I remembered the age-old mandate for success in Hollywood: IMAGE IS EVERYTHING. This was not a trivial motive, it was a strategic career move! Hell, this appointment might even qualify for a tax write off! And so, I sent an email with glee not guilt, and secured my special offer.

Amy the stylist showed up looking effortlessly rocker chic: a little Marissa Tomei by way of an Italian Mary Louise Parker. She was stick thin with brown eyes and beautiful olive skin. I can't recall her exact outfit, but I know that hot pink socks were paired with leopard booties. She was the perfect amount of intimidating. I mean, I wouldn't hire a fat personal trainer, or a suicidal therapist, so any potential stylist of mine had better pull off the impossible and then some.

We quickly established style icons given my predilections and body type.  After pairing a vintage turquoise silk skirt and yellow flutter sleeve blouse with black patent belt and heels, we decided on “Sophia Loren” with a Dolce and Gabanna vibe. Suddenly I had uniforms – and they were fierce. A grey sleeveless rocker tee tucked in to skinny jeans with boots. A leopard print pencil skirt with a black capped sleeve turtleneck and heels. It was just as I had imagined – empowered by my new wardrobe combinations, I finally felt like a fashionista.

Then Amy had me put on my black jeggings. For those uninitiated, jeggings are a jean as tight as a legging. I wore mine regularly with loose sweaters or long blouses. Amy grabbed a small sheer printed blouse. “Here, put this on and tuck it in with a belt.” A sheer blouse, TUCKED IN TO JEGGINGS?! This felt downright risque to me! AND IF THAT WASN'T ENOUGH, she had me put on HIGH HEELED SUEDE BOOTS, SCRUNCHED DOWN BELOW THE KNEE.

“This is a chic going out outfit.” she pronounced with confidence.

“Amy, I CAN'T go out like this! I feel like Olivia Newton John at the end of Grease!”

“Lady, you have an awesome figure, what are you waiting for?”

I am not sharing Amy's compliment to incur your envy, or to imply that I am some sort of Victoria's Secret Model. I admit that I am thin. I also admit that I am on A.D.D. medication, and it has vastly supported my metabolism. So in some ways I am lucky, in other ways my mental clarity is just a pipe dream. Which would you prefer? But until Amy came over, I totally took my body type for granted. And if this stylist was telling me I had a figure to show off, who was I not to take advantage of it?

“Are you going out tonight?” It was a Friday, so I actually had plans to meet friends downtown. “Wear this, and just see what happens.” I felt like I was in costume. As a hooker, actually. But I followed my stylist's orders and headed out to a swanky rooftop bar.

Like a good stylist, Amy checked in the next day: Lisa. Did you end up wearing the jean, boots, etc.? Any feedback? To which I responded: Amy, I MADE OUT with a handsome black banker who followed me from the bar to the art show! He was literally OBSESSED with me, which never ever happens!!!!

This is a true story. Granted I had a few tequila drinks, as did he, but without even trying I managed to reel in this super handsome gentleman who made it his mission to chase me to the art opening. Where we were later admonished by a security guard for our make-out in the gallery storage area.

(Sidebar: I am generally not the kind of girl who likes good looking men. I prefer mutts to purebreds, and have historically been known by my friends as somewhat of a chubby chaser. It's not a fetish, but when you choose personality and character over looks, you generally end up with a few extra pounds. And while my former West Elm bed frame was likely not the highest quality support, it bent and then collapsed beneath the girth of a certain gent. AND I complained and got a store credit.)

And so, I incorporated Amy into my limited budget. Now I can show up anywhere, feeling good on the outside no matter how I feel on the inside. Which only goes to show that beauty really is more than skin deep.

So you want to know what happened with the banker, Scott? Soonafter we met for a proper dinner date. Armed with another great outfit and clear-headed sobriety, I checked out our potential.

“So I know you're from Chicago, but where did you go to school?”

“Harvard.”

Suddenly, this date was getting interesting! Scott went up about 50 points given his prestigious education. But he was younger than me, and it showed. He seemed uptight, defining himself by his new job and posturing as a cool dude. So I prodded a bit more. His mother had passed away recently, and he did not get along with one of his brothers, given the aftermath. Okay, now we were getting somewhere. If I see an opening for emotional subtext, I get excited. And start to dig for gold. As the evening progressed, Scott would make an inappropriately-timed but awesome sexy overture when we were mid-conversation. It seemed clear to me that he was transferring a lot of his emotions into... sexuality. Which I found compelling. I really didn't think he was the guy for me, but he was hot and I was unemployed.

By the end of our next date Scott was being awfully... persistent. But given that I now had a tenant in my guest bedroom (cost cutting measure!), I refused to take him home. I wasn't in college, he wasn't my boyfriend, and I didn't want to have to deal with potential awkwardness, or worse yet, real intimacy. And so I made a proposal: “Why don't we just check in to a nearby motel?”

I live in Echo Park, where on any given night a motel's inhabitants could inspire an episode of THE SHIELD. After a brief argument where I refused to give in to the logic of going over the hill to his place, I directed him to the ironically named Paradise Motel on Sunset. It was a cinematic looking place indeed, with a pink neon sign and single level of rooms facing the sloped parking lot. But don't think that I am entirely reckless; I made Scott go in first and suss things out, while I waited in his locked car. He deemed it fine and like a good date, paid for the room. In cash. They only took cash. See what I mean?

The next morning, as I walked out into the blazing hot sun, hungover with my black sunglasses and night-before outfit on, I felt a little like a character from a Tarantino movie. Or maybe Walter White in BREAKING BAD. Or Lindsay Lohan on any given day at all! And it was fun! Plus, if I wasn't going to dinner parties as half of a power couple, I might as well go full out cheap and tawdry. Because in Hollywood, the only thing worse than a bad image? Having no image at all.

Things with Scott didn't last, mostly because he answered the phone “whassup?” and never really communicated authentically. I offered to put him up for modeling gigs (with the chance for me to make commission) and he thought me a lunatic. But I'll tell you this, he was genuinely disappointed when I ended our tryst. I think, deep down, he wanted to connect, and saw some of that accessible with me. Maybe Scott was tiring of his own image, wanting to put it away like a well-worn parka you can't wait to hang up come Spring. While this is not an easy thing to do, this is where a stylist can compliment the work of your therapist. A new look might just liberate you to retire your old persona. And there's nothing superficial about that.

Stylist Amy Keller can be reached via her site AMY KELLER

This is an unabridged version of an article published by HOLLYWOOD JOURNAL

HOPELESS IS THE NEW FABULOUS!

I'm an independent producer who most recently completed overseeing three seasons of an animated series on HBO. And I am going to tell you a secret: I'm unemployed. Sure, I could just stick to the “independent producer” story, and share my list of packaged projects and what makes me so fantastic, and that would suffice and prove perfectly legitimate. But I'm more of a realist than a dreamer, and unless you're in production on a series or film, if you're an independent producer, you're unemployed.

I could also just tell you the truth, but with a good old fashioned Hollywood spin: HOPELESS IS THE NEW FABULOUS!

You heard it here first. Jealous? I hope so.

The last time I was unemployed was likely around 1995. Generally I'm more “exec” than maverick; I require an infrastructure, health insurance, and ideally a 401K in order to feel like a real live grown up. But in 2008, in the midst of the recession, I found myself laid off from a company I had joined just about a year prior, even after setting up a series for them on HBO. My salary was moved onto the budget of the show, and I became an independent producer. By default.

So, I made the most of it. I incorporated, started pitching projects, hired attorneys, and in 2010 bought a condo. I had been saving to buy, well, my whole life, but once hitting the dreaded “freelance” category I was worried about depleting my savings. My realtor (Laura Stupsker at THE AGENCY - 5 star rec!) made the argument: “Buy now! Prices and rates are down, and getting a loan could only prove more complicated in the future given your freelance status.” That was the impetus I needed to push me into making the decision. I acted in faith, not fear, which had been my usual M.O. The work will come!

And so, come 2012, the show I oversaw for three seasons came to an end. I had been planting seeds for months, pushing projects forward and seeking out new opportunities for more permanent employment. And I had a verbal commitment from a top digital network on one of my projects, for series. I had done my due diligence and would not get caught with my proverbial freelance pants down.

But, I got caught with my pants down.

If I knew then what I know now, I probably wouldn't have purchased that series of acupuncture facials, or taken that trip to Bali prior to my show ending. And while money is always an issue, my ship's looming arrival to NO MAN'S LAND was equally as terrifying. But Bali was my plan to gain clarity and perspective, and a much deserved break. Things would be okay.

I returned from Bali in January a complete and nervous wreck. Two months left on the show, lots of irons in the fire, but absolutely no concrete agenda for the next thing. Uncertainty for me is not just a period of discomfort, it's a DEATH KNELL. Like, the equivalent of terror the characters in the SAW movies experience, just not as dramatically vocalized. Money in the bank and a job around which I can define myself are primal needs for me that could supersede all of Maslow's physiological subset.

Now, place this somewhat relatable predicament within the realm of the entertainment industry. An industry so structured on image that to have none in play (i.e. no job) is tantamount to extinction.

Come March, I was unemployed. And my mental state spiraled ever so downward.

Every day I told myself with clarity and objectivity “people get laid off all the time, you are not special and neither are your circumstances. You have to deal with this just like everybody else.” And while there was forward momentum with my projects, none were poised to go into production anytime soon. And more obstacles showed up. Like dealing with a pending lawsuit from a former friend who had been my tenant. As one friend said to me “you're beating the odds. Just in the wrong direction.”

I honestly felt so profoundly lost, so scared, and so alone that I froze in fear, unable to function.

But, just in case you are reading this and I have a project with you, please know that I remain entirely competent and professional! Besides, if you work in this business, it's almost a given that you're inherently unstable in one way or another. So, don't judge.

I am not a survivor, I am a struggler. I am still struggling. But after months of kicking and screaming, I found some strange and diverse tactics to keep me grounded in the most uncertain of situations. Actually, grounded is likely too strong and positive of a word, I would say the tactics have kept me successfully distracted. I look forward to being grounded at some point in my life.

One of those tactics is Kundalini Yoga. Now I'm a big dabbler in spiritual modalities, and while I am entirely susceptible to the newest and greatest panacea, I am almost irrevocably disappointed by a lack of results. And I am a terrible liar. I always feel like Diana Morales from A CHORUS LINE, the actress whose experience with drama improvisation proves disillusioning, as sung in NOTHING (“They all felt something, but I felt nothing, except the feeling that this bullshit was absurd!”). So I do not recall what drew me to attend, but I was desperate for something to do with my morning other than follow up on email inquiries, project statuses and other potential avenues to rejection. I was also developing a project with a famous singer who swore by it, and I am hardly immune to a celebrity endorsement! So I attended a 9am weekday class, because guess what? That's what you get to do when you're unemployed. And it's imperative that you take advantage of the perks when you can.

The class was absolutely packed. So this is where all the actors/writers/unemployed artists spent their mornings, if not at Intelligensia on Sunset or surfing in Malibu! It was a fascinating and diverse group, and included an incredibly handsome/famous/hilarious/charismatic entertainer. Instant celeb endorsement credibility for me! Or at the very least, entertainment value.

It's not easy to explain what goes on in class, because it looks odd and feels odd and actually is odd. We breathe and move parts of our bodies with precise repetition, seeking to unlock hidden stagnancy, repair and strengthen organs, and balance the brain. We chant, and at the end of class, sing a hippy-dippy kind of song. Our teacher, Tej, infuses us with emphatic positive messaging, but she is my type of teacher, substantial and grounded, funny, and focused. She even urges us to get angry! Get out the fear! Kind of like an Olympics gymnastics coach, but with a much more enlightened endgame. And the best thing about the class? Tej assumes that everyone is seriously working through things, and we all get to work through it together. So instead of feeling like an outcast because your life is falling apart, you feel wonderfully accepted by a large group of people who are facing their own reality, their lack, their fear, and maybe their growth.

What happened to me in those early classes was somewhat unprecedented. As I moved through the exercises, I began to cry. These were not tears of joy, but rather a dramatic release of pent up pain, hot and heavy rolling down my face. Ugly crying. Almost-needing-to-leave-the-room crying. Blowing-my-nose-repeatedly crying. But by the time class was over, I felt fantastic. When you have to face uncertainty on a daily basis, there is nothing better than clearing the deck so you can really get to work.

One day after class, I finally introduced myself to Tej to let her know how much the classes were helping me. And once again, I burst into tears. Tej has of course seen it before and been there before. But she looked at me as I tried to compose myself, and said “I know how you feel and know where you are. When I got divorced I couldn't get out of bed for days.” And then she looked me in the eye, her gaze nothing short of imperative and said, “BUT YOU HAVE TO GET IT TOGETHER”. And I stopped crying. It was not an admonishment, but an instruction, akin to a healthy slap across the face. The first thing that got the crying, whining kid in me to finally behave and take some responsibility.

But don't think this class offers an escape from the likes of the business. Like any good producer, Tej knows her audience. She often shares stories of people in need of support, and while some of them are suffering from illnesses, others are pitching projects. Or suffering creative blocks. Or going to auditions. It's a room full of artists at all different levels, and there is comfort in that and great possibility. And inspiration. Here, the posturing is authentic, and positive.

Since writing this article a few months ago, I have been working what I call my “band-aid” job, for which I am very grateful. Obviously there are fewer opportunities for yoga with Tej, but I picked up some weekend classes and introduced a few friends to the experience (including the HJ founder herself, Jill Cutler!).

And then last week I went into a full-blown panic. I was unexpectedly laid off for two weeks. I felt, as usual, unprepared to deal with the lack of funds and structure to my day. So the first item on my work-less week agenda was to attend Tej's class.

As it turns out, around the same time, I received some emails about Tej's classes unexpectedly moving to a different location. She is relocating and regrouping, with the help of earlier mentioned (and lovely) handsome/charming/hilarious entertainer, and several others in the community. Funnily enough, the classes are currently being held on a studio lot. I attended Wednesday morning, and surprisingly, no security guards asked anyone holding a yoga mat for a walk-on.

Once again, Tej shared just what I needed to hear. “I am getting you strong. We have to be strong, right? Because as you can see, things can change in an instant. And we have to be prepared.”

It's a unique situation when the person you rely on for stability is facing change – but doesn't that make the guidance all the more meaningful? As much as our hardships can prove painful and undesirable, with community and context they might just serve a purpose.

It also reminded me of what my friend Adam Newman said about the business, just the day before, “That's what I love about L.A. There is always hope for success here.”

In other words, things can change in an instant! And while you might just go from hopeless to fabulous, always be prepared for the pendulum to swing back the other way.

This article was originally published in HOLLYWOOD JOURNAL