I was born in Chicago. My great grandfather was a tailor.
We moved to Seattle when I was a young child. My mother opened an art house movie theater in the now gentrified Pike Place Market. In place of a babysitter, my sisters and I roamed the stalls of the market, soaking in the smells, sounds, colors and textures. In the beginning of high school I moved to Amsterdam and would travel on weekends to visit the grandmother of a friend. Her living room window faced the Pompidou Museum. We didn't speak the same language, but I remember going to the movies together and being completely lost in the seduction and drama of the way she dressed.
I went to Sarah Lawrence College. Coming to New York at sixteen to start university was intense and amazing. My interest in fashion emerged without me noticing. Was it the battles with my sisters or friends over what to wear, or the refashioning of odd bits found at the Salvation Army, or the desire to hold on to wrappers from an airplane nut package—blowing it up on the photocopier to see how it would look as fabric.
After college when I wasn't working. I lived on my bike. I was always riding to Brooklyn, to Jackson Heights, the Bronx, to find fabric stores, obscure clothing stores, restaurants, music, faces, smells. All the things that make memories and feed the desire to bring the moment back again in a shape or a feel. About ten years ago, I started working as a styling assistant as a favor to a friend and pretty soon styling my own jobs became my job.
Then came Tucker.
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