Taking the Leap

This is the unsexy part. I got fired. Well, not exactly fired, but squeezed out. The kind of squeezing that includes the boss's live-in girlfriend not liking you because he likes you. It was never clear if his liking me was in "that way" but Girlfriend was not going to take any chances. So, I quit. It was really the only self-respecting thing I could do. On my way out the door, my boss told me if I left him I would never be successful again. And that was all I needed to peel away from my personalized parking space and never look back.

But now what?

One day, in my post-employed bliss, I was on the phone to said brother mentioned above and was whining something to the tune of "what the hell am I going to do now?" His simple response? "Why don't you try that leather thing?"

And so I was off to the races. From that point forward anytime my mom met with her friends and they discussed their defunct children over tea she would hold the teacup to her pursed lips and say "Cordila? Oh, she's fine. She's doing that leather thing."

Now, anyone knows that if you want to sell anything, New York is the place to shake-tail. I hopped on a flight spiriting me from LA to New York City prepared to beat the streets with my super-star-model-must-have-portfolio. I had made an appointment at a high-end showroom in SoHo (aim for the top) and flounced in carrying the portfolio in front of me like a child does her crayon drawing.

"Look!" I proudly exclaimed.

Mr. Showroom Extraordinaire was less than impressed.

"This is it?" he asked.

"Well...yeah."

"You're going to need something more than this," came is grunt reply.

"Like what?" I wanted to know.

"Like a collectione!" (and yes, he did use the Italian pronunciation).

"Right! I get it! More colors and stuff!" I valiantly spew forth.

"No. No. No. I mean other pieces."

I sat in total confusion, unbotoxed brow furrowed in deflation.

"I'm really very busy," Mr. Showroom Extraordinaire said as he backed away from what seemed to be my self-confidence going up in flames. "You might want to add bags."

And that, my dear friends, is the honest truth about how Thickskin became all about bags. My desire is to tell you that I dreamed of making bags my entire life. As a girl, I used make bags out of banana peels and lemon rinds for my dollies but alas, such is not the case. I was desperate. My back was up against the wall. I knew I was a damn good worker and had a good brain beneath my curls. In my last job, before my ungraceful exit, I had shot from assistant to vice president in record time. I learned how to run a business from the inside out. It was the trenches, but I came out victorious. And if making bags is what it would take to lift Thickskin off the ground. Then that's exactly what I would do.

In the Beginning

The task at hand, to begin my diaries to you, is a daunting one but one I face with excitement verging on unfettered gusto. We're here! You and me. We made it. Or are making it. Or are at least giving it a go. And that's what this is all about. The Effort: as the results can be both heart wrenching and ecstatic and sometimes simultaneously.

So why do this, you ask? Why diary my existence as the original "thickskinner"? Why document what could be (and often is) me falling flat on my face? To let you know that it can be done, and is being done, a thousand times a day by thousands of people. Owning your own business. Being independently "employed". Bagging the real job for one that is harder, more involved yet more rewarding than any you could ever imagine.

I'm ready, if you are, to nakedly stand before you and share my triumphs and pitfalls. Thickskin is my homage to resilience, in both people and product. And what good are we if we don't practice what we preach? It's about being impeccable with your word. And that's how it all began...

"Hi" this is Cordila Jochim. You don't know me but I have a brother who is insane looking and I know he won't call you on his own so I'll give you his number and you can call him, OK?"



Yep. That's the call I made to the Seattle Models Guild. They, in turn, called my gorgeous brother Raif who found himself in the world of modeling...and loving it. The problem was now that I got him into this, he had nothing in which to carry his photos and zed cards and, hello, if modeling isn't about the image...what is?! Problem = Solution. At least that's how I work. No worries, I, Big Sister, would buy him one. Enter Problem #2: nothing sexy in the market! I was shocked! Really, in the land of abundance you'd think someone, somewhere had come up with a modeling portfolio that was a color other than black. But, after beating the streets like a wild woman, and his birthday closing in, I had to act fast. In I trounced to Office Depot where I promptly bought your standard three-ring binder (in green plastic, if I remember correctly) and took it home.



TIP: In life you'll find the most unlikely of people will put you on a path you hadn't even imagined you'd walk down.

May everyone be so lucky to know a guy who knows a guy who may smoke a little too much but is good with leather and his hands (a winning combination). Chad introduced me to Eric who made the first Thickskin piece: an embossed crocodile portfolio crafted specially for one Raif Jochim.

And that was the beginning.