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.