No Friends in Fashion
On the illusion of community, the pull of ambition, and what remains long after the contracts run their course.
The fashion and entertainment industry sells community. Desire, aspiration, influence. We pick the world we connect with most and recreate our own life-sized version of it, dancing away into endless summer nights.
We're all hardwired for connection. We want to belong, to feel like what we're doing is valuable. There's nothing quite like the moment inside a project when the whole team knows they've nailed the brief, just before it goes out into the world - satisfied sighs of relief as the music starts.
But behind the scenes, there's a machine running parallel to these curated worlds. Brands, marketing teams, NDAs, perception, swift removals, endless messaging chains that leave you on read despite everything being a gold star in your last in-person exchange. The teams you travelled the world with, sharing a genuine passion for the work and real camaraderie - only to be dropped, unceremoniously, at the end of the season, with a "not quite right, all the best."
These things, and more, have happened to me. I've sent the unreplied DM. I've been released from teams I loved working with. I've unfollowed people I genuinely like when my social media mental health felt like a pressure cooker. I'm not proud of every way I've behaved in response but I've had to come to terms with why I needed to protect myself at the time, and learn from what happened on the other side.
A machine built for the bottom line
This industry is designed to bend to last-minute changes at the lowest possible cost - often with no explanation. Self-employed artists are the collateral. I am the collateral. I keep choosing this career, consciously, as an independent business - and none of that choice changes what we all have to process once it's said and done.
We've been through so much in an industry that never stops moving. It leads me to ask: what is genuinely possible in maintaining friendship here, in the face of ambition and the pull of the next big thing?
Because the next big thing is never just an opportunity. It's a person. A director, a head of department, a mate. Someone you once shared a sofa bed in an Airbnb with, an aperitivo, a ten-euro bottle of wine. The pull of ambition doesn't just move resources. It moves the people we love. The same person who praised you through your first confirmations, who laughed with you on that sofa bed, can go quiet a few years later - or send the "not quite right" themselves.
Choosing how I show up
I don't pretend the industry owes us anything, and I don't claim to have the answers to the complexities of personal and professional relationships. What I have decided is to be intentional about how I show up, both in the industry I work in and in the friendships I choose to nurture.
The industry I want to be part of is one where artists are properly compensated for their vision, where people are given room to feel genuine satisfaction in their work. One that gives honest feedback and timely responses, extends basic kindness, and stays conscious of how our energy affects the room - serving the project without diminishing the people building it.
What I actually look for in friendship
A calm nervous system. Non-competition. Consistency. A mutual understanding of what I can give, and when I need to pull back to replenish my own energy. I value people who truly listen, who speak of others with grace, who have rich lives, hobbies and passions - who live completely outside this business.
My favourite collaborators and friendships inspire and ground me. They don't keep me on edge. Because when the contracts run their course and the seasons change, what's left behind isn't just the work - it's our humanity.
If you're navigating your own relationship to ambition, boundaries or burnout in a creative career, I offer 1:1 coaching alongside my session work. [Get in touch →]
