The After Life Coach

Chapter 3

Once I've tipped the stylist, I hop on the subway to get back to my apartment to finish getting ready and send a few emails. I'll take an Uber or a cab to get to the gala later, but for now with no one watching, the subway is perfectly fine.

Back at my building, I hotfoot it up three flights of steps—you have to love the built-in cardio, and I squeeze my glutes as I go for some extra activation—I'm unlocking the door to my little chunk of heaven in the city. It's not big, just a one bedroom (and even that's generous, it's a 400-square foot living room-slash-kitchen and tiny bedroom with an even tinier bathroom). It's not much space, but I've made it into a modern little haven, thanks to a white L-shaped couch that wedges perfectly in the corner, a cast-off from a wealthy client, made with actual linen cushion covering and real wood frame—she loved it but with her new young step-kids, it didn't make sense in her space anymore. It's one of the earlier 'get rid of this, get this instead' wins that felt really good at the time (she got a gorgeous tan leather sofa instead, much easier to clean and still super chic).

The coffee table is a dramatic slab of white marble, leftover from a construction project from another house I was helping to re-organize. We decided (well, I nudged the decision) that black granite was the way to go, though I admit that I may have waited a tiny bit longer than I should, until the white marble had been cut and delivered, to push her in that direction, leaving the marble up for grabs.) It adds a lot of light to what might otherwise be a dark little spot. The bedroom is equally lush, with a linen duvet and high thread count sheets from that new mom client—again, who wants white with tiny kids crawling into bed?

The bathroom is packed with barely used or still new-in-box creams and toners and lotions that clients were going to toss as we cleared out their bathrooms. There are a few I feel slightly guilty about sneaking into my bag instead of a garbage bag, since they would have worked just fine for my clients, but let's be honest: They can afford to buy new skincare as they use things up. Me, my oily skin needs the finest quality ingredients that their money can buy—and that they weren't using anyway.

In fact, my bathroom shelf is looking particularly great right now, with some new Chanel lipsticks neatly lined up in an organizer, next to the Nuxe dry oil that I never use but looks so French-chic that I keep it around anyway. The light is just right, so I snap a #shelfie and upload it. I may not have a million followers, but my clientele expects a certain presentation from me—basically, they need to know that my life is more fabulous than theirs, if they're going to trust me to improve how they live. In fact, that was one of Shannon's number one rules when we started working together: You always need to present an image of competence, confidence and style, but do so without completely relying on showing off high-end clothes and gadgets. "Make it aspirational, but not like you bought it," she said. It's a hard line to walk, aspiration without price tags associated, but I understood exactly what she meant. Some high-end makeup and skin care shows that you can afford the best, but having a Maybelline basic mascara and maybe a bar of Dove soap sitting in the same #shelfie shows that you're not just buying the high-end stuff because it's expensive, you're buying it because it works. That high/low mix on you is what convinces clients that you're not just going to scam them into buying a ton of high-priced clothing, you're going to find what suits them best and works for their lifestyle (though, of course, your ultimate aim is to get them to buy the expensive clothing, preferably through the three brands that Shannon has an affiliate connection with). But establishing the trust that you're not going to always opt for the pricey option is critical.

The same is true for everything from home decor to food to service providers to gyms. And the lifestyle isn't always easy to keep up with. I haven't actually sat on my white couch in months, between being out most nights trying to hit up the key events for networking and getting to the gym to scout for new clients and workout. Plus, the couch is gorgeous, but I'm a little terrified I'm going to stain it if I snuggle in with a coffee or glass of wine, so I tend to sit on one of my big throw pillows on the floor instead. I've considered getting a slipcover to keep over it so the couch itself stays pristine, but since I end up needing to snap so many photos of my apartment—from the very edge of my balcony, using a selfie stick and a wide-angle attachment to make it look more spacious than the shoebox that it is—it's not worth the hassle of constantly covering it up and then pulling the cover off. And I like looking at it and knowing that my place could be covered in a style and design blog at any moment and look incredibly chic.