This is actually a really sentimental and large part of my life. This is a small segment from the life memoir I am currently writing and publishing. I want to take you on a little trip to a famous (or infamous place) many know as the OC, or Orange County, California. You may have heard of this county tucked away in the heart of Southern California, home to over 3 million humans. You may be familiar from the hit reality series, “The Real Housewives of Orange County”, the celebrities that reside there, the worldwide reputations of wealth, mansions, sunny skies and the perfect life, or you’re born and raised there like myself and just have this common understanding of what I’m about to say.
Personally, everyone who has lived in the OC (or what many in Los Angeles call “behind the orange curtain”) lives a different lifestyle. It’s not all mega-wealth and superstars. What is the OC known for? Plastic faces (literally, I mean lots of Botox and Boobs), your neighbor either has a brand new BMW or Bentley because they are filthy rich or want a certain image even though they can’t pay other bills, track homes and mega mansions, superficial fluff, the perfect life in terms of ultra convenience, mega-modern strip malls, you probably known someone who’s been divorced at least twice and a crapload of beaches with perfect weather year-round. I grew up in Irvine in a coveted place called Quail Hill, where everything is seemingly “perfect”. Irvine is just smack between Newport Beach and Laguna Beach. It’s a master-planned community and has changed a lot through the years. When my mother landed there over 20 years ago beginning her new life as she left her life in New Jersey and New York it was just strawberry fields and a few plastic surgeons; now it’s a full-fledged luxury city with an education focused stigma and a lot of Mercedes dealerships. But it’s more than that, so much more for me especially. It’s the place that houses my identity, my truth, my heart & soul and always manages to make me cry and smile every time I visit.
This was the place. My everything. The last place I could call “home” because it was. It smelled like home, felt like home, housed laughter, childhood memories, beginnings and endings, pain, tragedy, new reality and the beginning of my end. This was the last piece of purity in my life before everything would change forever. This home was mine, and still is in my heart. No one can take that from me. Each time I visit, it’s another opportunity to stand face to face with my past, which showered all the pain over me, as I stand staring at the door of my beloved childhood home wishing, wondering and dwelling. As I see my 5 yr old reflection wave back at my now 21 yr old self, from the windows of my only true home which housed my secrets, abuse and the corruption which will soon fuel my success, I always feel a numbing chill. This was also the place I contracted Lyme disease nearly 13 years ago. I turn back to view the now aged trees, which line the streets of the “unrealistically perfect” neighborhood in the living oxymoron that is, the OC.
Something a lot of people may not know about me (and I’m getting into this more on my podcast), is that I have known what it’s like to live in poverty. It’s like that film “Down and out in Beverly Hills” except I always managed to live in safe, privileged areas and socialized with the children of huge celebrities and mega-stars even as a small child. We always managed, and my mother always made sure I had the very best opportunities. I went to a very unique private school in the heart of OC as a child before my family dynamics changed and led to multiple custody battles and a plot of survival for my mother and I. This school taught billionaires children, and kids from the barrio of all races and backgrounds. It was home to only 100 kids, and we were a family. It was so beautiful to create such a diverse environment. But this is where the soul of who I am sprouted as I learned to see people for who they were not what they owned. Living in OC is like an infection at times. The wealth is so great and imposing, it affects you. I never cared about money ( I actually hate it ), fame or class-type, it was always about the soul of the human. Even as a child I could see the superficial fluff and lack of diversity and realness in the bubble of the OC. It made me sick and it took me moving away to San Diego to understand just how toxic it was.
I lived in a bubble, even in the midst of hell as my family was plotting to destroy my mother and I my whole childhood. Multiple custody battles, unspeakable abuse and lies, twisted stories which were made for movies (this isn’t uncommon in the dysfunctional family life that lies in the OC), countless moves, comfortability to poverty over night and repeat. Yet my mother and I always managed to float by, rather comfortably struggling to make ends meet and support ourselves. I had friends from all different backgrounds who supported me endlessly, and the connections I made and way I presented myself landed my mother and I many opportunities. From average down to earth humans, to celebrities I’ve grown up with many Hollywood secrets in my pocket, and I owe it to the OC.
Just because my closet makes it look like I’m a millionaire, doesn’t mean I am or even that I spend a shitload of money! I’m just really savvy, and have a natural love for high-end fashion. Part of the toxicity of living or growing up in the OC, is the need to “fit in” or be like every other 7 year old walking around with a $3000 Louis Vuitton mini. It’s so far from reality on most every place on this planet, and just isn’t healthy. I knew this at a young age, but it still affected me. Not many places in the world are known for things like this. I remember when the first season of RHOC aired (many of my friends have been on the show and I’m a lover of reality TV, sorry not sorry). It was a shock to everyone in the nation, that these women lived this way. Mega-wealth, mile long driveways, endless vacations and shopping sprees to Saks. having to decide which Lamborghini to take out that day, their next plastic surgery appointment, catty friendships and doting rich husbands. The show takes the world into the unrealistic bubble that is the OC to experience the privilege, behind the gates and expose the fact that life isn’t always sunshine and daisies. Just like these women, in certain parts of the OC you are actually looked down upon if you don’t drive a certain car or own a Chanel something. As much as I avoided being part of this or even caring, I developed a strong love for high-end fashion having been exposed to this world and learning how much your appearance matters (or at least it did in the OC). It was toxic, but became a part of me, and while I no longer hold those values, I still see that part of myself every time I walk into my closet to see all the designer goods from my haunting past which come from high-end up cycled stores. I know now that my material goods don’t make me a materialistic person just because I own them. I don’t see them as anything else but beautiful, functioning items that are a form of self-expression through style, not a symbol of wealth or status to try to “impress” strangers. OH, and if you want to know how I snag a brand new Alexander McQueen dress off the runway for only $100 stay tuned as I’ll be sharing my money-saving savvy secrets soon! (Tongue twister there!).
The OC will always be a part of me, but its not who I am. I am incredibly blessed and proud to have grown up there, but I am humbly where I am now because I left. I struggled, I strove to survive and I was hardened and shaped, yanked out of that unrealistic bubble because the fate of my soul depended on it. I am a CaliYorker at heart, and the Cali in me is so proud. I always visit (try to find ways to move back to SD), and feel that same familiar feeling every time….
Thanks for listening…
