Saturday March 20 - Monday March 29 (Trip to New York for "What Not To Wear")

Saturday

6:00am — get up you sleepy head

I whimper. I am so upset about leaving my warm bed, about leaving my comfy room, my house, my neighborhood, that I almost start to cry. I wrench myself away from my covers and throw myself into the shower.

As I slowly wake, and the soothing trickle of warm water swims down my skin, I realize what is happening to me: I am about to embark on one heck of a seriously amazing and hugely entertaining journey that not everyone can experience.

See, I am leaving in less than an hour on Jet Blue Airways’ flight 100 from Oakland to New York City for quite an adventure: I have been chosen to appear on TLC’s “What Not to Wear” reality based TV show.

9:00am — going solo

I’m not too keen on doing this all by myself. I feel naked without the company of friends or family or my band. Insecure. The piercing eye of the baggage claim people, the skeptical bark of the security officer in the security line, the ever-watchful gaze of the flight attendants†— they all tell me through their glances that they think I am terrified.

They are right.

I picture us, the plane, from above. I picture a huge child, his hand grasping our wings and rolling us up and down the runway. There are aircrafts in front of us. We wait patiently as, one by one, the child rolls them up off the runway into the sky. Nnnnneeeeerrrrrrwwww. He says, his voice slowly falling in a low crescendo and then fading back away.

6:00pm — home for the week

Finally we spot the towers of New York — Land HO! — And we glide down to greet them. It looks cold out there. We descend. It looks freezing actually; I see there is snow still on the ground.

The hotel has an infinite number of stories and as I gaze upward, I realize it’s connected to the sky, and below, its shadow is blocking off half of Manhattan. Inside, the lobby looks straight up through the multitude of climbing stories; my feet echo like drips in a cave. It feels like a cave — big and stone.

10th floor is a long way to go with this suitcase. I couldn’t be farther from the elevator either. 1007 — down the hall, turn left, across the bridge down a long hall, turn right and there you are. No kidding.

I swing the door open. This is my home for the week.

8:00pm — situated, I call to let TLC that I have arrived

“Cecily! Hi! I’m here.”
“Good! You hungry?” She is the associate producer and my best friend through the whole trip.

Cecily picks me up and takes me to get food. We go to a funky vegetarian restaurant, surrounded by fire trucks and decked out in East Village dČcor. And here we meet up with Ben, one of the show’s editors. He’s a singer songwriter too — immediately we hit it off on a good note and talk about guitars.

Sunday

6:00am — The hotel phone pounds my brain like a fire alarm; so shocking and startling I can’t feel myself breathing. I lift the receiver.

“Megan, it’s Geowge,” even at 6 in the morning my friend George’s accent wins me over.
“S’up George,” I croak. It is good to hear him.
“In the lobby now.” He had come to NY from Boston to hang out with me for a little bit and to wish me luck for the upcoming days.

I jump in the shower, dress, and head down what seems like a never-ending elevator ride to meet my very sleepy friend. He had taken the midnight from the cozy streets of Chinatown in Boston to arrive here at 6am. And honestly, I don’t know how he did it; sure he slept on the bus, but still. Here he is, sleep deprived maybe, but chipper as always. And I tell you; it is good to see him.

8:00am — long awaited breakfast

10:00am — filming day number one starts

I always wondered how this worked: the first scene of this reality TV show entails having me haul my one gigantic suitcase to the studio. The rental car has dropped Cecily and me off at a subway station where we meet up with a one-man camera crew and our director the charming, and very British, Tracy.

“You’ll be coming from the subway,” Tracy explains. “You’ve arrived this way as opposed to taxi — it’ll be more interesting.”

I roll my suitcase down a couple of stairs; the sky starts to sprinkle. I reluctantly take off the jacket Cecily has let me borrow, rub my hands together furiously, and wait for the cue. And here it is:

“Standby,” Tracy says.

It is so cold. I feel my nose turning red and my ears going numb. I pull my scarf tight around my neck and my mind wanders off. What if I pull the scarf too tight and I die of suffocation; is that better than dying of cold? What would happen if I died of cold right now? Would TLC have to find a last minute replacement, or would they just cancel the filming today?

“And action!”

I tug my suitcase up the two steps and roll it past the cameraman. “Don’t look at the camera,” Cecily had told me “Just look like you’d look when you’ve got some place to be.”

This is all documentary style; my mind rolls it over like a sweet in my mouth. This is real life TV. There is no acting here, you just do it. Though, there are a couple of shots like these where we plan out what needs to be done, but they are brief and far between.

“Good. Let’s get that again, this time walk straight between Cec and I. That way you’ll stay in the frame.” Yeah, I could get use to this.

I am ready for my close up.

11:00am — the studio

The camera follows me into a cold building; the doorway is green so it’s easy to remember where it is. We go up a floor in a tiny phone booth of an elevator to the studio. This is where the non-shopping portions of the show will be filmed. Now, upon opening the glass door, I find myself in a rather large, but narrow room filled with naked, headless manikins. A forest of poses. They look as if they’re waltzing around the whirl of scattering dance steps left by busy people as prints on the tired wooden floor.

Though it is all just one big room, the studio seems as if it’s is sectioned off into pieces. This way they can film different “rooms” without going anywhere.

I am told to hang the contents of my suitcase on to a clothes rack in the middle of one of the sectioned rooms. They are filming me hanging up 20 t-shirts and 7 pairs of jeans. It’s embarrassing that my clothes are all the same kind of things.

12:00 noon — I meet up with Stacy and Clinton again, the first time since they surprised me in SF at a show to tell me I was chosen for the show. We sit down on a couch and they play excerpts from secret footage TLC had taken of me during a two-week escapade of following me around, disguising themselves, and being sneaky. I cringe as I remember my sister Lauren bringing home a camera “from school” for a “project” and she “needed to practice”, and yeah, whatever.

My face is turning red right now. There I am on screen waving my toe socks towards the lens. Clinton pauses the video.

“Eeew!” he says.

2:00pm — 360 degrees

They pick out 3 of my regular gigging outfits and have me move to the 360 degree mirror. This mirror is terrifying: a box in which you stand where you can view every possible angle of yourself. The front mirror in which I’m peering is two-way, the cameras behind, film my reactions.

I tell the mirror what I like about my three outfits, and why I wear them, and then Stacy and Clinton open the door and peer with me and tell me what they think†— which is usually much different than my opinion.

3:00pm — trashing time

It is now time for them to go through my wardrobe and trash what they don’t like. We stand in front of the clothes rack as I watch them fling t-shirt after t-shirt into the garbage, commenting on each one, telling the story of its flaws, condemning it to a life of second-hand clothing shops.

We film the whole process of each trashed item, though in the end we will only use a few minutes of each thing. This way they can take the best of the best parts and make it into an extremely well done show.

I fight over the “I (heart) Dorks” t-shirt (that they throw away) and comment about how the Converse sneakers are cool and comfortable. They hate the word “comfortable.”

I feel slightly as if they are taking me, not just the clothes, but me as well, my whole being and presence and throwing me away. I have been wearing these clothes for years and years and this change is definitely shocking to the system.

In the end I actually have a pang of relief — I can start fresh and anew.

We laugh. We argue. I make a deal with Stacy that if I try on some “non-embarrassing hang around at home wear,” that she will try on toe socks. We talk about why I wear these clothes on stage. I say I must be “approachable” and look friendly. They say I am in desperate need of their help. They are probably right.

I let them throw away everything they want to (which is practically everything I have). They leave me with just enough clothes so I can go shopping the next two days. Barely enough.

5:00pm — the manikins

Stacy and Clinton have set up three manikins for me. Dressed in style, these three headless gals are sporting the fashion in which WNTW would like so see me. Three separate scenarios: 1. Gigs — casual, yet funky, slim jeans, feminine tops, no cartoon characters. 2. Meetings — if I play the music thing right I will have numerous meetings with managers, record execs, etc. So, I’ll need to look professional. Funky. Confident. Hungry. 3. Awards — I didn’t think of any of these categories; you can blame What Not to Wear if you like, but I must say I’m flattered and encouraged by this category. Simple, yet elegant. A sexy effortless red dress with a melting crystal necklace, and a pair of stunning silver heels.

“Be honest when you tell them what you like and don’t like,” Cecily tells me behind the scenes.

I really get into it. Stacy, Clinton and I critique the manikins. They tell me why they’ve picked what they’ve picked and why it will work with me, my body shape, my attitude, and then I tell them what I think. For the most part I like it. I look at the heels.

“Um… no.”
“Come ON!” they chime.


I receive a Polaroid picture of each look to help me remember the rules and am told to go out and start shopping.

“Cut. That’s a wrap,” Tracy directs.

Monday

I actually have today off to explore. I had planned what I might do, but I end up sleeping in, hanging around the hotel playing my guitar.

3:00pm — I have been looking forward to this for a while. Les Paul is playing at the Iridium as he does every Monday night. Cecily and Ben said they’d take me.

It is amazing; Les is almost 90 years old, but he’s got a lovely stage presence. He and the guitar belong to each other. I am enjoying the concert and my slice of key lime pie immensely; I wish however Mr. Paul would stop (so blatantly) flirting with his woman double bass player. She is turning red in the face.

After the show I am told to go and sleep.

“Tomorrow is a huge day for you,” Cecily scolds, gives me a hug, and sends me off in a taxi.

Tuesday

10:00am — The crew and I arrive at the first store. They have picked out three appropriate places and tell me to go shop. This is the day I shop alone and where I try to abide by the rules of the Polaroids — oh NO! I have left the photos at the hotel!

I make my way through the first store telling the camera which rules I remember. I am encouraged to talk to the camera while shopping. The store is a funky little boutique looking store by the name of Anna Sui. At first I choke and gasp as I look at the prices on these pieces.

“You’re paying for the design,” the crew tells me, “not just the quality.”

These things better last forever at these prices.

The camera follows me around the store as I pick up things and comment on them. Eventually I have enough courage to start bringing things to the dressing room, try them on, then show the camera again.

“I feel like I’m part of Cirque du Soleil in this” or “this jacket is $500,” and “this is way too big… or is it supposed to do this?” and sometimes, “$200 for a shirt? Jeepers. I must have it.”

We do this for hours and I finely have picked out a bunch of things I like, but also of which I think Stacy and Clinton may approve… To my best recollection.

They film me as I hand over the $5000 credit card, and I cringe when I hear the total is nearly $800. I feel a swoop of guilt crash down over me like a wave. As we head to the next store I am told that we need to spend $3000 today. I sputter.

The next two stores are funky as well, and by the end, though I am completely exhausted, we all feel I’ve done a very good job. I have tried on things I never normally would even pick up. I even tried on a 25 pound leather jacket studded like scales with irregularly shaped bits of metal. I was told a woman from the TV show Sex in the City wore it. What I’d like to know is how that woman bent her arms.

9:00pm — We have shopped from 9:00am to 8:30pm. Cecily takes Ben and I out to her friend’s French restaurant. Again I am open-minded and try food that I’ve never even heard of before (just so long as it’s still vegetarian). I actually thoroughly enjoyed the goat cheese plate.

Wednesday

10:00am — shopping day two

It is my quest to spend the other $2000 today, but I am told that I will have the help of our hosts now. We are to meet up with Stacy and Clinton at 4pm.

I am at Jeffery’s, holding up a pair of stiletto heels, feeling very confused. Try on everything; this would make them so proud. My mind doubles up and I chicken out. I go to set the heels down.

“What are you doing?!” I am ambushed, they are early. I jump so far my feet have yet to hit the ground.

“Jeepers! You scared me,” I gasp. It’s Stacy and Clinton, who have come to the rescue. And boy, am I glad to see them.

“Ican’tfindanyshoestheyarealltootallandexpensive!” I whine.

I am led through the isles of shoes until our hosts have happily picked out:

“Baby heel!” Clinton says.
“Mommy heel!” Stacy says.
“And Daddy heel!” Clinton chimes stacking the third pair of shoes on the other two.

“What we’re going to do is give you ‘catwalk’ lessons.” They take me up and down a makeshift runway with the short heel, then graduating to the middle heel I start to feel more steady. I’m getting the hang of this.

But now it is time for the humungous heel. It is as narrow as a pencil and when I put it on it feels at least three feet tall. I tower above the store below; it feels cold up here. Windy. I sway to and fro. My knees feel week, my ankles weaker. Then, coming to the rescue again, Stacy and Clinton are my crutches.

“Whatever you do, don’t look down.”

After that quite exciting experience we are ready to move on to the next store. Ah, but not quite. I first must show them something!

Tracy, Cecily and I have planned that I would make them go through with our deal and try on the toe socks. I hand them some lovely striped toe socks — cameras rolling.

“C’mon down the catwalk,” I say, “I’ll be your crutches.”

12:00 noon — lunchtime

Clinton and I decide we need pie and hang a right to the Little Pie Company. Throughout the day I find myself becoming quite attached to everyone.

3:00pm — cupcakes

I have a sweet tooth 24/7. And only an hour after our pie, Clinton sees me drooling in the window of a famous cupcake bakery.

“C’mon, Megan, I’ll buy you a cupcake,” he says. I am such a bad influence and tell him how much he wants one as well. “I’m only a social cupcake eater,” I explain.

Stacy screams, “Argg! Clinton! Megan! Stop! You won’t be able to fit into your clothes!”

Thursday

I was told by TLC to keep a video diary of each day’s events. I set up the trusty little JVC they have supplied me, prop it up on some books and talk to the camera about my experiences. “Be honest and open; say everything you are feeling,” I was told.

Last night I told my camera I was excited about hair and makeup day. But scared. I told my camera that I had made great strides, I have tried on everything from stiletto heels to mini skirts, pukey colors, strange jackets, suits, dresses†— things I would never normally try, all because I was keeping an open mind. And I discovered that I can maneuver around in stilettos, I can still play a guitar in a mini skirt and even the pukiest of colors can look good when you try them on. This doesn’t mean I bought everything I tried, but the experience has opened my mind, and I have made great strides and the point to which I’m getting, Mr. Camera, is this:

Since I’ve been so good, there is one thing, just one little thing that I want to be not open to†— just for me — and it concerns tomorrow. I want to keep my hair color.

You can style it, shape it, cut it, take out my braids, you can condition it, and mouse it and shine it, but you cannot change the color, no highlighting, no dyeing. Zip. No. Nada.

“But,” I continued, “I feel like there’s going to be a lot of pressure.”

So, sure enough, today, there is a cameraman in front of me, one behind me (who I can see in the mirror), Nick the hair wizard on the right and Carmindy the makeup artist on the left and they are all closing in on me. It feels as if they are saying —

“If you don’t let us dye your hair, you won’t get noticed, you won’t get a record deal, you won’t get famous!”

I try to be firm and professional, “I completely see your point. But people know me as a hippie chick — there’s nothing natural about dying your hair. Every female in the limelight — if her hair is even remotely blonde†— someone dyes it. Why should I look like everybody else? Yes, yes, I see exactly what you mean, but once you start coloring your hair, it’s really hard to go back. Let me think about it. I can always change my mind sometime later.”

But it is their job to push. Their visions are masterpieces and I am tampering with them. So they try to get me to consent.

In the end I do the mature and sensible thing: I burst into tears. Right there on national TV. Good for you, Meg.

Guess what? They didn’t make me dye it.

2:00pm — Both Nick and Carmindy are sweethearts and I find they are not the villains that I had envisioned; they are nice, funny, and incredibly talented people. I watch myself transform in front of the mirror as I shed locks of hair and am taught how to correctly apply mascara. It’s amazing how just a little makeup in the right color can make me feel unblemished on those days I see more than I want to of my face. Flashy eyes for stage. Wow. No wonder this is on The Learning Channel.

6:00pm — It’s time to go and do some last minute shopping. I throw on my jacket, looking in the mirror of the bathroom and for a very split second I look in horror as someone is wearing my clothes!

Wait, that’s me.

A grin spreads across my face and I run to the car.

Friday

9:00am — this is the last day of filming. We are back at the studio. I am hiding from Stacy and Clinton and I am getting into my new clothes, ready to (hopefully) make my newfound friends and mentors proud. I hear Stacy calling my name from behind the curtains.

I have been practicing in the hotel room with these new boots and I glide through the room to meet them. I try to keep vertical as I spin around to face the mirror.

“SHUT UP!” Stacy screams. “Shut UP!”

I was facing them in the mirror wearing a deep red, almost purple Brazilian influenced shirt with a low v-neck line. “Sexy without being revealing,” Clinton says. A dark washed pair of well fitting, “straight-legged jeans — make your legs look longer,” Stacy says. No Converse, my feet are adorned with a sassy pair of camel colored knee high boots — embroidered at the toe, silky vines crawl over the ankle and up the shin. And to top it off, I tug at my favorite purchase: a well-fitted, pink leather motorcycle jacket.

“Our baby has grown up,” Clinton sniffles. I wag my tail happy to please them.

6:30pm — so long, farewell…

It is hard to say goodbye now. Why did I have to go and get attached to everyone? I was just starting to get used to this. I was just starting to be able to handle the cold, and figure out how much to tip the taxi drivers, and how to make Stacy and Clinton proud of me. All the good times we had†— and just like that, it’s over in a flash.

I give them both a heartfelt goodbye hug and walk away. Of course it’s the “on camera goodbye,” but I really am going home tomorrow, and they really are leaving for Chicago in less than 5 minutes.

“Please let us know how the reveal concert goes! With all the details!” they ask me. And just like that it’s over.

Saturday

8:30am — goin’ home

Back on the plane, Cecily, Tracy and I all have different rows, but we’re all happy because no one gave us a hard time about our over sized carry-ons: the gigantic Digibeta camera and my guitar. I’m watching “What Not to Wear” again on the way home.

2:00pm — I change into a new outfit in the Hertz bathroom. Cecily helps me with the makeup thing. Carmindy had left us with instructions so it was easier to know which shade of eye shadow went where and why.

We’re back in California, driving back to the little town of Tracy — home sweet home.

We park, and Tracy and Cecily tell me to stay in the car, while they tell my family and my band to assemble in the living room. I really can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.

“Standing by,” Tracy calls to me through the door. “And action!”

4:00pm — it’s good to be back

They were stunned. Completely. I was transformed. I will admit the toe socks were embarrassing, and the teenybopper jeans and Snoopy t’s made me look 13 years old. I now look 20. I now feel 20.

“Now, if you’d only act 20, we’d really have something,” my band chimes. It’s good to be back.

Sunday

5:30pm — the concert

The Red Devil Lounge in SF is one of my favorite places at which to play, so I’m glad TLC and the band set up the “reveal” there.

This is the day and the time where I get to see what my listeners think of the new Megan. I wait nervously back stage. Two of my most favorite bands had agreed to play the show with us, making the night a truly special time for me. The Mundaze are on now. Thirst will be up in 30 minutes.

I bob my knees up and down. Fritz the hair stylist is doing my hair. He’s a sweetie. I change in the bathroom.

10:00pm — and now…

Chris is announcing. He’s the soundman. “Yes, and now, Ladies and Gentlemen…” he’s playing it up. I have to laugh. I have to laugh because this is already the second time he has done the announcement.

See, for filming purposes, TLC is having us play my song “Too Bad You” three times. Announcement, walk on stage, play the song, say “Thankyewverymuch!” walk off stage. Repeat if desired.

It is a little uncomfortable, but the crowd keeps up their momentum and enthusiasm right up through the last chord. When it is over, John, one of my long-time best friends comes up to me, and echoing Clinton’s words, he says —

“Our baby’s grown up.”

Monday

2:00am — looking back

The night was pretty darned magical. I had made some good friends through the whole experience, and I’ll say right now, this couldn’t have happened at a better time in my career. Baby steps, but things are unfolding, things are becoming increasingly exciting.

2:00pm — I’m back home now. I’m sitting here at the computer thinking back at my week. What a week. Thinking how lucky I am to have experienced it, and how strange it is that I was so lucky to experience it.

I’ve also been thinking that out of all the opinions I’ve received, I still have one yet to get, and that’s mine.

And this is what I think:

I feel new. I feel refreshed. More confident with the way I present myself now. I was ready for the change. I finally look the part.

But, I miss my toe socks.

Wednesday March 17 • 10:07

mood: slightly overwhelmed, but content
song: the whistling part of the Lisa Loeb song about Dweezil’s sister

Did you know it is snowing in New York right now?

I can’t believe that. It’s 80 out here in CA. I had an ice cream cone the other day. Ian has officially moved back into shorts. People are buying bathing suits…

It’s going to be a hot one. Summer in March. Hmm. Usually winter kind of melts into spring and spring kind of shimmies into summer, all in modest tiny baby steps.

But, buds have already crept open on the scraggily trees out here, where the leaves explode free and wriggle in the air. The sun stays out a little longer each day — like it’s curious what nighttime looks like and it keeps trying to catch a glimpse of the moon. This is when we shyly start to wander around in tanks and shorts — go to the post office, do some shopping, walk the dog — our limbs, a piercing bright white color, feel free after being unexposed to the air for so long.

Yes, summer comes quickly.

Which is a real bummer, because I just bought this really cool sweater. Angora. It was $11. You just can’t beat that. (But, boy, will I have a story for you about my clothes in a week…)

Anyway, this month has been crazy. Very crazy, and slightly surreal. The band and I have been moving around a lot, but still sticking pretty close to home. Maybe you call that dancing: moving and staying in one place. I don’t dance very well; I think it comes with practice. It’s fun and weird to watch your own projects mature and take shape over time.

It feels like we’re making progress. I don’t mind baby steps… Sometimes, little, TINY, little baby steps. But, steps all the same.

Here are some good ones:

The day I ran into Ian at Music Go ‘Round in Modesto, he was sitting on a drum throne (duh.) My sister Lauren talked to him for a long time while I was trying to figure out about consignment for my Pirate CD. Not long after that, he asked if I needed a drummer.

Then, there was the day Ian brought Dave to practice because I had asked him if he knew any base players. Dave was so funny and nervous that day. He kept doing imitations of Pee Wee Herman.

I remembered we three asked to play Modesto’s Summerfest, though I was going to Germany on tour, so we had two weeks before I left to practice and one week after I came home. I remember how we didn’t play all that well… but we played the fest all the same.

Then there was the day Mike e-mailed — the band he was in and our band were supposed to get together and do a show. That never ended up happening, though we really tried to make it work. So, Mike just came over and jammed instead.

I remember how we all immediately like him. He joined our band.

We updated the web site, started a practice schedule, made a business plan, started playing San Francisco, got some radio play, played the GAMH…

Baby steps.

Each one gets you a little bit farther.

Yours,
megan

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