Author: hopelesscauseatelier

I am dying. Not literally (wait, I guess we all are), but I am in in the fact that Thursday was the end of New York Fashion Week. Throughout that previous week, I had been reminded every day with invitations to show and events (and secretly accepting them: 1. to stay on the list and 2. just in the case that I was able to fly out, I’d have my reason). AND…AND…to top it off, Isaiah got the latest Spiderman game with beautiful graphics of my beloved city. I kept trying to get him to be a tourist and web-sling to my favorite landmarks to really see how true to life the CGI is, but crime prevailed and he had to live up to the friendly neighborhood crime fighter. I know whine, whine, whine….but really it does call to my soul.

For those who read along consistently, I write about my NYC travels all the time and sometimes only in my dreams. I visited the first time in 2005 and I was hooked. It was Christmas. It was magical. I was constantly being stopped and asked questions because I was mistaken as a local. I had been told over and over that this city is rough, that people are rude, that it’s dirty and it stinks, and it’s too industrial. It inspires me. It re-energizes me. It reminds me that if you work your arse off you can achieve your goals.

Caught up in the in-crowd, now you’re in style
End of the winter gets cold, en vogue, with your skin out – JayZ

I love people watching while walking around Chelsea, or on Bleecker St, or on 5^th Avenue. I love running in Central Park and heading over to the Hudson Hotel to work out of the Commons (I guess it’s Unami Burger now) or sipping a cocktail on the rooftop (and even though they’ve taken it off the menu, I still ask for my Pink Slip and they always graciously oblige). The first time I stayed at the Hudson, I went out to the atrium after a morning run and as I sat there with a book and my coffee, I looked over and I found her sitting on a bench. She….is Our Lady of Guadalupe. It was a sign for me, that little bit of home.

I love praying in St. Patrick’s Cathedral and being inspired by the holiday department store windows. I enjoy high end dining as much as I enjoy the food trucks (incredible Halah Bros on Avenue of Americas and 51th) or a Gray’s Papayas’ hot dog. Every other week, I crave being that fly on the wall or walking in the buzz of people to see the most incredible street fashion especially in the fashion district or turning my head and seeing a celebrity walk into a building. I have been there during blizzards and the heat of the summers. I have found my brownstone on 67^th and Avenue of the Americas. I can always travel there on a budget and absolutely enjoy when I can show it to someone else for their first visit.

The city is not for everyone, but it is for me. I always wonder if I hadn’t received my first invitation to Fashion Week in September 2013 and an encounter with a woman, Dallas, who saw my future, would my life still have taken the same path? I realized that NYC really sings to my soul. There is so much intense energy that it can overwhelm many people. I feed off of it, but I can also see why so many people smoke in this city. The stress of making it there (because you can make it any where if you do) is heavy. So while it has it’s place on one end of the spectrum, I realized today that I also enjoy the other end, that of the Southwest.

A friend was visiting, and I met him for coffee when he asked if I wanted to walk around downtown. I work downtown, yet I really don’t spend a lot of time there. He asked why and I informed him there’s not much else besides coffee shops, eateries and bars. As I thought of about it, all my local shows up until this month’s show, have all been downtown: the Downtown Contemporary Gallery, the Verge Building, the Banque Rooftops and Hotel Andaluz, so there’s obviously a draw for me. I also looked at it differently for the first time. We had exploring different places, vacated locations, historic buildings, kitschy signs, and walking through alleyways (while trying not to breathe the ripe breeze) and again people watching (although the crowds were MUCH smaller than those I encounter in NYC).

After we toured Downtown ABQ and were glistening from the heat, I decided that he needed to see the vistas from my vantage point, my Jeep, so we headed west on Central. I stopped at a gas station, filled the tank, and then took him down Rio Grande. Jeez, I love that drive. The views are breathtaking, it’s so lush and green and it’s such a slower pace than the rest of the city. As the scent of roasting green chile filled the air, I teased him that I was going to take him to go pick it (to which after melting on the asphalt and concrete of downtown, he just stared at me…what can I say, I think I’m funny). We continued North to Alameda and I told him I was taking him to my hood. I grew up in the North Valley but more specifically Alameda. We took the road less traveled from Alameda Blvd to 4^th Street and eventually ending up on Highway 313 (funny, later I received a text from a friend, Sofi, telling me she saw me in the Jeep, it’s kind of unmistakable and I love that…oh that and probably my crazy hair). It was the perfect day for a Sunday cruise.

The breeze broke the heat and we talked about a few things, but really spent the time enjoying the views (his probably a little more eye catching than mine). We drove up the main drag in Bernalillo to Rio Rancho then driving back to the city through Corrales. Again, the road winding through the village was slow paced and beautiful and green. The fields were ready for harvest and we drove by several bustling eateries. I hope I convinced him how fun it is to enjoy a ride in an open-air jeep. A few hours after dropping him off, I met another friend to walk the Bosque. Walking the Bosque is so different than walking Central Park, but equally beautiful and just like New York, September in Albuquerque is my favorite time of year. Every day as I drive along Rio Grande and really paying attention to the beauty here, I’m reminded of a blog I wrote for Hotel Andaluz a year and a half ago and all the treasures the city holds. If you are interested in reading more, CLICK HERE.

I would love to reach the day I can spend my time equally in both NYC and ABQ, so for now I’ll incorporate both into my life, whether it’s bringing a little NYC to Nob Hill or taking a team from NM to NYFW. I’ll also cherish every fast-paced, high energy, soul feeding trips to NYC and I’ll appreciate the slow paced beauty of my own backyard.

I’m interested, what’s your favorite things about ABQ and/or NYC? Feel free to comment below.

With light and love,

Dara Sophia

“Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?” Bonnie Tyler

Last Saturday my friend, Edie, and I were waiting out the seasonal torrential downpour before heading downtown for the Somos Albuquerque event. As we were talking, we were interrupted by the news alert that Senator John McCain had succumbed to brain cancer. We stopped in our tracks and listened to the news that came in and the tributes as the reporters recalled their own memories and interviewed others close to the Senator.

“All of us can aspire to put the greater good above our own.” Barrack Obama

As an Independent voter, I have always respected and admired McCain, giving much thought in voting for him in the 2008 election until he chose his running mate. Over the past few days, and as more information was released about him, the more I respected who he was. I wept over moments when former Vice President Joe Biden, former Presidents Barrack Obama and George W. Bush and his own daughter Megan McCain eulogized him. I gained a deeper understanding about his time as a prisoner during the Vietnam War and the cruel acts afflicted upon him. I was taken back to when he was the Republican candidate for President and in a town hall when his opponent’s nationality was questioned. He took the microphone back and squashed the fear mongering. Some critics said he could have done more, yet he could have done nothing and perpetuated this delusional stereotyping. He also didn’t belittle the woman for her lack of information instead tried to inform her in her ignorance.

“It is not the critic who counts;
not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,
or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again,
because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;
but who does actually strive to do the deeds;
who spends himself in a worthy cause:
who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,
and who at the worst, if he fails,
at least fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls
who neither know victory nor defeat.” Theodore Roosevelt

Even in his last note, McCain spoke of his imperfections, believing in the ideal of something greater than self, gratitude for his FULL life, and a connection to America’s ideals, “liberty, equal justice, respect for dignity of all people”. And through these tributes, though his own words, I was reminded of another individual that had profoundly impacted who I am.

This person is my maternal grandfather, Samuel Alfredo Romero, my grandpo. While I only had him physically present for my first 24 years, there is so many ways he shaped the woman I am and what I believe. Born in 1924, in Northern New Mexico to a family of 12 children. I don’t know much of his younger years, I do know he was one of the older middle children. A history buff like him, I’d eat up the tiny morsels he’d share (or actually my grandmother) about his time serving in World War II. He first started on the European campaign as a paratrooper in the Army until I was told, that his older sister begged him to be reassigned to another role. Not talking much about what he saw in war, I heard more of his tales riding on a motorcycle through the Austrian countryside in which he said reminded him of his beloved Northern New Mexico. He was a Sargent in the 86^th Infantry Division of the 452^nd Inf Reg, known as the “Black Hawks” (thank you Nick Layman for helping track down this information).

He went on to fight in the Asian forces until he returned and on the G-I Bill went to Highlands University getting a degree in Social Science while working as a mechanic in Las Vegas, NM (next time you visit Las Vegas and stop to eat a towering cream puff at Spic and Span Bakery, look out the window and you’ll see a little white building–this was the old mechanic shop he worked at). He met his future wife at the bus stop in front of that shop. Funny, they knew each other as my grandmother was friends with his sister, but he was a few years older. After they married, they moved to Santa Fe. He worked for the State of New Mexico in the Health and Human Services department. He was known for his silent strength, courage, honest and good nature (with six strong, stubborn women in his household—you’d have to be good natured).

“I wanna take a minute or two, and give much respect due to the man that’s made a difference in my world.” Salt n Pepa

I was not born Dara Romero. I was given the opportunity to change my name during my divorce and I chose the sir name Romero. From an early age, he taught me to be self-sufficient. I knew my ins and outs around a car. I could change my tires, oil, the fuel pump just to name a few. I learned that I am not a victim in my own life, while I might not be able to control what others do and what what happens around me, I do have the power to control my response to it. We shared a love of history and a deep love of family. While not someone who was touchy-feely when it came to sharing his emotions, you definitely knew you were loved because of his actions. I could always count on him. He was also tough, believing that hard work was the only way to achieve greatness and not on the backs of others. Those values were instilled in all of us at an early age. There were times when he pounded the table to get our attention and my grandmother would teasingly tell him to stop it. He would often tell me, “Aca muchachicita” to get my attention in asking, “what did I do”.

He died on Sunday, July 27, 1997. He suffered a massive heart attack during mass in Mora, NM . I was not there, but remember receiving the call as the ambulance took him to Las Vegas, NM. On my way from Albuquerque, I had U2’s Pride in the Name of Love on repeat.

I played this song over and over during that trip as it reminded me, “What more in the name of love?” It was the way he lived his life. We arrived and shortly after he was pronounced deceased. I was honored to help write his obituary and to recite a poem at his burial. I still think of the day he was buried on the mountainside of our family ranch next to my mom. It rained all morning and the hill side burial ground became both slippery, while creating extra weight on the processioners walk to due to the clay based soil. We all thought, “of course he had a hand in the weather, he wanted his pallbearers carrying his casket–who were made up of my uncles, my brother, my cousins and a few of his nephews—to work as men should.”

I still see him in my children, Cati in her love of the outdoors and artistic abilities (his folk art painting of his Las Cruces home hangs on my bedroom wall). While Isaiah never got to physically meet him, he carries on his name. I am reminded of my grandpo all the time when I see Isaiah. He is the silent strong type and that is willing to do whatever for his family. Physically he has the same curly dark hair and sturdy body frame. I see my grandpo in my work ethic, in how I value relationships, and in how I speak up for the wronged. He and his life experiences have even influenced my design aesthetic.

Witness to the world’s atrocities, one can be crippled by it, become a victim to it, or rise above it and see that there is good in the world if we each take a role to focus on creating that good. To read all the disparaging, divisive and threatening comments and see corresponding actions in recent years, to what has become the social norm, it is refreshing to be reminded of courage, integrity, humanity and valuing our differences in the hopes that it is a world we can continue to embody in lieu of burying it with our lost heroes. I hope both men and women of valor will rise up to the challenge.

“See you in the funny pages…” Samuel A. Romero

With light and love,

Dara Sophia ROMERO

Since getting my jeep back, I’ve been driving along Rio Grande as my preferred route to work in the mornings and in the evenings back home. After a night of rain, the morning route is filled with the sent of sweet alfalfa and lavender…these are probably the few scents that I actually enjoy in my open air vehicle. It is a serene ride beautifully lush with my ear buds playing my preferred music for the drive and it is less stressful than taking the freeways. The wide-open spaces, sprawling estates, windy roads, wildlife and fields filled with sunflowers and gardens remind me of my family ranch in Northern New Mexico and how my youth summers were spent with my maternal grandparents going back and forth between Northern and Southern New Mexico. We’d spend our time in the mountains exploring, hiking, playing games and helping around the ranch. The 8-hour trips across the state included bits of history New Mexico and our family’s, dreaming and asking over and over, “are we there yet?”

“With great power comes great responsibility.” Uncle Ben

You’ve probably heard my original dress story (my O.D. story — did you think I was talking about drug use? Really, wow?!? – well, since I’ve got your attention…). I’m speaking of my origin story in this crazy world of fashion. We all have them: where we came from, who inspired us or taught us lessons, how we came to love and find meaning in who we are and what we do… Just think of Peter Parker, being bitten by a radio active spider that pivotal moment when he went from a high school student to neighborhood crime fighter. Whether intentional or not these defining moments have impact on the rest of our lives, with great power comes great responsibility. As I’ve mentioned before it started with my grandmother, Catalina, who taught me how to sew in middle school.

It was more out of necessity than a hobby, but I found I loved it and initially tried to follow the path in fashion but unfortunately, there were some road blocks. That was until I had a conversation with a man who challenged me once again to design over almost 30 years later. That was in May of 2014. I started small just designing for myself and once again returning to my grandma to remind me of the tricks and providing tips to make it work. I was very fortunate that I got to spend a few months that summer under her roof and under her tutelage again. It was a difficult summer losing my home, but it was important lesson in family. I am always reminded how she embodies that.

My grandma turns 89 this year. Don’t let her small stature in this above photo delude you. When it comes to faith, family and adventure she is bigger than life. I was her first grandchild and I tell every one of my cousins and my brother (oh and my kids), that I’m her favorite which makes her smile (because it’s true). I spent so much time with her growing up. Grounded in faith, she raised a family of 5 girls and 1 boy (my poor uncle Sam, who is also the youngest). Many of my childhood memories were in the kitchen where she was making meals. There were always homemade tortillas and I remember clearly that as she rolled them out, she would always hum a tune (it is such a cool trait that my daughter, Catalina, picked up on). Holidays are always family affairs, generation after generation would descend upon her home in Las Cruces and now in Albuquerque. People would always ask, “are you having tamales and posole for the Christmas dinner”, in which she would respond, “No, that’s an everyday meal. We have the traditional turkey and ham with all the fixings.”

I always saw her as the neck of the household. While the traditional roles always played out in the Romero home, with my grandpo as the head, she could “turn the head anyway she wants”.

My grandmother was always my intermediary when my mom and I didn’t see eye to eye. Always, preferring a peaceful resolution until she had enough and set everyone straight. Recently doing this at my son’s graduation when his dad was disrespectful and a few months later, when a couple of her own adult kids were ill-mannered toward her brothers. When my mom was riddled with cancer, her and my grandpo moved out here temporarily to be at her side and care for her. A year after my mom died, she had to bury her husband of 45 years. A few years later she moved from Las Cruces to Albuquerque with my aunt, Lisa, to be closer to the rest of her kids. And when I’m lucky, I get to see her in the front row of my shows.

It wasn’t until I was older that I learned of her life before creating her own family. I realized that she had dealt with her own adversity growing up. Her father was a farmer and they lived off the land. Also, after centuries of her ancestors living in Northern NM, and a history of growing up speaking Spanish, she was discriminated against because of it. Sadly, because of it, her children didn’t learn Spanish in the home. She also was adventurous. I realized I get my sense of travel and adventure from her. My grandmother was a waitress early in her life working primarily in Las Vegas, NM. However, she had a stint as a Harvey Girl. What’s that you may ask? They were young, single, intelligent and women of good character that waitress-ed for Fred Harvey Hotels along the railroad lines in the “wild west”.

Mr. Harvey wanted travelers to eat well. He is credited with providing good, wholesome food in a hurry. He knew passengers had 30 minutes to get off the train, eat, and get back on the train. He was successful because the railroad workers stayed in touch with the restaurant via the telegraph, so each Harvey House knew if a train was going to be late, and approximately how many hungry people they would have to feed. During World War II, they served troop trains, often filling every nook and cranny with hungry soldiers. Each waitress was trained in the way the Harvey House operated, and signed a six-month contract to work at a particular restaurant along the railroad line. At the end of six months, they could apply to work at a different location or stay at the current one. (from https://recollections.biz/blog/harvey-girls/)

My grandma spoke of working in Las Vegas, NM, Winslow and Grand Canyon, AZ. These women defined hospitality and the customer experience, perfectly appointed in a Victorian style of dress. She wore a crisp white dress with the black western bow tie. When I see her photo, in uniform, I look at it in awe–such a classic look.  And it reminds me that she’s always had this style about her, impeccable to this day. She and my great aunt, her older sister, Simmie worked as Harvey Girls for a number of years. My grandma recounted seeing Frank Sinatra and Judy Garland and serving Tony Curtis (although, she wasn’t a fan of the later—she said he was a jerk).

You have to reflect on where you’ve been to understand where you are going.

As I reflect on the past three years under Hopeless + Cause Atelier, I’ve realized the woman I’ve become and how it has shaped the brand. It is a brand that understands the beauty in nature and the delicate process of craftswomanship; valuing those around you who have shaped you to who you are today either by being incredible role models or teaching you life’s lessons; and understanding that you have to reflect on where you’ve been to understand where you are going. So, I’ll leave you with this, what’s your original dress story? What is the spark that inspired you? Maybe it’s been doused and needs rekindling? And if you need time to reflect on it, then I highly suggest a drive down Rio Grande, but try not to do it all at once, I don’t want the traffic congestion. ?

With light and love,

Dara

Have you ever read the series of books, Shopaholic, by Shophie Kinsella? I started reading them after I finished my undergrad education and reading books like Wuthering Heights, The Jungle, the history of America and statistics. They were a nice escape from academia and a light read. At times, I could relate to the main character Rebecca Bloomwood and her experiences with money. Totally awkward and embarrassing situations revolved around shopping and money mismanagement, but some how she always seemed to barrel through with innovative business ideas, job opportunities, oh and a millionaire beau. It was total fluff.

I grew up in the opulent and excessive 80’s, however, on the flip side. My parents divorced in 1983 and my mom returned to school full-time and working work-study at UNM. We learned of feast and famine. The beginning of the month was when she got paid. After all the bills were paid, she stocked up on groceries, which we enjoyed until mid-month when two young children would have eaten through the stash. Many times, she relied on support from my grandparents or on USDA commodities distributed at our local parish.

My first summer job was babysitting my 5 cousins between the ages of 1 and 10 years. It paid $150 per week and at the time I thought it was a million dollars. Every week, I used what I earned to pay for what I wanted and needed, not giving thought to putting some away for a rainy day. I moved on to working for a small manufacturing company throughout high school and early years of college. I decided that it was too much to balance college and work so I opted for the later. I got married in my early twenties and started a family. I was hired on full-time and worked in corporate America for 16 years. It was challenging. I was paid well and there were numerous benefits including a 401K, health benefits, and tuition reimbursement. It was easy to put money away and build a future while doing work I loved. I took advantage of the tuition reimbursement and returned to school. This time eager to learn. The nature of the work wasn’t entirely stable, so it was important to add to my resume additional education. I was the breadwinner in the home, never giving thought of not spending on wants. It was the height of “Real Housewives” and “Keeping Up with the Joneses” or actually the “Kardashians”. We lived beyond our means and I didn’t say said “no” when pushed about where the money went by my then husband asked. I also wanted to make sure my kids had all the things I didn’t have growing up…what a slippery slope?!? We traveled. We shopped. I gave generously to charity. I invested in luxury items and high-end brand names. It seemed a new vehicle would drive into our garage, every couple of years. While stressed, I knew things would always work themselves out. I think back to some of my shopping habits now and I laugh when I think, who needs 18 Fiestaware place settings. I’m still burning through my stockpile of Candlelite candles. The one thing I did cherish investing in was Louis Vuitton hand bags. I know this is going to sound super materialistic, but hear me out. I would buy a tote or bag once it came out and resell it a few months later for a profit, for example I bought a Monogram PM Neverful at $650 when it first came out, used it for 9 months (with great care) and resold it for $900. I think I missed out on something?!?

“Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.” Elizabeth Gilbert

When I was laid-off, I wasn’t entirely concerned. I knew if I worked hard I would find the next role that I could make a living from. However, as the rest of the country was coming out of the recession, New Mexico was still in the midst of it. I had the idea to follow my love of fashion and invest in a retail boutique (this was during the time that major layoffs and government shutdowns were happening in our state–not the best business move). I cashed out my 401(k) and invested half of it in the store and used the other half to help with expenses in the home until I could get to a place that we would become profitable. It didn’t. Not only did I lose out on bringing an income home (I estimated it was about $105,000 of household income that I could have generated if I had a paid position during this time), but because of the lack of my income, we had to give up our home. I also personally took on additional debt (securing loans my aunt and a friend over $15,000) to try to salvage the store, and I had been reduced to asking for money in my own household. Once the breadwinner, I had to ask for $7 to go to yoga (my only self-care during that period) every week. I was lucky when I was given $10 for coffee afterwards. I learned some valuable lessons during this time. I now understood the value of money. I had a great lesson in material things especially clothing and living beyond your means. I was also taught at the end of the day, no matter the relationship, I would need to care for myself.

After the store closed, I went on to do consulting work. Still working on my passion project of bespoke fashion, I opted not to jump in head first this time but to do it very thoughtfully and for the right reasons. I would fund it with my own earned income to make it sustainable. Hopeless + Cause Atelier started to get noticed. I had a few friends and family members who really saw my talent and supported me. However, I think the toll of it all had but an unrecoverable strain on my marriage (that and other issues). As my marriage was ending, I found a consulting role that paid a livable wage. I was not only able to do something I was skilled at, but I also was able put money aside into retirement again and take care of myself and my kids. However, I was still living paycheck-to-paycheck, and didn’t have a rainy-day fund. I also realized that I had become a single mom. While my kids were both 18 years and older, their needs didn’t stop. They were both in college full-time and trying to work part-time. My priorities for them are to get college education with as little student debt as they can, and to make sure they felt safe and secure during this transition time for them. As life happens, my daughter was in two car accidents within two months, my son had college expenses that weren’t covered by scholarships, but needed to be paid until we could figure out what student aid was available. I had car problems and legal issues that needed to be resolved, and the basic household expense responsibilities. Once again, I had to access my retirement savings to make sure these things were taken care of. Then my role ended, and I really didn’t know what to do.

After everything, I know there is a reason to be on this journey.

I had a couple of months of income instability, until I landed my next role with another non-profit. I swear the universe enjoys challenging me and taking me out of my comfort zone. I was hired on to support innovation and technology with a well-known non-profit working with New Mexicans to remove barriers and provide opportunities to stability and asset building. What does mean? At the core, it is empowering them to understand and build their own financial futures. The first few weeks were rough. I focused on learning about the average American and realizing all the studies could have been about me. I learned:

A 2016 Federal Reserve Board study showed that nearly half of all Americans (46%) could not afford an unexpected $400 expense unless they borrowed money or sold assets. Research from a Consumer Financial Protection Bureau report shows:

– 24% of all workers admit their personal finances have been a distraction at work;
– 40% of employees want help achieving financial security; and 
– 81% of workers say worries about financial problems have affected their productivity.

Financial woes lead to stress, health issues, relationship issues, and risky behaviors. This one is the kicker, according to one of the studies I read, “individuals have admitted to lying to family and friends due to the lack of money”. I think of the number of times I’ve asked to reschedule lunch or dinner dates citing, “something has come up” because I either was trying to conserve my gas or didn’t have the funds for a night out. And, it’s expensive to be poor. I went three months without a stable income, I tried to stay on top of my bills as much as I could however I did have to pay my rent late which meant approximately an additional $100 I didn’t have. Luckily, I had a guardian angel or two looking out for me and my kids. I think that is why I’m been so motivated to get this new role working in the community. Finances are not something we normally talk about—there is shame involved. We see on social media how perfectly curated life is…beautiful meals, exquisite travel destinations, laughter with friends and family and posed looks. And I’m not saying we shouldn’t focus on the good, but it’s not always real and for some it’s plain depressing to not feel like their life is living up to that bar. Just this week, I read about the Colorado man who allegedly killed his pregnant wife and two daughters and the details speculate how their life wasn’t as beautifully curated as it was portrayed on Facebook (which if it is all true, is horrific).

This blog has been ruminating around in my mind for quite some time, not sure I wanted to give it to the light of day, but recently, I’ve been talking with and hearing from friends who have had or are having their own financial struggles, especially women. I have a friend who had all the lavishes of life, but chose to no longer be lied to and devalued by her spouse. After 20 plus years of being a stay-at-home wife and mother, she is on her own, trying to rebuild her credit to buy a home, working full-time so she can create a nest egg, and most importantly to have health benefits. I had another conversation this week with a friend who shared her struggles as a single mother reminiscing of eating beans and green chile when times were tight. Her daughters now are professionals in the health field. Another dear friend is tending tables because of her student loan debt and struggling to find a full-time position with a masters degree. What I’ve learned is that while more women are college educated and are taking on debt at the same rates of men, they actually make less when they hit the job market (typically, $0.72 on the dollar unless you are a woman of color, then it’s much less), so taking home less. Ultimately, they have less to put away for rainy days or retirement savings. So, I believe it is important–we need to talk about it, and support each other if it’s only to say, “you’re not alone.”

Once again, I have started saving again (small amounts since I am still trying to get back on my feet). I do side gigss in writing and PR/Marketing to provide extra income. After everything, I know there is a reason to be on this journey. I’ve learned what to value. I thrift and I create (my latest KRQE segment, I didn’t have anything to wear, so I made it, LOL). My only excess expenditures are experiences and primarily travel, however I look for the deals and try to tie it to business whenever possible. I almost didn’t host my annual fashion show charity fundraiser this year. However, I decided to do it much more intimately because I figure if I raise a few hundred dollars than that will be a few more home bound and special needs neighbors that will get the care they need. And again, I rely on my tribe to make it happen with models, beauty team, production and photographers volunteering their time (you can learn more about it by visiting www.HopelessCauseAtelier.com/events). I also realized what a gift this has all been. I have truly understood the value of personal finance and creating opportunities for myself, but also hopefully for others through the work I do. If nothing else, it will help someone else understand that they are not alone and there are ways to improve your financial outcomes.

With light and love from a material girl, but one who now creates with it and no longer lives for it!

Dara Sophia