Inside my Closet: The Louis Vuitton Speedy Tale of Success and Style

Capturing Dreams: My First Milestone as a Music Photographer 

A shot I took of a female musician during an all-women’s jam session at a female led festival in Asheville in June 2022. That single image, later shared on the artist’s Instagram, caught the attention of a seasoned music photographer who ran a small production company in town. He tracked me down through the woman who organized the event, and one quiet afternoon, when the TV hummed and my heart was restless from weeks spent inside during summer, my phone rang.

When I picked up, I could barely contain my excitement. His voice was warm, professional, and full of possibility — a stark contrast to the drab walls of my old Asheville apartment, their color resembling TV static while his voice felt like technicolor returning to my life. He wanted to collaborate, to help me grow as a photographer. I remember the rush — that electric, full-body thrill that comes when a dream finally begins to take shape, when butterflies fly in your chest and air fills your lungs after holding your breath for too long.

It was the first real milestone in my creative journey.

That moment shaped the lens through which I see everything — from music to fashion, from light to texture. Whether I’m photographing a musician on stage or curating pieces in my wardrobe, I chase the same feeling: that spark of creative alignment. It’s the same philosophy that eventually inspired Inside My Closet — a space not just about clothes, but about self-expression and the art of becoming.

In this Inside My Closet story, it’s about the Louis Vuitton bag that became a symbol of hope — of cycles breaking, of a future I could finally call my own, of freedom and self-love.

From Small Venues to Big Moments: My First Major Show 

Through that veteran photographer, I reached my second milestone — my first major Asheville show. It was a yearly event, one of the city’s most beloved, a spectacle of sound and motion with crowds swaying, beer flowing, and linen skirts dancing in the heat. I can still feel the sun glaring against my lens hood as I darted from one side of the stage to the other, beads of sweat forming on my temples, my heart racing as the shutter clicked in rapid bursts. Shot after shot, moment after moment, I captured the musicians — voices raised, hearts open — while the crowd moved in rhythm below. I twisted and crouched, contorting into impossible angles just to catch the light right, to freeze time in a single frame.

The thrill was indescribable—the energy of the crowd, the raw talent on stage, the freedom I felt after leaving a dark chapter behind. After hours of editing, I messaged my new mentor with the final photos. His enthusiastic feedback brought a warmth to my heart that I hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, the coldness I’d carried started to melt, replaced by the glowing realization that I was finally living the dream I had long envisioned. 

I rose quickly in Asheville’s small but vibrant music scene, carving out a niche for myself with a unique artistic style that set me apart. My photographs of musicians were never just event shots—they were portraits, each one capturing not just the music’s energy but the artist’s essence. At my core, I was and still am a portrait photographer. I retired from music photography in November 2023.

I first discovered my love for photography in the fall of 2020 during what I now call Zoom Art School—the pandemic’s version of art education, complete with glitchy video calls and endless late-night projects. Back then, I had big plans to transfer to a BFA program with my sights set on RISD, the Rhode Island School of Design. The path seemed so clear: study art, refine my craft, and become the ultimate artist. 

But life, as it loves to do, threw a curveball. A personal matter forced me to drop out of Zoom Art School, and just like that, my dream unraveled. Was I devastated? Absolutely—for a moment. But did I let it stop me? Never. 

I kept creating, taking the self-taught route and turning it into my secret weapon. I experimented freely, made mistakes, and learned from every single one of them. By the time I found myself immersed in Asheville’s music scene, I realized I didn’t need a degree to call myself an artist. I was already living it—and I could make money doing it. 

It quickly became clear that music photography didn’t come with glamorous paychecks. But there was something electric about capturing the energy of musicians on stage—the flicker of spotlights, the raw passion of an artist lost in their craft, and the crowd’s collective pulse. That was my life: chasing decisive moments through my lens in dimly lit venues and roaring festivals.

Success in those days didn’t look like a corner office or a corporate paycheck. It looked like late nights spent editing photos, navigating egos, and building my name one shot at a time. It was tough, but it was mine. I wasn’t just taking pictures—I was proving to myself that I could succeed. 

Somewhere along the way, I decided to mark my success with something timeless and iconic: a Louis Vuitton Speedy 30. I carefully searched eBay for just the right one—authentic, classic, and in perfect condition for what I could afford. When I finally found it, a preloved beauty one month older than me, that Speedy 30 became more than a bag. It was a symbol of the milestones I’d worked so hard to reach. 

This isn’t just a story about a bag. It’s about how my career, independence, and a little savvy shaped the way I see success and celebrate it.

Finding Strength in a Male-Dominated Industry 

Working as a music photographer in a male-dominated field taught me more about resilience and empowerment than I ever expected. The late nights, crowded venues, and adrenaline-fueled shoots weren’t the hardest parts—it was navigating the subtle harassment and unwanted advances from men in the industry. I was chasing my dream, so I put up with it, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t genuinely scare me. I often felt like I had to walk a tightrope, balancing my ambition with the need to look over my shoulder. 

What kept me going was the dream itself—the fire I felt every time I nailed a shot, every time my work was recognized, and every time I proved that I belonged in that space. But it also opened my eyes to the harsh realities that women, especially young women, face when they’re financially vulnerable, such as dating men they otherwise wouldn’t have dated had they had their own money.  

The Cultural Shift: From Asheville to New York 

As a music photographer, I saw firsthand the temptation some women might feel to settle for men—not out of love, but out of financial need. In Asheville’s music industry, where hookup culture thrived, it became clear to me how easily someone could trade fidelity and respect for material security.  

One day, as I was wandering the aisles of Whole Foods, reflecting on my meteoric rise and the lessons it had brought, I had an epiphany. Fidelity, I realized, was more important to me than money. I decided I would rather marry a faithful man than a wealthy one. That clarity shifted everything for me. It reminded me why having my own career mattered so much—not just for financial independence but for the freedom to choose a partner out of love, not necessity. 

Having a career as a woman is about more than a paycheck. It’s about agency, dignity, and the ability to chart your own course. It’s about knowing you don’t have to compromise your values or settle for less than you deserve. My time in the music industry, with all its challenges, taught me that empowerment starts with choice and self-respect. Self-respect is self-love.  

Despite the challenges I faced, I kept showing up—for my career, for my dreams, and for myself. Each milestone I hit was a quiet reminder that I was building something real, something meaningful. And when you’ve worked that hard, sometimes you need to pause and honor it. For me, that moment came in the form of a Louis Vuitton Speedy 30—a timeless piece that felt like the perfect way to celebrate everything I’d achieved, and everything I was becoming. At the time, my career was booming and I had never had so much fun in my life. The pay was awful, but I genuinely learned a lot about myself and sharpened my creative eye which has served me well since returning to painting.

A Night to Remember: Stardust, Silk, and Recognition 

Fun often came in the form of late nights—dimly lit and crowded bars filled with the wail of guitars, dancing that felt like it was 1999, and intimate conversations in booths sticky with beer residue. I gravitated toward my job as a music photographer because I loved the magic of working nights, capturing the energy and chaos of live music with my camera. 

One breezy night in March, as my career started gaining momentous traction, was particularly unforgettable. Everything clicked. The music was electric, the crowd alive and the world felt like my oyster. That night was a rare night off and I wore a vintage Caché dress—a fiery red silk dress adorned with delicate roses, framed by sleek black panels. It was bold and romantic, perfect for a night of lively funk music, where people danced like the rhythm was their heartbeat, and the I was on cloud nine. Paired with my Sam Edelman platform heels—a Goodwill find—that dress felt like an outfit made of stardust. 

I went out for drinks with a friend and we ended up at our favorite venue where I took most of my pictures. I always looked forward to working there; the music was consistently incredible, the environment pulsing with energy, and the beer flowing as freely as the conversation. But that night, I wasn’t there to work. I was there to bask in the vibrant atmosphere I had spent so many nights capturing. 

As I floated across the room, it felt like everyone knew me. People stopped me to say hello, to compliment my work, to tell me how much my photos meant to them. The recognition was thrilling, maybe even a little intoxicating. For a few hours, I felt like a celebrity in a room full of people who were genuinely happy to see me. 

It wasn’t just the attention, though. It was the realization that I’d built something. My work had given me a place in this world—a place where my art was valued and where I was seen. Dancing in that dress, in a room full of familiar faces, I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging and joy. 

That night wasn’t just about wearing a beautiful dress or soaking up the recognition. It was a milestone—a moment when I felt the weight of my hard work paying off. It was proof that the late nights, the constant hustle, and the risks I’d taken were worth it. For the first time, I wasn’t just the girl with a camera; I was the artist everyone was talking about. 

The Louis Vuitton Speedy: My Iconic Milestone 

During Memorial Day weekend 2023, I decided it was time to celebrate myself with a Louis Vuitton bag. I found one on eBay from a seller in Japan.

When I finally held that Speedy in my hands, it wasn’t just a bag—it was a moment. A milestone. A piece of history that felt like it was mine. Audrey Hepburn carried this bag, and if that doesn’t scream timeless elegance, I don’t know what does. 

Why Celebrating Milestones Matters 

The Speedy wasn’t just a flex—it was a lesson. It taught me that luxury is about intention. It’s about celebrating how far you’ve come, not just about having the “it” item of the moment. Whether it’s a bag, a piece of jewelry, or even a really nice dinner, let your milestones reflect you. 

So, if you’re saving up for your own designer moment, here’s my advice: make it meaningful. Let it mark a win in your life, not just a swipe on your card. That’s what makes it truly iconic.