LA, NYC, Chicago: Cities That Raised Me, Hustles That Shaped Me
People always ask me where I’m from. Technically? The south of France. A charming place with great wine, suspiciously slow Wi-Fi, and absolutely zero tolerance for ambition that involves spreadsheets. So naturally, I left.
I was raised—professionally, emotionally, and in several unfortunate fashion phases—by three cities: LA, NYC, and Chicago. Think of them as exes. LA was hot but high-maintenance, NYC was brilliant but yelled a lot, and Chicago? Chicago made me soup when I was sick and then ghosted me for someone in finance.
Together, they made me who I am: a hopeless romantic with a business plan, a laptop, and mild trust issues with public transportation.
LA: The City of Juice Cleanses and Career Ghosting
Los Angeles taught me that success is 70% aesthetics, 20% manifestation, and 10% pretending to be unbothered while refreshing your email for that one brand deal.
I came for opportunity, I stayed for the lighting. There’s something deeply spiritual about pitching a startup idea to someone wearing $400 yoga pants while they casually mention their “energy healer.”
Did I fall in love? Yes. With at least three baristas and the idea of outdoor dining. Did it last? No. But at least I got a good tan and a minor caffeine addiction out of it.
NYC: Where Your Dreams Either Come True or Chase You Into a Subway Car
If LA is the city of dreams, NYC is the city of “What have you done today that matters?” I arrived with a suitcase, ambition, and one functioning AirPod. I left with debt, character, and a surprisingly strong tolerance for rejection.
In New York, everything is a competition. Even bagel orders feel like a test of willpower. But it taught me how to move fast, think faster, and somehow fall for someone who lived in Brooklyn despite knowing I was too lazy to cross the river.
Love was chaotic. Business was brutal. And brunch required a reservation booked three weeks in advance. But still—something about the skyline always made me think maybe this is the one.
Chicago: The Underrated Middle Child with a Killer Personality
Chicago doesn’t try to impress you. It just hands you a deep dish pizza, slaps you with a wind gust strong enough to take your dignity, and dares you to stay. And I did. For a while.
Here, people work hard, smile more, and don’t care how many followers you have unless it’s on Yelp and involves tacos. It was the first place I slowed down—where I could walk through a neighborhood without being pitched a startup or a personal brand. Refreshing, honestly.
I had my most stable situationship here. We shared hoodies, playlists, and one extremely traumatizing IKEA trip. It didn’t work out, but I still think about her every time I see a well-organized bookshelf.
So, Where Am I From?
Born in the south of France. Raised by three cities that don’t speak softly or take naps.
LA taught me to dream big and moisturize. NYC taught me to show up—even if no one claps. And Chicago reminded me to shut up, eat carbs, and feel something.
These cities raised me. The hustles shaped me. The heartbreaks gave me personality. And now I carry it all—along with two passports, five business ideas, and a desperate hope that the next city will come with a great coffee shop and a woman who actually replies to DMs.