![]() ![]() ![]() The concept was both convenience and strength in numbers. Named Team, it was an agency that represented artists who worked, in one capacity or another, in the photography and advertising industries. And somehow, along my merry way, I had also cofounded a company. ![]() As a beautician who specialized in commercial photography, I had spent most of the last decade trigger-happy with a can of hairspray and a powder puff. I had a career that people who didn't know better might consider glamorous. Īt least workwise, things weren't so shabby. The call certainly felt routine at the time, but we don't always know our Rubicon when it rings. A weeklong hair and makeup job for IBM in Barcelona, it had the allure of an escape from the drab and drear of mid-March Provincetown. Neither the caller nor the subject matter was by any means unusual - it was the Boston - based agency that represented me, giving me my newest assignment. In my particular case, that life-changing phone call came early one wintry Cape Cod day - early enough that my roommate, Kate, and I were still cheerfully ensconced in our morning routine of Peet's coffee, PJs, and Rosie O'Donnell. However, now I know better: sometimes you really can trace it all back to a phone call. I've always thought the use of a ringing phone to symbolize the onset of great personal change was a cheap plot device, and a gross oversimplification of the various factors that inspire human metamorphosis. ![]()
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