How to Survive Amsterdam pt. 2
It’s been almost six months since I moved to Amsterdam, and at this point, I was homeless, overworked, and ready to give up and leave.
In parts two and three, we visit a new set of emotions: lust, hedonism, vulnerability, and inspiration.
However, it's not all rainbows and butterflies in this city.
- Deel Twee - Part Two -
At this point, I had been living in Amsterdam for a few months. Undoubtedly, I was burnt out with everything I’ve told you so far. Life really tests you in your twenties. Your twenties are for figuring out which path to take, what career you should pursue, whether you should start a family, how to go from earning nothing to earning your way to success, experimenting with sex and love, partying and socializing, learning how to say yes, learning how to say no, learning from your mistakes, making new friends, saying goodbye to old ones, outgrowing old habits, and creating your own sense of style and beliefs.
I had just lived in Berlin for almost four years. Before Amsterdam, I would say I was a hedonist—a confident pocket rocket who felt more than comfortable in my own skin. I celebrated love, sex, and liberation. I took every opportunity that came my way, making myself known to the world. I would say yes to trying everything once. After all, I packed up and moved overseas, and now here I was, building a career, studying, and learning how to live in a different country.
My time before studying in Amsterdam was fulfilling, mature, and open-minded. There was no one in Berlin to judge my decisions. I could do whatever I wanted. No one back home would know. It was liberating. However, [moving to Amsterdam] at this point, I felt like I had regressed.
I felt I was being treated like a school kid rather than an adult at my college—never taken seriously. I stood out in my class, not only because of my accent but also because I had much more life experience.
I didn’t have much in common with the rest of my classmates, who were all really young and fresh out of high school. Some even still lived at home with their parents. Despite this, I did manage to create some really nice friendships with a few classmates.
Thankfully, Fatou had a room available in her apartment. I moved in in the far west of Amsterdam and lived with three Dutch flatmates, one of whom was Fatou. The other two were very different but similar to each other.
My beautiful classmate, friend and roommate Fatou on her 20th birthday in our apartment.
Nils didn’t work, produced music in his bedroom, never washed his dishes, and I’m pretty sure he was just snorting speed the entire time I lived there. He was a very odd character with big dreams but spent all his time in his bedroom indulging in music and dr*gs.
The other flatmate, Jeroen, was a salesman who loved football (and Ajax), partied on the weekends, and did a lot of speed. He never made an effort to speak to me and mostly ignored me around the house, speaking only Dutch. He had a nice girlfriend, and they loved to party and go to techno events. Fatou was a sweetheart—open-hearted, wise, and friendly. She was four years younger than me but a really nice classmate and friend.
I felt like, at this point, I finally had both feet on the ground. Fucking finally.
Some of my best party days were in Amsterdam. Although I didn’t particularly like my chapter there, I still have fond memories. DGTL weekend in April 2019 was one for the books, especially with my close friends Jeanne and Shane, who were visiting from Berlin.
I managed to get on the guestlist through a work contact. It was a sunny 25-degree Saturday, and I stormed into Shane and Jeanne's room at Soho House Amsterdam. They were both hungover and still asleep in bed. I plugged in my phone and started blasting a Denis Sulta set. "Get up, b*tches, we are on!" I managed to peel Shane out of bed (who was the most hungover) dressed ourselves, had a shot of Pfeffi, and headed to the festival.
They already had tickets, so I went to the guest list office. With a huge smirk on my face, I told the girl at the desk, “Hey, I’m on the guest list. " I told her my name, to which she responded, “You’re not on the list.” It was a classic stitch-up.
Frustrated and stressed, especially since the festival was sold out and no tickets were available, I called my colleague, who had put me on the guest list. “Who’s the name on the guest list?” I asked. “They’re saying I’m not on there.” As I said the name of the festival owner, I made sure to pronounce it correctly [at the time, I didn’t realise he was so important]. The girl behind the desk overheard me and, without hesitation, reached into the wristband box and pulled out a flashy holographic “access all areas” pass. I hung up, and she said, “Oh, sorry, you must be one of his plus-four guests.” Who knows? But what I do know is that the wristband went on my wrist. We’re in, baby.
On a roll, I cheekily said, “Oh, my friend Jeanne is also on the guest list,” the girl, oblivious to the mistake, gave Jeanne a backstage pass as well! Can you believe it? The confident, sexy girl was back! I felt like myself again after a soul-crushing six months in Amsterdam.
We charged into the main stage on this stellar sunny day, having the time of our lives. Unfortunately, Shane went too hard too early and had to go home after two hours. Haha, I’ll never forget that. Jeanne took the silly idiot home, and I rode solo, dancing on the stage, slinging free drinks backstage. I truly felt liberated, like I was back to my old life.
The next day was day two of the festival. I had only organized the guest list for the first day, but I told Jeanne and Shane, “Guys, I think I can wing it again and get another backstage pass. Just trust me on this one.”
I pranced up to the box office, and luck was on my side. The same girl from the day before was working. I said, “Hey, me again! I should be on the guest list for today.” The girl completely went along with it, and the next thing I knew, I had ANOTHER access-all-areas wristband on my wrist! It was just one of those unplanned weekends for the books.
I enjoyed going to work at Soho House Amsterdam every second day; it was a break from the fast-paced, high-pressure environment of studying and exams. I could be myself for 9 hours and socialise with the members. I was really shining in the company.
I knew their service inside and out and could do it with my eyes closed. I didn’t have to think or even try—it just came naturally to me. I had worked in two Soho houses so far and have received four promotions.
I started in Berlin, 20 years old, as a cocktail-virgin bartender, knowing only two cocktails. Now, I knew a “bible” of house cocktails, all the classics, the operations of the floor and bar, events, and Cecconi’s (the Italian restaurant downstairs). I learned every aspect of food and beverage and now supervised the club team. I achieved 100% on mystery shop reports and completed all the tasks delegated to me. I must thank Kostas; he supported me and taught me all the management tasks.
As part of my role as supervisor, I trained new team members and created onboarding programs and content. We were building the team, and I played a big part in that. This job kept me sane. It helped me validate that I am a hard worker and that my work has value. It drove me to believe the same will happen in my fashion career.
In the midst of all this progression, I also had another female manager who became my mentor—Lauren. We built a great relationship and became good friends. She seemed to support my progress. Favouritism plays a big role in this company, but the plan was always to graduate and leave Soho House. We all knew that was the plan.
As the end of our study year approached, it was up to us to find our own internships. One day, Jason Denham, a guest of a member at Soho House, happened to be visiting, and by pure coincidence, I was working that shift and served him.
I told Jason, “I know you, I know your brand. We met in Australia almost eight years ago when I was working as a Womenswear Manager at Gluestore. We met at your product night.” I introduced myself and told him I was actually in Amsterdam studying at Jean School because I love fashion and denim. Funnily enough, he remembered me too. He was really impressed. Being the opportunistic, confident girl I was, feeling good after my social outings, I asked if I could intern for him.
There were 17 students in our class, and each one of us had to find an internship to complete our studies. It was quite competitive since companies would only take on one intern. The better the company, the better your chances of landing a good job post-internship. I was absolutely stoked that Jason took me on as an intern in the Product Development team at Denham the Jeanmaker.
My internship was a fantastic foot in the door. Although, I still can’t fathom how it was legal for interns to work 40-hour weeks and earn only 500 euros a month (before tax!). This was the standard for all internships in the Netherlands.
I was essentially working two jobs. Not much changed from my schedule except for the extra-long commute to Noord Amsterdam every morning: a 1-hour 15-minute bike ride and a ferry ride across the river. My dad was visiting during my graduation and was absolutely stunned that I did this every day. But I didn’t have a choice. I got my 2.5 hours of sleep and skulled coffee all day. It was so hard to keep my eyes open at my desk. Eventually, I upgraded my bike to an electric scooter, thanks Daddo <3
Most of my internship time was spent building tech packs, creating digital sketches from Jason’s hand-drawn sketches, and handling various admin tasks. Honestly, I am such a hardworking, fast-learning, mature woman that I didn’t believe I was progressing as fast as possible. The head developer was very protective of her work and made most of the decisions, with the junior developer acting more as her assistant.
My head developer was nice, but she intimidated me. She had a very strong presence but was also very understanding when I needed time off. She showed me photos of her recent wedding, and I looked up to her, thinking, Wow, I really hope I can be like you one day. She was also a member of Soho House, and sometimes, after a full day in the office, I would be her waitress at her table. I literally didn’t stop working.
Over time, I noticed she often came in with a different man than the one in her wedding photos. I was sure it wasn’t the guy from the wedding pictures, but I didn’t think much of it then. As the weeks passed, she and this man grew closer and more intimate. Was she having an affair? I thought. She literally showed me her wedding photos just a few weeks ago. But I didn’t speak a word of it to anyone at the office—it wasn’t my place to say anything. It was a strange dynamic, connecting between both workplaces and seeing my boss in her private life.
Many years later, she married that man. It turns out she was having an affair, and I watched it unfold.
…….