Love "lyfts" us up

It was 3am in San Francisco, I was hazy with jetlag and a cat had just vomited on my bed. Airbnb living may not always offer the sanitised, airtight luxury of a hotel room, but I'm prepared to put up with a spot of feline yaking in return for the overwhelming benefits it does offer.

Airbnb is still relatively new in the sense that most of us have heard of it, some of us use it, and all of our parents are convinced it can only end in rape, murder and the eventual sale of our organs on the black market. The level of trust, especially in a shared home, that is required between perfect strangers is not only unprecedented but also beautiful - in the hippy, liberal sense of the word. If you speak to anyone who regularly uses Airbnb, they will tell you that both hosts and guests are a self-selecting type; warm, open, post-Internet idealistic, and excited by the real life experiences that a well-thought out user experience can deliver.

Coming from England, where we're still feeling a bit too British to be spending intimate, quality time with people we met off the internet, it's inspiring to see that the Airbnb mentality and the "share economy" is alive and well in SF. Lyft transforms ordinary drivers into taxi cabs, or as they say "on-demand ride-sharing for cheaper safer rides". When my friend and I booked, our poor driver did not realise he was picking up two branding professionals who were rolling several margaritas deep and ready to chat. I even took notes.

To become a Lyft driver, you are comprehensively vetted - from driving tests to personality tests. Lyft know their success relies not just on trust between two parties, but also on the entire journey being good enough to disrupt the existing taxi cab market. To this end, we were also invited to charge our iPhones (chargers for both 4S and the 5 were onboard), to help ourselves to gum and even to fist bump our driver upon arrival at our destination.

Sweet ride

Our driver explained that Lyft is rapidly expanding into other US cities, but their prominence in SF is not merely down to a tech-savvy customer base. A less than ubiquitous bus system and a somewhat dodgy underground, means that SF has a unique transport issue - with around a million people trying to get around the city each day, taxis can become rare and highly sought after.

Lyft is a fascinating addition to the "share economy" roster and it's going to be interesting to watch how it - and others like it - change the way we view transport, just like Airbnb has transformed how we travel. Cat puke aside, obvs.

Bridging the gap

Just for kicks I sometimes enjoy messing with the Netflix algorithm by watching movies way out of my usual 'taste preferences'. So with this in mind and to cheer myself up a bit, I watched 'The Bridge' - a moving documentary about the people who take their lives by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.

I've driven across the Golden Gate several times now - more often than not in The Great Red Shark while listening to the soundtrack from The O.C. But even then, the bridge holds a strange sense of foreboding within its straining ironwork and startling russet tones. The inclement weather patterns, for which SF is known, seem to begin and end at the bridge. The mists roll in and out, sometimes gleaming brilliantly in the Californian sun, other times shrouding the entire structure in cloud. On the gloomy days, with the rain and the wind and the shadow of Alcatraz in the near distance, it really couldn't be further from the picture postcard image of majestic structural engineering.

'The Bridge' includes footage of real people jumping, shot over several months by the film's makers. Apparently, on average, two people take their lives at the bridge every 15 days. It's easy, it's dramatic and it's high enough to be a sure thing. But the most emotive element in the film were the interviews with the jumpers' friends and family. Just like the ambiguous nature of the bridge itself, they veered between understanding the actions of their loved ones, while struggling to comprehend how anyone could fall so deeply into despair.

One of the parents interviewed wondered if her son chose the bridge because he "wanted one last chance to fly". The footage of him - Gene - pacing next to the barrier for hours before finally leaping triumphantly onto the rail and throwing his arms up in a swan dive takes your breath away. Just as the bridge is a testament to man overcoming nature - connecting two sides of San Francisco bay - so these fatal acts depict an individual's conquering of his or her own destiny.

You can check out the trailer out here.

And as for me, don't worry I'm back to Season 3 of The Rachel Zoe project. All good.

The Art of Hotel Living

In art, literature, film and personalities I've always been drawn to doomed decadence. To me, the journey from having it all to having nothing is fascinating. Whether that "all" is money or talent or social standing, I am gripped by people's ability to waste it all in the most dramatic way.



Caravaggio's astounding painting and genius for capturing light was all set against an infamous backdrop of dead prostitutes, brawling and, eventually, exile. Gatsby had everything he wanted except the flashing green light at the end of East Egg where Daisy lived. The Tenenbaum children were prodigies, making them all flawed and flailing adults, unable to cope in the real, chaotic world. And Edie Sedgwick, raised riding horses in the bosom of a large, wealthy family wound up cast out of Warhol's Factory addicted to drugs and dead at 28.

Deviance, decadence, escapism, denial - these base and torturous human behaviours often manifest themselves in one particular place. A hotel. Since the invention of maid service, room service and the mini-bar, checking out of your life and into a hotel has firmly represented that all is not - or is about to be not - well. A person's state of mind must be considerably altered to find solice in arming oneself with just the bare essentials and take up residence in a hotel.



The Chelsea in New York has a long history of writers and artists in residence. Jack Kerouac wrote much of 'On the Road' there. Dennis Hopper met the man who would eventually produce 'Easy Rider' there. And Leonard Cohen wrote a song about it. More recently, The Chateau Marmont, temporary home to Hollywood's runaways, featured as the third character in Sofia Coppola's "Somewhere". The audience quickly learned everything they needed to know about Johnny's character by his disconnected existence at the Hollywood hotel.



My friend Rosanna told me about Patti Smith's autobiography. Rosanna felt that Patti's stay at The Chelsea was more about looking cool than realising that people in hotels often produce great work because they are alone, lonely and without distractions. My friend went on to explain how she believed that "living in an impersonal space makes you want to create things that defines who you are, and express yourself".

As I enter my third week in a hotel, Rosanna's words resonated strongly. With the clothes in the wardrobe the only link to my real life, to myself even, I recognise the desire to define myself through creating things. Hence why this is one of the longer blog posts.



The Shakespeare & Co. bookshop in Paris embraces the traveller's need to create themselves out of a rut. As you roam the Narnia-esque bookshop, tiny enclaves holding typewriters and rudimentary bunks appear through the gloaming. Artists and writers passing through are welcome to a bed for the night so they can gather their thoughts and, possibly, their minds.



Bur perhaps my favourite study of hotel living is Wes Anderson's prologue to The Darjeeling Limited - 'Hotel Chevalier'. Natalie Portman's character tracks down Jason Schwartzman ordering grilled cheese in a Paris hotel room.

Portman: How long have you had this hotel room?
Schwartzman: I don't know.
Portman: More than a week?
Schwartzman: More than a week.
Portman: More than a month?
Schwartzman: More than a month.

Hotel Chevalier is the perfect capture not only of decayed love, but of the cathartic aloneness one finds at the other end of the world in a hotel bathrobe.



All photos by me, except the typewriter which I stole from here
http://www.flickr.com/photos/deanno/3703658172/sizes/m/

Letter from America: Third time's a charm.

I am back in fabulous San Francisco for a couple of weeks with work and, now clocking up a total of 3 months here since May of last year, it really does feel like a very nice home away from home.

On the work side, I'm here doing brand strategy for a super cool app with some very exciting technology behind it. As such, I had the opportunity to do a brand workshop from the client's Command HQ in Paolo Alto. Just south of SF, Paolo Alto is a sweet suburban enclave just riddled with tech start-ups. You can't buy a Soy Latte without overhearing someone discussing their latest round of VC funding.



The client's house is your classic American modern home pimped out to the nines with screens and servers. Every room has been re-purposed to house tech and engineering teams all "wired in" and making the future happen. For someone with a barely concealed Geek Fetish, such as myself, their place is pretty nerd-tastic. The app I'm working on has already launched in Beta, so watch this space to see how the project develops!

Outside of work, there is only really time to eat. So I have been hitting the breakfast, lunch and dinner scenes pretty hard. For breakfast, I can nip out of my hotel to The Ferry Building for a Bluebottle coffee with a goat's cheese and apricot jam sandwich. Lunches, grabbed from nearby South Park in the Soma district consist of "Super Tacos" from Mexico au Park, or a Jalapeno Popper from The American Grilled Cheese Company. And dinner has been anything from hipster pizza at Delfina, Lobster Po Boys at Anchor & Hope, posh fried chicken at Foreign Cinema and even a quick and dirty Burger from In "n" Out. Calories on location don't count, right?




And finally, in this travel journal-esque post, to note that I have just returned from a rather wonderful weekend in Napa. Carrie Bradshaw's response to Mr Big's announcement that he was moving to Wine Country was "If you're tired you take a nap-a, you don't move to Napa!". And how wrong she was. My friend and I left SF yesterday morning with bags under our eyes and full of work anxieties. After mucho vino and mucho lolling in the hot tub in the cool and pleasant rain, we drove back today feeling well-rested and ready for another week.



Working abroad has its downsides - jetlag, disorientation and feeling forced to pull the plug on your life at home. But they are far outweighed by the upsides - new sights, new friends, new experiences and - for those who find it hard to switch-off - the chance to have a change of scene while still showing up for work each day! Clearly Napa didn't quite get its hold on me, yet!

The long journey

So, I'm back in San Francisco with Moving Brands. I'm here doing strategy work for our new US clients, as well as to attend the launch of a new brand we created the identity for. You can see their new website here.



This is my 7th week in SF for 2010 - it's great to have the opportunity to really get inside a city and lose the tourist feeling. The MB studio is based in SOMA - a Shoreditch type area downtown of the main city centre. From the studio you can see the Bay on one side and West SF on the other. The famous fog literally rolls in and out depending on the wind direction - either plunging the city into clouds, or revealing that crisp Californian sunshine.

Gertrude Stein apparently said that "Wherever you go, you meet yourself" and, though in many ways she is quite right, getting away from it all also gives you the space to come to terms with the big changes and mentally grow into the 'you' you have become.



When I was growing up my Dad spent many months away on location. To me, his trips only represented the tan and presents he returned home with. Now, I know what he experienced - the exhilaration of travel and working abroad but also the jet lag and the boring nights in with room service. I wouldn't change these experiences for anything and feel like I have worked hard to get these opportunities. My Dad had a family to get back to - but apart from friends, I am gloriously free to skip town and try something new for a while.

One of my friends from the London studio arrives tomorrow and I can't wait to show him around and have a pal to enjoy the city with. From the buzzy, hippy Mission district to posh shops on Fillmore, San Francisco is a fabulous, fabulous place to be. I just hope I can get back to Stokey by Christmas!!

Camillastore goes Stateside.
"who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue
amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regi-
ments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertis-
ing & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down
by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality"


It is my second day in the uber-cool San Francisco and, now I'm over the jet lag (For me, it's Tylenol Nighttime every time!), am able to finally string two lines together. Further evidence of my being bombed on the time difference emerged last night when I returned from a wander round the shops still wearing some unpaid for merchandise. A felony within 24 hours of landing. Awesome.

Anyway, today I am more coherent and with the weekend free to explore this great city. First up I headed over to the Ferry Building. A local foodie's heaven. a visiting, hotel-bound foodie's nightmare. Photos will follow, but picture row upon row of incredible produce set against the backdrop of San Francisco bay. Just spectacular. I also popped into Miette bakery. I first heard of Miette and got to know the owner, Meg, back when I worked for Rococo Chocolates. Meg wasn't around, but the Rococo was in prime position and the carrot cake cupcakes pretty special.



Next I sauntered - well, admittedly, heaved - my way up one of the infamous San Fran hills to make a pilgrimage to City Lights Bookshop. Though I may have sold my soul to branding and be more about power plates than Lucky Strikes these days, the Beat poets and writers still hold a very special place in my heart. I have always been fascinated by their courage and commitment to forging new forms of literature, of thinking even, in a time when America was vigilant against "non-conformist" behaviour. To finally set foot where founder Ferlinghetti hung out with Ginsberg, Kerouak and Cassidy realised a long-held dream of mine.

And now I'm back in my hotel room which overlooks the hot tub in a very Don Draper-esque manner and wondering whether a second burrito in as many days is pushing it slightly.