All That You Leave Behind: A Memoir(14)
That simple comment stopped me in my tracks. It made me feel like a fraud in a cheap blazer. It also made me wonder if all interns had a connection to someone of influence. Who did Sarah know? Perhaps I was na?ve, thinking these opportunities were given based on merit.
The rest of the internship went a lot like that first day. Publicity didn’t come naturally to me, but I arrived early and was never the first one to leave. A couple of times, I called in sick because I was nursing a hangover, but nothing that made anyone raise their eyebrows. It was clear that Cary preferred Sarah. She looked like the other women who worked there, and she knew how to anticipate their needs. And while all interns are annoying, she somehow managed to not be. I studied Sarah closely, trying out things I could mimic to be more like her, more successful. But I often found myself straddling the line between smart and clueless.
Near the end of my tenure, I was asked to take part in a publicity stunt for the movie 500 Days of Summer, a rom-com meets dramedy starring Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I was tasked with handing out 250 iced coffees to hustling New Yorkers walking by Madison Square Park. Sarah took the other 250 and quickly made a head start. I plastered a grin on my face and said loudly, “Do you like coffee? Free coffee?” Most people averted their eyes and pushed past me. A couple of humans took the bait and let me prattle on about the movie (which I loved), and they told me they would check it out. Something shifted as I engaged people and talked with them about a movie I liked and cared about. It somehow became easier. If I believed in the product, it didn’t feel like work.
Sarah eventually got hired for a full-time gig, and I gained experience working in the publicity department of a major studio. It turns out pushing movies is a hustle, and at the end of my tenure I knew I wanted to be a part of making movies, not selling them.
Right after I left the internship my dad forwarded this note from James Finn:
Will hold you to that dinner. Erin is a star, and keep in touch—I’ll do the same.
His kind words failed to make their intended impact. Instead I found myself once again swimming in self-doubt. Was I a star? Or was he just saying that because he was talking to my father, the New York Times media reporter?
When it came to my career, I now knew that David Carr’s far-reaching shadow would follow me into any avenues he might open up for me. It was the price of admission for my dad helping me in this industry. His industry.
Now the question was not if I could get in the door, but once there, how long could I stay? No amount of connections or witty emails would help keep me employed in these highly sought-after jobs if I was, in fact, mediocre. I needed to find a way to be that star, to embody those words. I had survived my first internship without having made any real mark. I would have to change that.
Me: not sure where to go/what to do.
Dad: you will end up a much larger, global person. not just another brooklyn kid with a tattoo, which is great. but that kind of stuff is hard won.
Me: i am capable right?
Dad: in terms of whether you have it or not, I have a secret suspicion that you are going to end up doing SPECTACULAR things Me: I sure hope so.
Dad: but you have to share that suspicion. However deep inside you and be willing to do whatever you have to do to make that happen. What will set you apart is not talent but will and a certain kind of humility a willingness to let the world show you things that you play back as you grow as an artist.
Talent is cheap.
Me: ok i will ponder these things. I am a carr.
Dad: that should matter quite a bit, actually not the name but the guts of what that name means.
9
Something New
“Find myself thinking about you a lot. Wondering what kind of adventures you’re living, learning you are doing, tasks you are on.”
At twenty-two, I was fresh out of college and stuck right at the intersection between girlhood and adulthood. Feeling wary about the trend toward the latter, I embarked on a solo move to London for my first real “job.”
VICE is a media organization that originated in Canada in the early nineties as a popular counterculture magazine, covering music and parties and publishing a whole lot about drugs. There was a coolness that VICE had that tapped into the zeitgeist of youth. Looking to monetize off of this, the company started adding lieutenants to their roster who knew how to make short-form videos that could get millions of views. When I graduated from school, it was absolutely the place you wanted to work in media; still is.
My dad shot off an email to Shane Smith, one of the VICE partners, whom he had met and developed a sort of professional and personal regard for, and introduced me, and I took over the reins from there. New York was not the right spot, Shane said—too busy. No, I was going to have to cut my teeth for the company in Europe. Shane and his subordinates put forth London or Berlin. Having clumsily navigated a semester abroad in the Czech Republic with little skill in the language department, I thought that London and its English speakers made the most sense.
Now, what to pack? I took inventory of my bedroom on the second floor of our colonial house in suburban New Jersey. A collection of riot grrl zines took up space on the table next to my bed while Buffy the Vampire Slayer memorabilia lined the walls. The room felt dated and stale. Like it belonged to a different girl. I wouldn’t be taking any of that with me. I threw in some jeans, makeup, and framed photos alongside some books, including The Night of the Gun.