Paris: The Memoir(57)
I was having fun, but I was bringing a lot to the table. Why shouldn’t I get paid to show up at that party and magnify that brand?
It’s kind of hilarious to me when people assume I was putting myself out there because I craved attention like a pound puppy. I loved feeling special—of course—but I started making real money when I realized that I was an amplifier and attention was the power cord. I transformed attention into a marketable commodity to benefit brands I believed in—including my own. I always knew, on some level, that there was a difference between that kind of attention and love. But sometimes, when love didn’t come along, the constant clicking was an okay substitute.
Before Carter and I got together, he and his brother, Courtney, wrote a book called Shortcut Your Startup: Speed Up Success with Unconventional Advice from the Trenches (Gallery Books, 2018). If that book had been available when I first started building my businesses—oh, wait. Never mind. I wouldn’t have read it. I wasn’t really in book-reading mode. Now, I’m kind of a business-book addict. I make Carter drag an extra carry-on so I can load up before a flight at the airport bookstore. Back then, I was just living my life moment to moment, but I was doing things that hadn’t been invented—like taking selfies. I didn’t stop to wonder what to call it or if it added up to some kind of strategy.
Anyway. Shortcut Your Startup.
In their book, Carter and Courtney pose “three key questions before you start anything”:
What does success look like for you?
Why has no one else done this?
Why you, why now?
Looking back on the start-up I didn’t even know I was starting up:
Success, for me, looked like a grand ballet of security, respect, and the ability to help other people. I wanted to bulletproof my independence, show the world what I was capable of, and facilitate brands and artists I believed in. That’s still what success looks like for me, even now. My core vision has never changed, and while it does involve raking in as much money as I can generate, it’s never been about money for money’s sake. It’s always been about how I wanted to feel, not what I wanted to get.
I think no one else had ever done what I did, because no one has ever been me before: a specific girl, born at the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, with my unique combination of advantages that lifted me up and disadvantages that forced me to grow. I’m sure I wasn’t the first socialite to do the math on the party equation, but my experience and resolve gave me the nerve to ask. Making the ask is where so many entrepreneurial endeavors die. Pride gets in the way. Or the lame idea of “that’s not how it’s always been done.” My pride had been taken from me, and I didn’t know or care how things had been done in the past. I was doing everything in my power to burn my past to the ground. So, I made the ask, and like Jesus said: “Ask and it shall be given unto you.”
Why me? Because I didn’t trust anyone else. And why now? Because now is all there is. Now is all that matters. This may be my ADHD talking, but now is the only universe worth living in.
New Year’s Eve 1999, I partied like—well, you know.
Some people were weirdly freaked out by the idea of Y2K, but I gladly turned the page. New year, new decade, new century. Embracing the idea that this would be my best millennium ever, I launched into a lifestyle of constant work and travel that continued for the next twenty years.
14
The first step to self-reinvention is inventory. Give yourself credit for everything you’ve got going for you. Whatever’s going against you, figure out how to use it to your advantage.
I turned nineteen in February 2000. I knew what I had going for me, and it was a lot. I was strong. I was beautiful. I could make people laugh. I knew where to go and how to be seen. I signed with a major modeling agency, I continued to build my side business—getting paid to party—and I started paying closer attention to conversations about real estate and investing. It was an interesting moment for Hilton International. There was talk about a hotel on the moon, but Papa was still chairman of the board, and his feet were firmly on the ground. Hilton acquired Doubletree, Hampton, Homewood, and Embassy Suites. They already had Bally’s and Caesars in Las Vegas.
I told Papa, “I think I want to have my own hotels someday.”
Most people would have looked at me like I was suggesting a hotel on the moon, but my grandfather was like, “Of course. You should totally do that.” He didn’t offer to help me, but he and Dad answered questions and coached me through some early dealings. I knew I needed a manager, but I didn’t know who to trust, other than Dad and Papa. I hated the thought of giving up a percentage of my earnings, so I created a fake manager with her own email and her brusque, smoky voice on the phone.
“Yes, I received your offer and confirmed availability for Miss Hilton. If we can compromise on that back-end percentage and do another ten K up front, I think we have a deal. Yes, I’ll fax you her signature.”
I don’t remember the fake manager’s name, but she was like a grown-up version of Amber Taylor. She negotiated for me like a pit bull. Even after I signed with a major modeling agency, I kept her around for odd jobs.
In May 2000, I went to the Cannes Film Festival for the first time. I dragged way too much luggage with me, because every day had at least three or four looks: breezy walk around town bumping into movie stars look, tasteful lounging by the pool like Marilyn Monroe look, stunning evening out at the art films look. I put a lot of work into my look for a lunch with one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. I wanted Harvey Weinstein to see a woman who belonged in the business: classy, beautiful, castable, and different from all the other nineteen-year-old girls with big movie star dreams. I was with a producer friend who was trying to pitch a project. This was an amazing opportunity for both of us, and we wanted to make a good impression.