DISAPPOINTMENT, BUT MAKE IT FASHION 💅
Last Sunday, I had the incredibly surreal/awesome/weird experience of attending the Emmy Awards as a nominee for Associate Costume Design on the series Fallout. To say the road to that night was long would be the understatement of the century. Fallout costume designer & dear friend Amy Westcott, along with wardrobe supervisor & dear friend Amy Burt, our incredible team of 30+ designers, tailors, textile artists, production assistants, wardrobe crew, and I poured our literal blood, sweat, and tears into every costume. We worked like maniacs, pushing ourselves to the brink as we juggled fitting schedules, late-night runs for last minute changes, and the ever-present pressure of creating a world that felt both grounded in reality and worthy of its retro-futuristic post-apocalyptic setting loved by millions of obsessive video game fans since 1997.
People imagine the glitz and glamour of movie-making, but behind the scenes, it’s a completely different story. The film industry is a Vita-Mix’d smoothie of stress, long hours, and the constant struggle to fulfill creative demands with either not enough time, money, or crew. We’d go from one fitting to the next, one set to another, one episode directly into the following, barely coming up for air. But when you’re passionate about your craft, you push through. You find energy in the love you have for the work and the people you collaborate with. The two Amys and I would often look at each other in the midst of the chaos, wide-eyed, knowing that despite the absolute madness, we were creating something insane and special.
When I found out we were nominated, I was completely gobsmacked. I’m not a competitive person by nature - I’ve never really played on a team, and I couldn’t care less about the outcome of board games/card games/professional sports. Being nominated and recognized for all the hard work our department put into Fallout was a huge thrill. I was, and am, incredibly proud of the work our team produced. I didn’t expect to win, and honestly, it didn’t matter that much to me - it would be absolute gravy on top of the free trip to LA and the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to walk a red carpet and attend the ceremony.
Wardrobe Supervisor Amy Burt, myself, Costume Designer Amy Westcott, & Head of Workroom Cherie Cunningham
In what felt like a blink, it was Emmy night. Prepping for the ceremony felt like prom or my wedding day, butterflies gathering in my stomach, eager with anticipation, a movie montage of lashes/mani-pedi/dress alterations/jewelry/blowout/make-up/high heels. (I went for the $40 Jessica Simpson cheapies from DSW, which looked great, but I almost instantly regretted. Utterly uncomfortable for someone who now exclusively wears Hokas and Birkenstocks.) There was so much buildup, excitement, and the intense desire to look flawless. In the back of my mind, I told myself that the outcome didn't define the journey I’d been on. Or at least, that’s what I thought I believed.
As we sat in the audience, watching the ceremony unfold, I started to feel the weight of the moment. We are going to win an Emmy. This could be life-changing, or at least career-defining. I felt surprisingly calm and grounded as it came time to announce the winner in our category. When our name wasn’t called, it stung. Way more than I thought it would. Dammit. I thought I didn’t care about the prize. I thought winning would be the savory gravy on top of an already incredibly delicious pile of mashed potatoes that was a nomination. The loss hit harder than expected, and I found myself questioning whether all those sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the near burnout, had been worth it. As it turns out, loosing sucks.
At the weird, cavernous afterparty - smiling, but green with envy
Why do we let disappointing moments like these, the outcomes, overshadow the journey? A week later, and I’m still digesting the whole experience. The hours we’d spent bringing Fallout to life weren’t for nothing. They were proof of our dedication, our craft, and our passion. I’m starting to relate it to something else: just like in life, a movement practice teaches us to focus not on perfection or winning but on progress, on showing up every day and doing the work.
We came home from California, and nothing had really changed. I still had piles of work to do, my kids were still bouncing off the walls, my inbox was overflowing, my house was still a mess. Life moves on, Emmy or not. The girls have just watched the 1981 movie The Great Muppet Caper for the first time, and now it’s playing on repeat in our house. It was one of my favorite movies as a kid, and one of three English movies we owned on VHS when my family first moved to Hong Kong, so I’ve seen it about a million times.
It’s been years since I’ve sat down and watched Muppet anything all the way through. Miss Piggy’s relentless self-confidence is as refreshing as it is hilarious. Miss Piggy never doubts herself. Having somehow forced her way into a famous fashion designer’s office, she pronounces with dramatic flair, “My name is Miss Piggy, and I would like to be a high-fashion model”. Even when she’s faced with rejection or a setback (she’s hired not as a model, but as a secretary), she dusts herself off, flips her hair, and struts forward with her snout held high. She doesn’t let anyone or anything define her worth - she knows she’s fab, and that’s that.
Piggy wouldn’t be rattled by an Emmy loss. The swine qween holds tenaciously to her confidence - glamorous, unapologetic, and utterly convinced of her own greatness. In the face of rejection, she maintains her belief in herself, and if she doesn’t like the situation? A high kick or karate chop to the offender’s head. (Not that I’d recommend that coping mechanism for a professional event, but you get the idea.)
Miss Piggy embodies something many of us strive for but struggle with: the ability to carry ourselves with confidence and self-assurance, even in moments of failure or disappointment. She refuses to be defined by anyone or anything other than herself. In The Great Muppet Caper, no matter the obstacle or the absurdity of the situation, she remains steadfast in her belief that she deserves the spotlight.
Dancing on the table in her glass slippers at the Dubonnet Supper Club
While most of us don’t possess Piggy’s unshakable sense of self, there’s a lot we can learn from her attitude. Confidence isn’t about never experiencing failure - it’s not letting it deter us from continuing forward.
As the days pass between now and the Emmys, it’s striking me how much we can gain from these moments of “loss.” Losing isn’t just about not getting an award or recognition; it’s a reminder to shift our perspective. We can let rejection pull us down, or we can stand up, Miss Piggy style, and decide that we’re still worth every bit of success we’re working towards.
In a way, that’s where movement comes into play. When you practice yoga, Pilates, or any form of mindful movement, there are moments where you struggle - where your balance falters or you just can't master a move. It’s frustrating and it’s humbling, and… it’s part of the process. It teaches us resilience, patience, and the value of consistent effort over perfection.
Your movement practice is about showing up consistently and pushing through the uncomfortable moments. There are days when it all feels impossible, when balance is off, or the body just doesn’t want to cooperate. But growth happens when we learn to embrace those challenges. In the same way, working in film has taught me resilience. The grueling hours and unexpected setbacks are what shape us into better artists, better professionals, and better humans.
We have to learn to embrace the discomfort of not getting it right the first time. Rejection - whether at a fancy awards show or in everyday life - can be a moment to pause, re-center, and remind ourselves that the goal isn't always to “win.” Instead, it’s about mastering our own moments, big or small, and showing up for ourselves again and again. When I return to the mat, I bring with me all the lessons of resilience that I’ve gathered from every fail - and that makes me stronger, inside and out.
Maybe I’ll get another chance one day at the Emmys. Or maybe I won’t. But I’m learning, slowly but surely, that my value doesn’t hinge on the result.
I’m going to try to channel my inner Piggy and keep showing up, unapologetically confident, even after the falls. Whether we're walking a red carpet or rolling out our yoga mat, the power is in our ability to keep moving forward, with grace, humor, and a healthy dose of sass. After all, it’s an honor just to be nominated!