Couture, code, and crushed confidence

THE INSPIRATION BEHIND VALLEY VERIFIED

When I was 16, I cold-emailed all the fashion magazines in my home country of Singapore, and ended up securing an editorial internship at Harper’s Bazaar, one of the world’s top fashion publications. It was like a dream come true—a way for me to explore simultaneously my love for couture and interest in writing. My incredible internship experience only cemented my belief that fashion journalism was the career meant for me, so convinced was I that I even wrote about this ambition in my application essay to Stanford University. 

In 2021, I graduated from Stanford with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s degree in communications, specializing in media studies. Immediately after, I took on a role at Vogue Singapore as a fashion and lifestyle writer. From the get go, I was in my element: interviewing designers I’ve looked up to for years, reviewing fashion collections that inspired me, pitching article ideas I felt strongly about, assisting on photoshoots, and even modeling in one for a YSL fragrance campaign. And as the fashion world marched into a new technological frontier, I found myself spearheading a series of articles for Vogue about the intersection of fashion and tech—I covered topics ranging from NFTs to virtual reality. Forget The Devil Wears Prada; in this case, it was The Devil Wears Pixels.

However, like every good story, mine took on a twist when a new opportunity arose: I received a job offer from a tech company based in Silicon Valley. It was as far from Vogue Singapore as one could imagine—not just geographically, but figuratively as well. 16-year-old Kyla would have never imagined accepting the offer and leaving Vogue. Vogue! The most renowned of all fashion publications. But studying at Stanford in the heart of Silicon Valley for four years has nurtured in me an interest in the technology world. And writing about it for Vogue has only deepened my appreciation for the inventions and advancements in big tech. 

So in August 2021, I bit the bullet and bought a one-way ticket to California, trading the high-fashion glitz in Singapore for the high-tech grit of Silicon Valley. I started my new job brimming with excitement. After all, how cool was it that I got to work in Silicon Valley—the birthplace of the world’s top companies—and alongside some of the most brilliant minds who might go on to found the next Apple or Microsoft? 

But quickly enough, my eagerness was replaced by dread. 

As I settled into my new team of software engineers and data scientists—most of whom were men, the stark contrast between their STEM expertise and my own background in the arts and social sciences was brought into sharp relief. It no longer mattered that I was fluent in runway lingo and could easily whip up a 2,000-word essay about vegan leather, for I had exchanged couture for code and designer brands for data analytics. And this abrupt change in my professional landscape brought about a tsunami of imposter syndrome and an overwhelming sense of inferiority. Everyone else seemed so competent and at ease with their jobs, unlike me. And I was convinced that sooner or later, they could sniff out my incompetence and realized what had already dawned on me—I had somehow lucked my way into this job and didn’t deserve to be there. 

During the day, I stumbled through my eight hours of work, always feeling just a hair’s breadth away from being found out as an imposter. And at night, I tossed and turned in bed, bitterly comparing my present situation to how easily I had taken to my role at Vogue and thrived. My feelings of inadequacy were compounded by my loneliness. I had moved to a city halfway across the world where I had no family, few friends, and even fewer opportunities to make friends as most people were still working remotely. And when friends from back home asked how my new job was going, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the truth. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful for a coveted job position in Silicon Valley—a job that “a million people would kill for”, to paraphrase an iconic line from The Devil Wears Prada. And somehow, I believed that if I didn’t verbally acknowledge my sense of inferiority, then it wouldn’t actually be true.

In isolation, I turned to writing as my refuge, into which I channeled my loneliness, frustration, and bewilderment. The result was Valley Verified: a tale of Zoe Zeng, a young Asian woman forced to abandon her fashion job in New York for a tech startup in Silicon Valley. Zoe's journey reflected my own battles. Like me, she was all alone in a new environment and socially disconnected from her tech-savvy colleagues. Like me, she questioned her worth and wondered if she belonged in a world where everyone else seemed to be at the top of their game. And her self-doubt was brought to the forefront when she was tasked with securing a potential eight-figure investment that could make or break her startup. No pressure or anything. 

While I might have felt out of my depth, I could mold Zoe's narrative in a direction I craved. Through her character, I delved into the challenges of transitioning from one world to another as an underdog in a high-stakes environment. Crafting this work of fiction gave me a safe space to explore my own negative emotions in a more covert manner. But as the first draft took shape in a matter of months, my real-life situation remained unchanged. In front of others, I clung to an image of competence and success that seemed increasingly elusive in reality.

Nearly two years later, Valley Verified just came out from Penguin Random House and is available worldwide as a paperback, eBook, and audiobook. And I find myself in a remarkably different place. I don’t mean that I no longer doubt myself, for I still do—even after earning a promotion in less than a year and appearing on paper like I’m a Silicon Valley “success”. What has changed in me is an acceptance that I will never be entirely secure about myself and my abilities, but also a realization that it’s perfectly valid and normal to feel this way. And just as how Zoe eventually bonded with her coworkers despite their personality differences and initial misunderstandings, I also found good friends at work through holiday parties and happy hours. 

When I shared an early draft of Valley Verified with friends, the parallels between Zoe’s life and mine inevitably prompted them to ask if the story is based partly on my personal experience. And when I finally brought myself to admit so, I was shocked when one by one, my friends revealed that they had grappled with similar feelings of inadequacy. On the outside, they were all so accomplished and navigated their jobs with an ease that made me envious. But despite their outward success, we collectively acknowledged that imposter syndrome is a universal experience, transcending professions and backgrounds. In hindsight, I could have saved myself a lot of grief if I had confided in others earlier. Opening up about our insecurities would have created a support network, making us all feel less alone during significant life transitions. 

I hope Zoe’s story in Valley Verified serves as a reminder that experiencing self-doubt and insecurity are perfectly normal human experiences. Instead of suppressing these feelings, the only way to get over them is to go through them: Acknowledge the discomfort as an integral part of personal growth, a testament to your courage in stepping out of your comfort zone. And, perhaps most importantly, recognize that having friends around makes this growth process not easy, but undoubtedly more enjoyable.