Noel Duan

    10 Dec 2010

    The president of the Asian American Journalists Association is now following me. I should start proving that I am a proactive student and journalist. Weak-attempt-to-impress-potential-employers #1: I carry my AP Style Book and digital voice recorder in my bag everywhere I go. Even when I go grocery shopping.

    The president of the Asian American Journalists Association is now following me.

    I should start proving that I am a proactive student and journalist.

    Weak-attempt-to-impress-potential-employers #1: I carry my AP Style Book and digital voice recorder in my bag everywhere I go. Even when I go grocery shopping.

    Tags: journalism. aaja.

    9 Aug 2010

    I panicked after meeting my fellow Voices Convention News Project students at the Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA) convention in Los Angeles. They had interned for the likes of Anderson Cooper, produced their own television shows, fought in Afghanistan, shot footage in Cuba, taken photographs for national publications, and built professional websites to expose their brand and name.

    I was almost embarrassed that I want to pursue fashion journalism, magazine publishing, creative writing, and art criticism. I like sassy writing. I like entrepreneurship and combining various media platforms. I like hands-on fashion styling. I like working with creative people with crazy ideas. I like not wearing a business suit to work.

    For the past seven days, I attempted to avoid any reference to my love for fashion. I worked on stories about the state of the journalism industry, Little Tokyo’s past and present, and the role of Asian American “chick lit.” I wore Theory blazers, J.Crew blouses, and Max Studio skirts. I convinced one of my interviewees to sit in an empty car with me, just so I could have National Public Radio-quality audio. My Nikon D300 was my third limb. I met recruiters from Los Angeles Times, CNN, NBC Universal, Gannett, and many more illustrious companies. I listened to Laura Ling — one of the two journalists captured by the North Korean government — speak about the power of journalism and the kindness of humanity. I met Connie Chung, the first person in the entire world who inspired me to pursue journalism as a little girl in elementary school.

    I gained a new level of respect and appreciation for journalism after my week at the AAJA convention. However, I also learned to respect and appreciate myself.

    It is okay to love fashion journalism. It is okay to spend all day wandering art galleries. It is okay to love foreign films — not just for the visuals and acting, but for the aesthetic mannerisms of a different language. It is okay to see a piece of fabric and think of a million ways to wear it. It is okay to read novels and memoirs and poetry anthologies and bask in the glory of words.

    It is okay to seek beauty in an imperfect world.

    How did I realize this? Well, Connie Chung actually helped me realize this — and she doesn’t even know it.

    It all started with a photo assignment. I was supposed to take photos of the convention’s Opening Reception. So, between frantic bites of chicken marsala, I scurried around The Highlands Hollywood and took photographs of my fellow Asian American journalists drinking, eating, schmoozing, and flirting (I’m not that naive, okay?). When I heard the awards ceremony about to begin on stage, I pushed my way to the front row in order to take my photos.

    Now, I am only 19 years old and there are plenty of things I have yet to learn about this world — but I know my Connie Chung. I used to watch her on television all the time. Heck, I even watched her husband on television every day. I should start the Chung-Povich fan club.

    While the introductions were being made on stage, I decided to be a creeper and snapped photos of this charismatic Asian lady in Christian Louboutin stilettos. I ran back to my editors in the newsroom.

    Breathless, I asked, “Could Connie Chung be at the Opening Reception? I swear I saw her. I took photos of her.” I was met with a few strange glances. Probably not, was the consensus.

    “Well, at least you didn’t ask her if she was Connie Chung… That would have been embarrassing for you,” someone said. I laughed nervously. There was a moment when I almost walked up to her, but I chickened out. I uploaded my photos onto my laptop and Googled a photo of Connie Chung. No, it has to be Connie Chung, I thought. Connie Chung would wear Louboutin stilettos, after all.

    I ran back to the Opening Reception, but by then, other people had figured out that Connie Chung there. I pushed my way to the front for a photo with her, and then I begged her for an interview for a story I was working on for AAJA Voices.

    She said yes. I waited three hours until the party was over and the crowd had finally disseminated into the wispy corners of the night. I snapped photos for my assignment in the meantime.

    Let me point out that Connie Chung is one of the most charismatic and gracious television personalities I have ever met. For every single eager beaver asking to take a photo with her, she asked for name and background. She really wanted to get to know the long line of (mostly) young girls who dream of being her someday.

    I sat outside with her on a bench, with my recorder out and my heart beating in palpitations. While a helicopter flew over us every time she spoke, I latched onto every single word she spoke.

    I could not believe that I was speaking one-to-one with Connie Chung. At the end of the interview, I complimented her on her Christian Louboutin shoes and gave her my business card — even though I doubt she has much use for contact with a college student. I was sweaty from a full day of reporting, hoarse from trying to speak at the loud party, and sore from running around Los Angeles. None of that mattered to me anymore. I was speaking to Connie Chung.

    I am almost certain that she and I were the only ones at the convention who knew about the Louboutin red sole. The next day, a description of Connie Chung’s outfit was printed in the AAJA Voices newspaper — a detail that seemed incredibly obvious to me until I realized that most of the world did not know what Christian Louboutin red soles signify. My editors told me that people loved the reporting done on her outfit. My fashion knowledge had finally come into use, even though it was unintentional.

    Sure, I do not plan to become a broadcast journalist like Connie Chung (I am convinced that my voice is too high pitched), but she taught me how important it is to stay true to one’s self — and to stick with one’s convictions. If I didn’t stick with my conviction that Connie Chung was at the party and if I didn’t notice details like her shoes, my night would have been very different. And, well, her career as a journalist has been all about conviction.

    So, kids, once again: childhood dreams do come true. This past summer, I met Rider Strong (Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World), my childhood crush, and I met Connie Chung (pioneering Asian American journalist), my childhood hero.

    And I am okay with not knowing where I am going in life, since I am confident and proud of what I love. I know of some students who know that they will be broadcast journalists or newspaper editors or television show producers. I don’t. And really, I’m not worried. I’m having a good time.

    If I can just be as passionate as Rider Strong when I’m 30 and as graceful as Connie Chung when I’m 60, I will consider myself very blessed.

    1 Aug 2010

    “Party in the USA” Feels Like an Appropriate Song

    I am heading to Los Angeles tomorrow at 5:30am, for the Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA) convention. I’ll be armed with a fancy-schmancy Nikon D300 camera (along with a shade protector, cleaning equipment, and three lenses), a fancy-schmancy Edirol mp3 recorder, a BlackBerry as my only source of email, a MacBook Pro laptop full of files, a backup hard drive full of files, an extra flash drive, a set of headphones, a suitcase full of business suits, 100 business cards, 20 copies of my resume, and bigger dreams in journalism than I had before I became involved with AAJA Voices.

    Here goes sleepless nights, aching feet, hoarse voices, and a sense of accomplishment.

    31 Jul 2010

    Journalist’s Worst Nightmare

    I spent the majority of today sitting in front of my laptop, conducting interviews with people for an article I am writing. When I finally finished interviewing one of my most important subjects, my computer decided to freeze and crash. And then my digital voice recorder (I always use at least two recording devices as a precaution; too bad it didn’t work this time) decided to go berserk. So I don’t have a single tidbit from my most important interview. Even though I made sure to record it twice.

    Like any desperate journalist would, I emailed my interviewee and explained my situation. It was even more embarrassing because he is a very accomplished figure in the journalism industry himself. Here I am, interviewing someone with so much wisdom and experience in journalism, and both of my recorders managed to die right when I’m about to save the interview. Do I still have a future in journalism? Ha.

    Now, I cross my fingers and pray for a 10-minute redo. I’ll wake up at 3am, travel across Los Angeles, or even buy a meal for my interviewee if I need to. From now on, I’m recording my interviews with three devices.

    P.S. I received an email from a potential interviewee who no longer does interviews. He wrote, “Good luck on your career. I can see from your posts on your blogs that you are a superior writer. I look forward to seeing your byline in the near future.” He called me “Noel/MissCouturable,” which horrified me at first, because he’s a very experienced journalist and one of the pioneering Asian Americans in the industry, and I really don’t know what “serious” journalists think of my fashion blogging. However, he looked beyond what a lot of people consider to be “frivolous.” Warm fuzzy feelings to make up for my journalism failure today, eh?

    22 Jul 2010

    I just ordered mini-business cards from MOO.

    I even included my Twitter. Because, you know, employers must know that I would probably choose New York Fashion Week over attending class.

    I had to rush ship them, which cost more than the actual cards themselves. I need them to arrive before the Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA) convention, in which I am supposed to do a lot of networking and pass out my business card. While it is intimidating that I was explicitly told to bring copies of my resume and business cards, I’m really excited. According to the agenda, my week will be filled with delicious food, training at the Los Angeles Times, exclusive meetings with recruiters from companies such as NBC and the Associated Press, and a lot of hands-on journalism work.

    But I digress. MOO MiniCards are the best. They’re half the size of a regular business card, which is enough when you’re a college student without an actual office space. They’re durable, high-quality, and they come in a variety of designs. And really, they just might be more memorable in a sea of white business cards.

    Or the potential employer might think I’m a total airhead, since my Twitter is @misscouturable. I find no shame in that. At least I don’t print my resume on perfumed pink paper, right?

    21 Jul 2010

    I think I should stop pretending that I’m going to stop shopping. The Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA) Convention is in less than two weeks, and I still don’t own a single button-up shirt. Or a pencil skirt. Or heels shorter than four inches. Or a plain blazer. I haven’t made much progress since five days ago, even though I now own two new bras, a new cape, a new pair of shorts, a new dress, and a new top. I know; I’m destined for bankruptcy.

    I finally purchased a white BB Dakota blouse ($80) from shopbop.com and a coral skinny leather belt ($20, originally $32.50) from J.Crew, since my AAJA editor made it very clear that shirts are to be conservative. However, I could not help but buy the colorful belt, because I want to add a pop of color to my “professional” outfit. I’m sticking with my five-inch heels and whimsical blazers; I still want to dress like myself, after all.

    Now, I just need proper skirts. I’ll probably head over to American Apparel this weekend and pick up a few bandage-inspired skirts. Paired with black tights, I just might look business-appropriate.

    According to my editor, print journalists dress conservatively while broadcast journalists dress a little more flashy.

    Fashion journalists were not mentioned.

    16 Jul 2010

    Style Versus Substance

    I don’t think many people in high school considered me to be a “serious” journalist — you know, one of those reporters who covers politics, economics, and secret birthday messengers. Frankly, I didn’t consider myself one either. I enjoyed and still do enjoy writing about art, culture, and fashion; it comes naturally to me and I will defend these genres of reporting to the death. Even last year, when I started college, I became a style beat chief for the Columbia Daily Spectator, the school newspaper, and I co-founded a campus fashion magazine, Hoot, where I serve as Editor in Chief. I have willingly cornered myself into being a fashion writer, and I am very happy as it is.

    ‘Tis why I was surprised when the Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA) chose me as a finalist for their 2010 Convention News Project. They pay for my plane tickets and hotel accommodations, as well as provide me with mentors, networking, and training with some of the most talented and passionate Asian American journalists in the country — all while spending a week at the convention in Los Angeles. I Googled some of my fellow finalists — they are all extremely accomplished student journalists, who have written, interned, and taken photographs for national news publications, corporations, and broadcasting stations. How does a girl who finds nothing wrong with writing an ode to a skirt fit in?

    I do want to expand beyond my comfortable realm of fashion journalism.  I do want to explore my community, my country, and the world through investigative journalism. I want to raise consciousness about issues, people, communities, and stories that don’t always make the front page. In other words, I want to bring the world closer to home. I loved and excelled in history and government classes in high school — and I don’t see anything wrong with loving some beauty (fashion, art, culture) too.

    So, I was dismayed when my editor for the AAJA Convention News Project told me that it is best to dress very conservatively at the convention because that is how investigative journalists for politics, social issues, and economic affairs are expected to dress. Can’t I report on important issues and wear Louboutins? I suppose not.

    I panicked at first. Ironically, for all the clothes I do have in my closet, I still don’t even own a business suit. Or “sensible” dress shoes, for that matter — if we must define “sensible” as heels shorter than two inches. I perused through some Theory suits online, but I couldn’t make the $300-a-blazer investment. Indeed, suits are great investments for more conservative jobs, but I have not lost my love for the fashion industry.

    I mean, I own blazers and fancy jackets. I own a tailored black Hanii Y blazer with sheer sleeves and puffed shoulders, which fits fantastically. I have a navy blue schoolboy blazer, bought on sale from the boys’ department at Nordstrom for only $40. I own other jackets, in various colors. However, I wouldn’t call of these pieces conservative in a conventional sense. Let’s not talk about shoes.

    I will buy a few dark-colored skirts from American Apparel before I head off to the convention; they’re good-quality, comfortable, versatile, and affordable for someone like me, who isn’t sure if she needs to invest in a conservative suit yet. I plan to pair it with tasteful jewelry, my nicest and least flashiest blazers and jackets, and a clean pair of black heels.

    Still, the excessive amount of time I have spent thinking about wardrobe for the convention has made me wonder if I could ever compromise fashion for “serious” journalism. I would like to have both substance and style, substantial and frivolous. Perhaps I am asking for too much.