"‘I Don’t Think You’ve Done Much of Anything This Year’"

“I don’t think you’ve done much of anything this year…”

It was April 2017. I was working full-time at a pretty large sleepwear company as a Brand Manager. The featured picture is me in the office. If you're reading this in your pajamas right now, this company probably made them. And if they're from 2017 or earlier, I probably managed their production.

At the time, Undra Celeste New York was just over a year old and barely making enough money to cover my phone and internet bills. So I did what most budding entrepreneurs do—I kept my day job.

But let's go back a little further.

In 2013, I started working for this brand because I already knew what my long-term plan was. I wanted to slowly transition from corporate life into building my own company. So when looking for a job, I intentionally chose a place that wasn't too fast-paced, wasn't flashy, but still allowed me to use the skills I had built over nearly 10 years in brand management and product development.

I went in with a plan.

I was smart, resourceful, and worked quickly and efficiently.

I quickly became my boss's favorite.

My boss—let's call her DN.

To give you an idea of her personality, people in the industry called her "the Anna Wintour of sleepwear." She admired my fashion sense, my confidence, and my work ethic. She probably saw many things in me that reminded her of her younger self.

We were locked in.

From 2013 to 2017, I enjoyed the perks. I was promoted multiple times. I led meetings with major retailers, managed a team of designers, traveled on behalf of the brand, gave design direction on every collection that came out of her division, and so much more.

For the first time in my career, I truly felt like I was blossoming in a space.

And yes, I was given opportunities—but your girl was WORKING. I earned every single one of them.

I loved it.

Until one fateful evening during Market Week in February 2017.

If you're not familiar with the fashion industry, Market Week is when sales teams and buyers come together to preview and purchase new collections. Our sales teams would fly in from all over the country four times a year.

One evening, while my team was preparing for presentations, one of the salespeople—a white woman from Texas, let's call her Carol—decided the design team needed to stay late and redo an assortment that had already been approved by both the design director (my boss) and the lead salesperson.

She kept my team there until 11 PM.

At that point, I made the executive decision to shut it down. Some of the women on my team had long commutes back to Brooklyn and Westchester, and we didn't have a budget for car service.

I told everyone to go home.

Carol was furious.

Honestly, I didn't care.

Did she not know who I was? LOL.

Let me tell you about Carol.

She was a mid-tier salesperson who wanted nothing more than to be HBIC. Every Market Week, she'd come into the office like a whirlwind—making unnecessary changes, telling people what "needed" to be done, and generally making herself seen.

The biggest issue for Carol was that she didn't produce any real results. Her accounts never really grew.

But perhaps her biggest obstacle was an extremely nice, well-mannered gentleman named Austin.

Austin was the lead salesperson, and everyone loved him. He was a sweetheart—and he literally had the receipts.

Now back to this infamous evening with Carol.

I felt I had the authority to make the call to send the team home, but more importantly, it was the right thing to do.

Boy, was I wrong.

The very next day, EVERYTHING changed.

The favoritism disappeared.

The relationship disappeared.

The opportunities disappeared.

Four years of trust and hard work vanished overnight.

The next morning, I walked into our design presentation meeting and immediately felt it.

Blank faces.

Awkward energy.

No one asked for my opinion.

No one acknowledged me when I spoke.

My boss, my dear DN, completely ignored me.

I was convinced I was going to get fired that day.

But she never fired me.

Instead, she kept me there to endure what felt like psychological warfare.

I guess this is what love-bombing and ghosting feels like.

The treatment went on for weeks.

Six weeks later came review and bonus season.

This is the time of year when everyone evaluates their team, themselves, and provides feedback. Oddly enough, I was asked not to review my team that year.

Hmm.

But I did complete an extensive, forensic-level review of myself.

I came prepared.

I brought receipts.

Every email praising my work.

Every metric showing the value and revenue I brought to the company.

Every accomplishment.

I had a full year of proof that I was exactly who I thought I was.

The folder was thick.

I presented my review, and DN sat across from me with her arms folded.

She looked at me and said:

"I don't think you've done much of anything this year."

Her review folder was empty.

She hadn't even bothered to complete the standard review form.

I left work that day, took the train to the nearest Target—my happy place at the time—sat in the back aisle, and cried to my dad on the phone like a baby.

I had never felt so belittled, insignificant, angry, and confused in my life.

Because during those four years, I genuinely thought I had figured it out.

Be fabulous.

Be smart.

Build relationships.

Work hard.

And not only will you be accepted and respected—you'll succeed.

I was wrong.

For the next year, DN continued to ice me out completely.

I know, at this point you're probably wondering:

"Why did you stay?"

Simple.

I needed my job.

Undra Celeste New York was still young, and that job funded my dream.

But during that year, I prayed.

Like, really prayed.

And after all the praying, crying, and heartbreak, something shifted in me.

I realized this experience was actually a blessing from God.

Because if I had continued living comfortably in corporate favoritism, I probably never would have fully committed myself to building my own brand.

That shock to my system—coming from someone I admired and trusted—forced me to refocus.

And the irony wasn't lost on me.

I had started this brand to empower women to be their authentic selves in the workplace.

And now I needed to wear my own clothes to help me survive mine.

That year, I became extremely intentional.

I continued doing my job well, even though my responsibilities had been significantly reduced.

I paid off bills.

I saved money.

I invested in Undra Celeste New York.

But more than anything, I became intentional about how I wanted to FEEL.

Not how I wanted to look.

Not what I wanted to achieve.

How I wanted to feel.

I never wanted another person to have the power to make me feel that small ever again.

Exactly one year later, my annual review was scheduled again.

This time, I had no receipts.

No folder.

No presentation.

But what I did have was a birthday trip booked to Cape Town, South Africa.

And I hadn't requested PTO.

A week before my review, I sat across from my boss—in the same room where my last "review" had taken place—and resigned.

I was absolutely petrified.

But I did it.

I resigned in March 2018.

And just like the meeting the year before, she didn't really have much to say.

She simply understood.

By September 2018, just six months later, I showed at New York Fashion Week for the first time. I co-designed the first women's LeBron James shoe, and was featured in every major fashion publications across the country, and witnessed—in the most magnificent way—what God can do when you trust Him.

Had it not been for that experience, I would never have experienced God in that way.

And to this day, every collection I design is rooted in that experience.

I think about women—especially women of color—who deal with this every single day.

Women who are constantly encouraged to shrink themselves in professional spaces.

So when I say I design clothes so women can be their authentic selves in the workplace, please understand this is not just a nice-to-have.

Sometimes it's essential to our survival.

To our mental health.

To our ability to keep showing up despite everything we face.

I've had this brand for 10 years, and I've never publicly shared this story before.

Because stories like this usually don't get shared.

But almost every woman I know—friends, coworkers, mentors, customers—has experienced some version of it.

And today, I'm finally sharing mine.

Because I want you to understand where this brand truly comes from.

What drives me.

What pushes me.

And why I continue to serve women in the way God called me to.

(BTW - the whispers on the street is DN cannot stop talking about me)