Meet: Julia Harrison

interviews

Apr 11

Writer & Founder of saloon

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Join us as we chat with Julia about her path to Architectural Digest, the origin story behind her creative community saloon, building a multi-hyphenate career in New York, and the power of writing through life’s messiest moments.

When someone asks, 'So, what do you do?' — how do you usually answer?

I’m a writer at AD on the commerce team—it’s mostly just shopping content. On the side, I started saloon in August. It's sort of like a newsletter/community that’s targeted toward creatives. But really, the intention is for people across industries to find a place to work cross-collaboratively because that doesn't really exist. If I’m a PR person and rep Salt and Stone, I could go into saloon and say, “Hey, we’re launching a new scent and want to throw an event, and we want other brands involved, coverage in these outlets,” etc. Then a freelance writer could say, “I’ll pitch this to Vogue or Marie Claire,” and maybe Ghia would say, “We’ll sponsor it.” All of that is happening in one space. But it’s still in the early stages. It’s just me. I work a full-time job, so I’m trying to find ways to expand and make it more of a fluid presence—and ideally, take myself out of the center so the community can function on its own.

The fact that you’ve only been doing this since August is such a feat. That’s incredible. So you have your full-time job at AD, you’re running saloon, but you also have a personal Substack…

Yeah, like every other woman in New York! It’s called Orzo Bimbo. And it’s kind of like, dare I say, nonfiction. But it’s like nonfiction, essay, whatever. It’s very indulgent.

Okay, so you’re doing all of these things. Can you walk me through a typical 9-to-5 day in your life? Is that even accurate?

Not anymore, I would say. A lot of the saloon stuff happens on the weekends. I probably get like 5–10 emails about saloon per day, so I try to answer those. I’m waking up at seven now, which is a huge feat for me. So 7 to 8 is like the only hour I have to myself. I’ll dawdle around, make my coffee, and answer emails. I usually leave the house around nine because at Condé, no one shows up till like 10:30. Then I work until around 6—it’s a very 10–6 job. Pretty much every night, there’s some kind of event. Not required, but it’s fun. I’m new, and I want to meet the designers and the people. But also, it’s an easy way to burn out. Like this week, there was a Crate & Barrel launch with Jake Arnold, the Lalique showroom after the Jake Arnold thing way uptown…a Thuma event the next night, and something for Helix…so all that happens after work. I’ll leave at 6, go to those, get home around 9, and figure out dinner—unless I’ve already eaten a million canapés at the event. So it’s a long day. It’s hard to find balance, but it’s also exciting. I love everything that’s happening, but about once every three weeks, I’m like, “I need to go to Mexico.” I can’t do it.

Okay, so you have your hands in all these creative spaces. Do you think there’s a common thread tying them together? Or was it a happy accident that you’re working at AD, running saloon, and writing your newsletter?

That's a really good question. A lot of it comes from the fact that working at AD is my dream job. It doesn’t really make sense to me how it happened. The lore is: I left school my sophomore year after a rough situation with someone I was dating. I was in a really bad place—emotionally and socially—and I didn’t know why I was in school. So I left and went home to Virginia. My dad was like, “You need to do something. You’re sick because you’re not doing anything. You’re ambitious, and this shitty thing happened to you, but you need to go do something.” I thought maybe I wanted to work in publishing. My brother was living in New York—he had this little closet that fit a twin bed, and he was like, “I can rent it to you for $450 a month. Come live here.” So, I moved to New York and started working as an intern for a lit mag, and a book PR firm. After about a year, I went back to school at Sewanee to get an English degree, and they have a pretty reputable lit magazine at Sewanee, so when I graduated into COVID, I stayed on at the Sewanee Review. But it was rural Tennessee, and no one else from my year got hired. So, I was just living alone in rural Tennessee. Then I said, okay, I’m going to move to Italy, and helped start an artist residency there for the length of my tourist visa. When I came back, I moved to Arizona—lived there for three weeks—then came back to New York to work again for the same book PR firm. But after a few months of that, I moved to Maine for a second to help open some pop-up restaurants. I know this sounds insane, but it’s all part of the lore. If an opportunity arises, I’m like, I’ve got to do it. So I moved to this tiny island in Maine with my best friend, Isabel. We moved 3 weeks after I met this boy I had fallen in love with. I wanted to stay in Maine, but he was like, “We just met before you left. If you don’t come back, we’ll have to break up.” And I said, “You know what? I’ll come back.” So I returned to New York, realized how expensive apartments had gotten, and had to get a new job to afford one. I took the first thing that came along—admissions. Horrible job. I hated it. But I was making 62K, which meant I could live in Bed-Stuy. Then me and the boy broke up right after I moved in. So I was in this job I absolutely hated, heartbroken, and stuck in this shitty apartment with a roommate I love dearly, but we were both so depressed. I truly wanted to die. And out of that, I was like, okay, I need a project.

Wow. That’s so much life in such a short period.

That’s when I started writing Orzo Bimbo. I hadn’t been writing since Italy, and it’s usually been a throughline for me. Writing through the breakup was so therapeutic. And it was the first time I really felt like, “Oh, I’m a writer. Maybe I can admit that this is my skill set.” Before, I was embarrassed by that. I didn’t want to be one of those people walking around New York being like, “I’m actually a writer,” when so many people are doing that and...not really writing, or not that good.

Totally. There’s that fear of being misunderstood, of seeming performative…

Yeah! And then you read these pieces in major publications written by people who have a ton of clout, but the writing is just…not that good. And it’s frustrating, especially when a lot of that access comes from wealth or social capital. That was part of why I created saloon. I wanted a space for people with real talent and ambition to get connected to others who need that talent and ambition. Editors and employers do want great people. But it's so hard to break in. Everything is so gatekept. The grind is unnecessary. So I was like, “Okay. A space needs to exist for this.” I’d worked in PR, had a decent contact list, and started reaching out to people I thought would benefit from being in one place. That’s how saloon started.

That makes so much sense. I think there’s so much respect for people who really hustle—especially those who haven’t been handed a trust fund or internships. saloon feels like a response to that.

Totally. And just to clarify—anyone’s welcome. It’s not like I’m excluding people with resources. But it’s so nice to be in a space where people get what it takes to build something from the ground up. Especially in this city.

Especially in New York. There’s this “who’s who” energy in every industry. And a lot of people get caught up in that.

Right. And it’s just fucked to me that I could be a good writer and still be invisible compared to someone who has an aesthetic Instagram or an online presence. And again, I’m not saying influencers don’t work hard—but that clout loop is part of the same machine. So yeah, saloon is really about building something collaborative and inclusive. A lot of people in this city make it and then immediately pull up the ladder behind them. That’s never who I want to be.

Totally. I’ve seen that, too—this mentality of, I suffered to get here, so you should too.

Yes! And I get it. When I got my job at AD, a lot of people immediately started asking me to refer them. And I had just gotten there, so I was like, “Can I breathe for a second?” But I also realized—okay, this is my chance to help people. Especially the ones who’ve been grinding for so long.

Have you had people reach out to you about how saloon has impacted them?

Yeah, it happens fairly often. I wish it happened even more. Last night, I went to an event with Tata Bazaar, a company that Anna Gray—she used to run Club Vintage—is helping to build. She was like, “A ton of saloon people helped me set this up.” And I had no idea! I was like, “That’s amazing!” Today, I posted something on Instagram about this girl, Carli, who runs the Libi Project—a culinary community focused on accessibility. She and a caterer named Lucia, who runs Studio Roza, are doing events together now. They met through saloon. And people will DM or email me when they find jobs through the network. What’s been so great is that it’s a community of givers. I was nervous it would attract people who only take, but it’s the opposite. I think that’s partly because of the curation—I’m making sure the people who join are in a place where they can contribute something.

And how are people even finding saloon?

I don’t know! Truly. People will say things like, “I can’t stop hearing about saloon,” and I’m like, “From who??” It’s very word of mouth. Something I need to work on is branding and maybe advertising. But it also needs to stay relatively small. Right now, we have around 4,000 subscribers. A smaller fraction are paid subscribers—those people are in the Discord, along with some of the original admins who helped get it going. I think there are around 400 people in the Discord right now, which feels like a good, manageable number. It could expand a bit, but if it gets too huge, it won’t work the same way.

Can you walk me through the submission or “getting featured” process? Obviously, you’re not just accepting anyone.

Right, so anyone can subscribe to the newsletter for free, but you can’t see much—just the surface-level stuff like “what people are looking for.” If you’re a paid subscriber, you get access to job opportunities, media opps, etc. You can also join the group chat if you reach out to me. That chat is where most of the newsletter content comes from. Me and my friend Sophie synthesize what’s been said in the group chat and turn it into the paid newsletter. So if someone’s like, “Hey, I’m looking for a contact at Hello Sunshine,” I’ll include that in the newsletter. Then maybe someone who sees the newsletter and works there will reach out, and I’ll connect them via email. That matchmaking—literally putting two people in an email—is a huge part of what I do. And it works. Once two people are in an email thread, things tend to move forward. That’s often all it takes.

And you've done in-person events for saloon, right?

Yeah, we’ve done two. They went so well. saloon people are huge chatters—they love to talk, and they talk all night. At the first event, I was panicking. I had 100 RSVPs, 100 gift bags, and no planned activity. I didn’t know if I needed to facilitate anything. But I didn’t have to. People showed up, stayed for five hours, and hung out. It was so fun. It’s nice to put faces to names—people you see in the group chat or newsletter. And there’s this energy in the community that people want to hang out. There’s a vibrational pull. Like, people are planning a sewing workshop on their own. A writer’s group came out of it. There’s a London meet-up happening soon. It’s such a female-focused space—so it’s a lot of women saying, “I’m lonely, I just moved here, I want to meet people.” I hear all the time about people becoming real-life friends through saloon. Two girls from Philly came to the last event and said, “We met through saloon, and now we’re close friends.” That stuff makes me so happy. When I first moved to New York, I only knew my brother. I wish something like saloon had existed then. It would’ve made everything feel less overwhelming. Now, people can use it to say, “I’m new here. I don’t know anyone.” And be connected to people who are ambitious, creative, and looking for a community.

And it’s way more than just a job board. It’s like its own little social platform.

Totally. I wanted it to be interactive. Partly because LinkedIn sucks—it’s just a black hole. The way you really get a job is through a connection. So I thought, what if I just put all these people in the same group chat? Now, it’s blossomed into this thing where people create together. Brands collaborate. People form panels, host events, and find sponsors. And the amazing thing is—saloon people go to everything. They show up. I want it to be an in-between space—where you can say, “I want to host an event, but I don’t know how,” and other people chime in with offers to help or sponsor or attend. It’s a truly collaborative space. I don’t know if that exists anywhere else right now.

So, in your dream world, could this be your full-time thing?

saloon needs to become a proper website. It can’t just live on Substack forever. But to do that, I need funding—like $5,000. And I need help. I need to hire people. It could absolutely become something bigger. But I want to be at AD. That’s my dream job. My dream life is that I’m an editor at Architectural Digest, I’m married, I have kids, I have a house in Maine and a place in Mexico. That’s what I’m working toward. That said, saloon matters to me. It’s working. It feels like a disservice to let it fall flat. So I’m trying to make it the best version of itself. But it’s a lot. I’m pulled in two directions. My friendships have taken a hit. I don’t see my close friends as much anymore. After work, instead of spending time with people I love, I’m going to events and drinks with PR reps. I need to reset a little.

I think that’s a super common feeling in New York. Balancing work, friendships, love, your own well-being—it’s impossible to do everything all the time. And sometimes, certain things have to take a back seat to let others grow.

Exactly. I’m trying to give myself grace. But also, my priority right now is getting saloon off Substack. And also... I love having a boyfriend.

[Laughs] That’s valid.

My last boyfriend and I broke up the day I started my job. He was kind of a dick about it and didn’t get what I was doing. There was definitely some insecurity on his end. Some people in my life think saloon is “just a Substack.” But it’s not that to me. It’s a living, breathing project with this huge interactive aspect. But I’m trying to learn not to explain myself so much. Or to stop disparaging my own efforts as a way of softening how people perceive me.

Don’t you find that through writing—especially in Orzo Bimbo—you have the opportunity to explain yourself and be understood in ways that aren’t always possible in real life?

Totally. It’s like my version of therapy. So much of the writing starts in my Notes app. When I’m commuting, walking, or even waking up in the middle of the night—I’ll write down whatever’s bothering me or something I can’t stop thinking about. Then it kind of coagulates into a piece that reflects the last two weeks—what I’ve been doing, feeling, obsessing over. The insecurities I’ve had, the things that cringed me out, the stuff that haunted me. And yes, very often, that’s my ex-boyfriends. But also the relationships with women that have broken my heart, friendships that were traumatic or complicated. And when I write it down, I see how it all connects. I’ll realize, “Oh, that’s why I’ve been feeling so anxious,” or “That’s why I couldn’t focus this week.” Because I don’t always realize those things in the moment.

That makes total sense. Going back a bit, we actually never finished the timeline of how you ended up at AD. Can you walk me through how that job happened?

Honestly, I wish I had a clearer answer. It was such a tangential connection. I was working in admissions at Pratt, which was completely unrelated to writing. My friend Claudia knew the entertainment editor at AD, Rachel. Claudia said, “I think they’re hiring a commerce editor. You should send your resume.” So I sent it to Rachel. I didn’t know her. I followed up once but didn’t hear anything for six months. I’ve applied to jobs at Condé Nast and Hearst like 10,000 times over the years. Never heard anything. But six months later, someone from AD finally reached out. I had my first interview with a different Rachel, and we just got along. She asked if I’d written commerce before, and I was like, “No.” I’d done some stuff for Coveteur and small magazines. But that was it. She said, “You know what? You can’t teach taste, but you can teach SEO.” And I think she just saw that I had a voice and an eye.

That’s so serendipitous. And you got the job in September, right? So that was just a month or so after saloon started?

Exactly. I think saloon had just started making noise—good and bad. Some people were into it, some were like, “What is this?” But it was definitely floating around. And maybe Rachel saw it, maybe not. Who knows?

It’s so wild how all of that came together.

Totally. And now that I’m at AD, I’m writing commerce content—like “Best Amazon sheets” or “Best outdoor patio sets.” It’s very different from Orzo Bimbo, which is indulgent and emotional. But it’s kind of a relief, actually. It’s nice to keep my emo writing separate from my job. I call it my “JCPenney brain.” Though, we’re trying to move away from that tone and sound more like a design authority, which is exciting—more storytelling, more emphasis on materials and craftsmanship. But still, it’s not the same as the deeply personal stuff I write on my own.

Totally. It’s good to have that space. And you’re clearly doing both well. So, if someone wanted to break into writing, or maybe start their own newsletter, what advice would you share with them?

I think about this a lot. And this is writing advice, not marketing advice. First, you have to spend time with yourself. Like, real time. You have to go to a museum and actually be there. Sit in a coffee shop and really observe. Read a book and engage with it. Don’t do these things just for the content or the photo. Go upstate and actually go upstate. You have to experience life authentically, not aesthetically. Because if your writing comes from a place of trying to be liked, people can tell. It shows. And it doesn’t resonate. You have to find your own interests—not just what’s trending. You have to write the way you write. That said, when you’re first starting, it’s okay to imitate writers you admire. I was reading Renata Adler recently and realized I was structuring my writing like hers without even noticing. That’s how you learn. But if you’re going to imitate, imitate the greats. Don’t imitate Instagram posts, or Substack notes.

Let’s Get Deep

What’s your theme song? (A song that you can’t stop listening to that totally describes the current time of your life?)

Um…this….is all I listen to these days. No idea what it’s saying, but that’s not the point. The emotion and sound of it is exactly how I feel.

Night In or Night Out?

Night out, of course. Ideally dancing, drinks, kissing, fearing my 30’s.

When do you feel most you?

You know—somewhere between hosting a party, wearing a $300 sheer dress, two drinks in, 200 cocktail shrimp on my table, or staring at the ocean listening to Elliott Smith and taking a thousand deep breaths. Those are my two selves.

What’s something you’re obsessed with right now?

I watched four episodes of Narcos last night…also investing in Dunton Ellerkamp pieces like the rest of New York.

Call or Text?

Text, for sure, just in terms of like: I’m always doing something. My phone is always on Do Not Disturb.

When was the last time you cried?

I cry all the time—everything moves me too much. I saw two pigeons sitting next to each other outside my kitchen window and cried. They looked like best friends. There was no reason for them to be hanging out like that. I cried explaining it to my friends later, too.

When’s the last time you laughed (like a big belly laugh)?

My friend Molly makes me laugh like this every day. I think the last time was because she was reminding me of when she was making an insane first impression on our friend’s girlfriend by talking about getting flashed on the bus and both our friend and his girlfriend just had no idea how to receive the story.

Current favorite follow on social media?

Ames Lizzie is doing something so unique, just absurdly talented. Also my friend Ivey Redding, an amazing photographer, who loves her husband so much and they’re always posting the cutest shit—not saccharine content ever, just two people living life together with such a good sense of humor about it.

Lastly, what’s one thing you would tell your 16-year-old self?

Oh, god. That makes me emotional. I don’t regret anything huge between now and then, but I wish I’d put less emphasis on male attention. That’s a big one. I think a lot of us are still trying to grow out of that. I also wish I’d had a better read on people—especially friends. I made some poor choices in that area. I wish I’d learned to trust myself sooner, especially in relationships. I knew when things needed to end, but I didn’t act on it—I’m grossly loyal. That’s true of both friendships and romantic stuff. But you know, I was also reading all the time. I had all this time after school, I used to read so much. No sports, no obligations. And all of that reading helped make me who I am now.