36 MONEY.COM MARCH^2019
At 34, Amoruso is rebranding failure.
She’s still the #Girlboss, a hashtag-able
superhero, of sorts. But here at the “Girlboss
Rally,” the fourth of its kind in less than two
years, she has a new stump speech. A
testament to tenacity, and failing in the right
way.
She’s a #Girlboss with a war story.
“Very few women have blown it on the
scale that I’ve blown it,” she’ll tell me from
a greenroom later on.
When Amoruso steps offstage, the crowd
thins.
Those who stick around are treated to a
“movement break” from an enthusiastic Nike
trainer, who leads them through a series of
stretches “designed to help harness our
power.” Others mingle on mustard-color
couches or trickle into breakout session
rooms. They’re guided by a floor plan printed
on their welcome packets (“Balleroom,”
“Hustle Hall”), coupled with their horoscopes
(“The potential for you to grow and shine is
powerful this month, Leo.”)
Near the entrance, a maze of merchandise
tables buzzes with activity. Vendors sell
rose-colored crystals and neon nail polish.
You can get a #Girlboss lighter for four bucks
and a #Girlboss hoodie for $65. If you’re
looking for a more permanent way to tell the
world you’re living your #bestlife, there’s a
tattoo artist in the corner inking quickie
designs (among them: an Old English version
of “PAY ME”).
The vibe of the crowd is fittingly defiant.
Billed as a “Noah’s Ark of ambitious women,”
the Girlboss Rally is a weekend-long affair for
mostly young, mostly up-and-coming
entrepreneurs. They came to hear Amoruso
and her contemporaries—women like
Arianna Huffington and actress-turned-
entrepreneur Brooklyn Decker—talk about
how to exist outside the boundaries of a
“normal” job. To get their professional
head shots taken and their tarot cards read.
They came from all over—40 states
and 31 countries, according to a Girlboss
spokesperson. And they paid good money to
be here: around $500 to $800 for two-day
admission.
Many of the #Girlbosses have their own
war stories to tell. These are resourceful,In an old warehouse on the edge of
Queens, N.Y., a thousand-some
#Girlbosses have assembled.
They sit on folding chairs, filling a cavernous space that once
belonged to a door factory but now looks more like a Suze
Orman fever dream. Neon lights twist toward a massive stage; a
banner the size of a billboard screams, “PAY ME PAY ME PAY
ME” in selfie-perfect block lettering.
Every #Girlboss is wearing something Meant to Be Seen. A
fuchsia pantsuit, a faux fur statement coat, hair the color of a
radioactive lime. Her nails are bright and fresh, her eyeliner is
winged. And her attention is rapt.
Onstage, Sophia Amoruso—the #Girlboss-in-Chief—is
flicking through a slideshow of the defining moments in her
career: ambivalent college student, part-time eBay seller,Forbes
magazine cover star.
They’ve heard this story before. Most of the audience read,
and reread, Amoruso’s 2014 memoir,#Girlboss, which detailed
her rise from California crust punk to e-commerce superstar.
They dog-eared pages and underlined quotes. Some made the
book a permanent nightstand fixture; others still keep it in their
purses for quick inspiration.
They know what comes next too. How, a few months after
thatForbescover, Nasty Gal, the clothing brand that shot
Amoruso into the public eye, filed for bankruptcy. How her
company imploded the same year she published her second
book,Nasty Galaxy, and Netflix announced it was adapting a TV
series based on her first.
“I’d gotten everything I’d ever dreamed of, but I was the
loneliest I’ve ever been,” she tells the audience. “And I’m the
Girlboss.”
THE #GIRLBOSS REVOLUTION