Before Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County, nothing really balanced polish and realism in a way that felt this intentional, even if most people didn’t fully register what they were watching at the time. I was only 19 when it came out, right in that space where influence actually lands, and while most people got pulled into the storylines, my attention stayed on Kristin Cavallari for a different reason entirely. It wasn’t about the drama or how she was positioned within it or labeled the bad girl, it was the way she carried herself inside every scene, a level of awareness that showed up through timing, eye contact, and expressions that consistently said more than anything scripted around her. There was nothing forced about it and nothing that felt like it was reaching for approval, just a controlled presence that made it clear she understood the camera while everyone else was still reacting to it. She absolutely understood the assignment and man did she knock it out of the park. She instantly became a fan favorite and target hater as the goody too-shoes of the world sided with good girl Lauren Conrad as they viewed Kristin’s confidence as bitchy; intimidating, which then turned into jealousy. Conrad even admits on the reunion that she totally understands why people talked shit or painted Cavallari to be the bad girl, when she was just trying to have a good time. Insecurity is already a thing when we’re teenagers, but to then have that captured on camera and replayed for you to watch? Wild!

That recognition didn’t stay surface level, because it wasn’t rooted in admiration as much as it was familiarity, and without realizing it right away, I started mirroring it in my own way through mannerisms, expressions, and how I carried myself in conversations where presence actually mattered. Call me a chameleon—it wasn’t just imitation for the sake of it, it was alignment with something that already felt natural, and over time that awareness extended beyond everyday interaction into something more specific, a curiosity about casting, about being placed in front of a camera, about how moments are shaped and translated once they leave the room. That curiosity turned into action, putting myself in positions where being on camera was real, not hypothetical, and in 2008 I got so close to getting casted on MTV’s hugely successful “the reality television series that started it all” The Real World Hollywood, close enough to feel the shift from watching to almost being part of it, and more importantly, close enough to understand that I wasn’t chasing something unrealistic, I was stepping toward something I already had a feel for. I even worked for a casting agency here in Boulder, Colorado in 2014—Metal Flowers Media—scouting talent for shows like Bar Rescue, Ice Cold Gold and Barmaggedon.

What took longer to recognize, and what carries more weight now, is that the presence I was drawn to wasn’t something I needed to build through outside influence, it was something that had been sitting underneath the surface the entire time. For a while, I convinced myself that confidence came from external sources, from alcohol, from distractions, from habits that felt like they were helping me access a version of myself that could show up fully, when in reality they were doing the opposite. They were muting the instinct, softening the awareness, and keeping the clarity just out of reach, and once that started to shift, it became obvious that nothing new was being created, something was being uncovered. The timing, the control, the ability to hold a moment without forcing it, all of it had been there, it just needed space to come through without interference. I figured going out and being “seen” would do something to get me in. I met a lot of people and had cool experiences sure, for the most part, but I was still living in Dallas, it’s not like I was residing in LA where people are constantly being scouted.

As The Hills took over and the shift from Lauren Conrad to Kristin Cavallari changed the tone of the show, the structure behind it became more visible, and the idea of reality as something untouched started to fade. The tension between them carried the narrative, but looking back, it reads more like something guided than something organic, and what stands out isn’t the conflict itself, it’s how Kristin moved within it. Stepping into a role that already came with expectations, she didn’t resist the framing or try to reshape it completely, she operated inside it with enough awareness to maintain control over how it translated. That balance kept the show moving while also exposing the mechanics behind it, and it pushed reality television closer to what it eventually became, something more produced, more intentional, and more dependent on people who understood how to exist within that structure.

Her relationship with Jay Cutler fit into that same pattern of alignment rather than contrast, especially when you consider the kind of presence he carried as a Chicago Bears quarterback. There was a similar level of detachment from outside opinion, a confidence that didn’t rely on performance for approval, and that kind of dynamic doesn’t need to be explained to make sense. It connects with anyone who gravitates toward that athlete mentality, that jock energy rooted in certainty and self-possession, and even as their relationship evolved over time, what it represented still holds, because it was based on identity rather than perception.

With her reality show on E! Entertainment—Very Cavallari, the transition into business and leadership removed any remaining doubt about longevity, shifting the focus from being part of a narrative to driving one. Running Uncommon James required a different level of control, type of presence, and what stands out is how consistent that presence remained across completely different environments. There was no need to reinvent anything or adjust to fit a new role, just a continuation of the same awareness applied at a higher level, which is what separates people who stay relevant from people who fade once the original moment passes.

What sticks with me isn’t just the impact of the shows, it’s the awareness behind it and how clear it became over time. At 19, I saw something I couldn’t fully explain yet, and over the years it turned into something real that shaped how I carry myself and how I show up. Letting go of what I thought I needed didn’t create anything new, it just revealed what was already there. The talent was never missing, it was always there, and once the noise cleared, it was obvious—Going out and parting was the complete opposite of what I should have been doing to gain momentum into the entertainment realm.