Nine years in London: a leap into the unknown
Reflections on chasing a dream
It’s been nine years since I left Italy to chase my dream of becoming a fashion photographer in London. Looking back, I can barely recognise the Giulia who boarded that plane one day in March, leaving everything behind to follow a desire.
It felt like jumping into the void.
I had no plan, no concrete idea of what I would do once I arrived. In fact, London wasn’t even my first choice. I never had that romanticised connection to the city that so many people do (the only place that truly sparks my curiosity has always been Japan).
Originally, I wanted to move to Paris, but the thought of mastering French quickly enough to navigate the city felt impossible. As an Italian, I imagined the barriers would be even higher. I knew enough English to get by, and London had a thriving fashion scene with countless studios and more opportunities than Milan or Rome, so I took the plunge.
Back then, my portfolio was a collection of shots I had organised with friends, often in my makeshift home studio. Occasionally, I managed to work with professional models from Milan and talented makeup artists, but those shoots always left my wallet significantly lighter. Some of these images even made it into magazines, which gave me the confidence to believe I could make it, even as someone from a small country town.
My education in photography came from a fashion photographer in Milan. My mother was driving me there in the morning where I was attending two courses for 6 months. I had a passionate but intense mentor who drilled into us the importance of capturing the moment quickly and effectively , in less than a minute. I supplemented this with a retouching course, but most of my skills came from experimenting, first with household lamps and later with my two Elinchrom lights.
Thinking about it now, I can’t help but admire that younger version of myself. I wasn’t a teenager when I moved, I was 29, with just a handful of assistant gigs under my belt. It wasn’t a move made on a whim but a calculated risk driven by a deep, if somewhat naïve, belief in my potential.
The early years in London were tough.
Moving to a new country means starting from scratch, not just in terms of language and culture, but also in understanding yourself. You’re constantly comparing yourself to others while wrestling with self-doubt. Add to that the absence of family, friends, and everything familiar, and it can feel like writing the first line on a blank page.
In those early days, I tried everything to stand out. I even designed a portfolio shaped like my signature glasses, which landed me a few interviews at big studios. I almost secured a job as an assistant in a massive studio, but on the day I was meant to start, I found out, indirectly and without any real explanation, that the opportunity had disappeared. It was a frustrating and disheartening experience.
Ironically, my first paid photography work in London came from an unexpected corner: men’s streetwear. It was a far cry from the semi-editorial, womenswear-focused shoots I had been doing back home. I had to learn a whole new visual language to capture the raw, urban energy of streetwear. It was a crash course in adapting my style and learning to work with speed lights in unpredictable, low-light environments.
As time went on, I started shooting more womenswear and building my portfolio with test shoots. I had almost no connections in the fashion and commercial industries, a major disadvantage, but I pushed myself to network, even as a natural introvert. The irony of choosing a career that forces me to be so outward-facing isn’t lost on me.
I had countless chances to quit, to pack up my bags and return to my old life in Italy, to my partner at the time, my beloved dogs, and the comfort of the familiar. I still don’t fully understand what kept me here. Maybe it was the stubborn belief that I had something to offer or the quiet, nagging fear of regret if I gave up.
After many moments of self-doubt, tears, and more than a little therapy, I can now say that, despite all the challenges, I have always done what I set out to do: be a photographer. That’s not something I take for granted.
Once, a friend asked me if I felt like I had 'arrived' in life. Without hesitation, I said yes. Not out of arrogance, but because I’ve realised that the uncertainty I felt for so long has been replaced by a quiet confidence in my skills. I may still doubt 96% of what I do, but I’m out there, trying, learning, and pushing myself every day.
An editor at Italian Vogue once told me, "Being good is just the first step, the rest is something else." She was right.
This journey as an expat has taught me countless lessons about resilience, sacrifice, and self-discovery. It’s not a Disney-style 'follow your dreams' story, but a real, sometimes messy, account of personal growth and survival.
Looking back, I think the Giulia of the past was brave, bold enough to keep going despite heartbreak, loss, and countless setbacks. She believed she could somehow make it, and here I am, still trying, still learning, still pushing forward.
I still don’t have all the answers, but I know I’m on the right path. I’ve come a long way since those first uncertain steps in London, but I’m not done yet. Now that I’ve “officially” started my journey as a full-time freelancer, it feels almost like being back at step one. Some days are filled with anxiety and self-doubt, while others are deeply fulfilling, reminding me why I chose this unpredictable path.
But if I’ve learned anything from these past nine years, it’s that every leap, no matter how uncertain, is a step forward. And I’m ready to keep jumping.
Awesome story telling, Giulia. I love these kinds of histories from fellow photographers. Your work is so good, I’m sure your freelance career is gonna be busy!