Say Yes To Everything

I arrive at Noons at 6:30pm. I open the door and hold it for a man carrying a wild-looking shelf in the ubiquitous mid-century modern gold. He checks the frame of the door, making sure not to scrape anything, then dropping the piece in his SUV around the corner. He comes back for one more. Then the wall is empty.

Michelle Nunes gets up from her wood desk to check the space. Any remaining clutter is in its final moments. In a few, she returns to her desk, content. The bustle settles to a standstill. Michelle shakes it off like a slight chill. The state of flux is no concern - not even a blip on her radar.

“I had like a vintage pop up and now they are clearing out”, Michelle explains, “vintage home, really”. She ponders the implications of the two descriptors. What do they do for her vision? I take a step back, away from nothing. But I feel like I’ve interrupted her day mid-stream, even here, one minute past closing. There’s no turning off for Michelle. Noons is a constantly revolving machine, and she is the relentless conductor at the helm.

Mickey and Jesse arrive, flustered from the remains of a long day. It’s a mutual feeling.

“It’s been kind of an intense two weeks, hasn’t it?” Michelle asks. A moment of silence passes, then she cracks a smile. “Or, maybe that’s just me.” It’s not. She’s just the only one that treats the struggle like positive motion. Like every wave to overcome is healthy competition towards a yet undefined trophy. Meanwhile, the three of us just look like we’re hanging on to the seat belts.

“I’m so sorry about last week”, Michelle says, looking to the blank wall. She doesn’t need to apologize for the four days of interview delay, but she does anyways. “They had moved in and then… I don’t know, it’s just been a whirlwind. Everything was just kind of a mess. And then now they’re removing all their stuff and moving out of state… I don’t know. Like I said, whirlwind. They came in and were like ‘we’re going to take 30% of the space!’ and I’m thinking, wow, [that much] space?” She stares at the open wall. The first home goods pop-up for Noons. Lessons learned, complications, now, a blank slate. “So yeah”, she continues, “now I’m thinking more like one day pop ups. Don’t try to do a longer time thing.”

The moment of melancholy is broken quickly. Durutti Column’s “Otis” pipes in overhead. I note it. Michelle’s expression brightens. She skips past Vini Reilly and goes straight to the connection. “This guy used to be in the Smiths!”, Michelle says excitedly. That’s a lot how Noons feels. Despite the pristine, striking nature of her assembly, nothing Michelle does feels pretentious or unattainable. She always wants to pull you into her world using something familiar, daring you to edge just a few inches further out onto the diving board.

“I’ve been in Phoenix on and off since 2001”, she says. “I grew up in Pennsylvania. My parents are first generation from Portugal. They came out to PA with my brother. I was always into music, heavily. I started writing my own music and then got into the nerdy aspect of music of engineering and recording and really geeked out on that. I ended up going here to the Conservatory of Recording Arts [and Sciences]. And I did that program and it was awesome, and then I went back east and got a job.”

“When I was in New York in my early 20s, I did [audio engineering] for a year and realized I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to get into the visual world. The visual/fine art world was always something I’ve loved. I was always obsessed with music videos and, like, staring at the art on a record. And [the visual] was really more about your individuality and that’s why I gravitated towards it. Also, I was just kind of done with the east coast. I had had such a great experience out here [in Phoenix] with the weather and the people… just so different from the east coast. People are happy, life is a little slower, the sun is shining, and so… just on a whim I decided to come back.”

Michelle laughs, shifting in her chair as the next song comes in on the PA. “I don’t know if you guys believe in universal signs, but I asked for one. And I kid you not, this truck drove past me that just said ‘C U IN AZ’ on like a fake license plate with a cactus on the antenna. And I’d never seen anything like that back east and I was just like, ‘I think that’s a sign’. And I was really young, so I was just like, sure, I’ll cut my ties here and go for it.”

“So I came here, I was studying at ASU, I got into fine art, and then I eventually got into the design world. I got into graphic design and started working for this magazine and hanging out with the designers and I realized what they are doing is pretty much engineering, just visually. Between the programs and arrangement and even when you’re mixing and figuring out levels, this was totally that translation on a visual level and I really liked it. It felt a lot more natural to me. So I started teaching myself and getting into the web design world. Then I started freelancing and ended up quitting school because I started getting gigs. And since then I’ve just been freelance.”

Michelle walks her trajectory through in her head. “Starting from graphic design, I started doing textile design, and then started styling, shooting, and selling things online. I ran out of space, and then this building was a mile from where I live and I stared at it all the time and it was the first place I looked at and it was available so it just fell into place. So that’s why I’m here!”

She pauses for a moment, shrugging in contentment. “That’s just kind of my life. It’s just kinda like oh this door opens, so I’ll go through this door, and now, what’s going to happen here? And just go by the experience of it.”

The way she tells the story, you wouldn’t question a single step in her journey. But this is only because of the gift she has for storytelling - for world-shaping, even. Coming from Pennsylvania to study off of Broadway and the 101. To have the foresight to open a progressive, challenging boutique at Thomas and 7th Ave. Michelle has unparalleled vision she doesn’t give herself credit for. Noons has occupied the space for just under a year now, and in that time, she’s accomplished what most hope to see in the full lifetime of their space.

I wander around the polished concrete and ask her about the space. Has it lived up to her expectation?

“I used to work isolated, alone”, she says. “For me, meeting people... it’s an enrichment. Just being present here has been so amazing. It seems to be like a networking kind of place. A lot of people will come in and end up crossing paths. It just feels like it’s this happy portal of connects. I feel like people are just happy it’s here.”

Michelle notices a speck of dust at the edge of her desk, brushing it off with a frown. “I mean, to some extent, it’s taken away from the work with what I really want to put into the business… I’m in that seesaw of wanting to hire help to help with the grunt work. I always joke with people introducing myself as the owner and janitor of Noons.” She sits back in her chair again, content - the zen of the space restored. “But people do tell me all the time… they’re like ‘Oh, we needed a place like this in Phoenix’. We have coffee, we have food. But as far as boutiques go there’s definitely room for growth. It adds to the identity of the city. That’s one thing about any city, when you are traveling, you want to know where you can go, where can I eat, where can I shop - places that add that itch, like ‘Oh, I want to go back to that little shop!’. Whether it’s Phoenix General or Local Nomad or here.”

The distinction, of course, comes from Michelle herself. There are bits and pieces scattered throughout the space. Colorful Portuguese rugs hang behind her at the desk. Clothes designed by friends - some near and some far - hang on the wires. She has something to say about every item you might pick up in the store, like it’s another favorite she’s been eyeing for herself. The space is a piece of her.

“When I got into this space, people would ask me what guides my decisions. And I really just want people to want to be here. I want them to buy from the store, obviously - I need to exist. But I want them to take their time, walk around, and feel a sense of belonging, or even a sense of ‘I’m not in Phoenix, I’m just in this place. And that has been the response. People have told me ‘I don’t feel like I’m in Phoenix, I’m in another little place’, and I like that a lot.”

Mickey smiles, looking to Jesse. The two true Arizonan natives among us, they’ve heard that sentiment more than a handful of times. “Do you think that’s weird?” she asks Michelle. “I hear that all the time and I catch myself saying it too. When I’m at a great coffee shop or a great restaurant or a great store. I think oh, this is nothing like Phoenix. But they’re all here…”

There’s a glimmer in Michelle’s eye. “Right! Maybe it’s becoming Phoenix. I guess since we’re so used to it not having those things. It used to be we had two places to go. And now, it doesn’t really feel like Phoenix [as we knew it], and I don’t really want that feeling to go away.”

She thinks about it a bit longer, letting the notion float between the music notes. “It would be kind of cool if Phoenix doesn’t feel like Phoenix forever… I mean, it’s change. I love change. Ever since I was a kid I’ve gravitated towards artists who constantly change. Like Prince, Madonna, or Bowie. I was always asking ‘What are they going to do next?’.

“For me, when I started, a lot of it had to do with economy. I didn’t have a lot of money. So I thought about what can I do with very little. I love that. I’m sure if I had a ton of shit it’d be completely different. Having that constraint forces you to be very creative. Like with [my business on] Instagram. I had this phone, and I knew how to use Photoshop, so I just thought about what I could do with this. What can I do to be a signal? To create one little signal? I’m not always creating that signal, but I try, and I think my ultimate goal is to be that, when I can… a creative signal. And I don’t really care where that would be. Whether it be Phoenix, or like Mexico, or wherever. You just need to keep creating and refining that vision, because it gives you that sense of personal growth. Then, you’ll be like 90 and still making it. And then you can croak.” Michelle cracks up.

Despite the laugh, there isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in her voice. I feel like I’m right back at the beginning of our conversation, interrupting her day, interrupting her locomotion. The way Michelle tells her story, she has all the time in the world to do her work, but not a moment to lose to doubt.

“You can’t”, Michelle enunciates, “because you’ll die. I was doing bread and butter graphic design jobs and after a while I just felt dead. I felt like I was dying - like my soul was dying. But I think we all need a little bit of that to really value when you go off on your own. And to really be like ‘Ok, there’s no backup here, because I did the backup and it sucks. So I’m going to do this, and this sucks too, and there is hardship, but this suck is worth it’. You have to embrace whatever it is that you’re going through. Because whatever you’re going to do it’s going to be hard, so just pick what you want to suffer for. It’s like with social media... you only ever see the end result. But you have no idea how hard it was to get to that point. I think we need to show more of that.”

Michelle’s willingness to showcase the success and the struggle has caught the eye of far more than just customers. She is a welcome and necessary presence in the Phoenix art scene.

“Lani [at the Phoenix Art Museum] invited me to style three of their models for life drawings on First Friday. She was in the shop and liked it, and so she reached out and asked if I wanted to participate. She told me I could pick the people, so I picked customers. I styled them with what we had [in the store]. A lot of the time, collaborations happen like that, just by people asking. I haven’t really reached out… mostly, people just like being here. They’ll come in and ask.”

Michelle has a very field of dreams approach to her work. Pop-ups of all kinds, historically including floral and home goods. Lending outfit changes to MRCH for their Orpheum Theater-based video for “Slay Me”. Michelle did a drive for pads and tampons to celebrate International Women’s Day. She has hosted book releases and DiRTYOGA. People feel comfortable at Noons. It feels like a place where you can collaborate or throw yourself out there. Michelle shrugs. “I just say yes to everything, mostly.”

Say yes to everything. Work. Toil. Pain. Struggle. Solidarity. Doubt. Breakthrough. Success. Camaraderie. Vocation. Passion. Joy. All of it. The Noons guide to living, in a nutshell.

With a year in the bag for Noons, I ask Michelle what’s in store for year two. The cascading response is less a line by line checklist of goals and more an attempt at documenting her constant state of flux in snapshot form.

“I want to make stuff for the store. I want to grow the team from 1 to 3. I want to be a little bit more brave about bringing in stuff I really want to bring in. I want to challenge my customers a little bit in that way. More exciting lines. Things I was afraid to bring on. But still make it accessible.”

The gleam falters a bit, as she digs deeper. “I also want to be a lot smarter. I feel like right now I have a D in Business, maybe a C. I’ve made some mistakes. Things should not be done on a handshake. Things should be outlined a little more. Sometimes I just go with the flow way too easily. And as a business owner, you really have to cover all your blind spots, consult people you trust, and just put something in writing or like an email trail. Just be smarter about the people I bring on. Be more aware of blind spots. Like when you’re changing lanes. You have to look, you know? So I just need to look more.”

There’s a serenity in how Michelle talks about profit, growth, and the future. The business lessons will come in time. She’s in it for the long run. There’s no need to rush it.

“What you learn costs you money. Money [hurts], but the time thing, that doesn’t get to me. 60 is where I’m gonna peak. I’m gonna be like 65, 70, that’s when I’m going to be approaching Guggenheim, ready to be in installation artist, like, I did it. I did the music, I did graphic design, I did the shop, and I’m ready to do my art.”

Michelle pauses, thinking about her forty year plan, double checking the trajectory. She turns back to me with a smile. “So… yeah.” Affirmative. The plan is a go. Now, let the decades of hard work and determination come as they may. In Michelle’s hands, they’ll be beautiful.