I had dreamed of a Hollywood career ever since I was 12, aspiring to a high fashion wardrobe, acclaim and lots of money. In reality, I didn't become rich and famous, but my brush with Hollywood helped me gain invaluable life lessons.

As a youth, I felt that any lifestyle was ok as long as it incorporated basic elements of Shabbat, a kosher diet and modest dress. So when I graduated college in 1990, I flew out to L.A. with vague aspirations and one half-finished script. I also carried the phone number of a local Chabad woman, Leah Drizin, the sister of my father's close friend.

I landed a position at a video production company. My work as a Hollywood studio receptionist felt as if I was playing out my childhood dreams. Movie stars and rock legends sauntered past, luxury automobiles drove by, and racks of clothing zoomed in and out.

When I discovered that selling a screenplay for a million dollars was not a daily occurrence, I decided to pursue something more realistic like costume design. Every woman who played dress-up as a little girl had similar aspirations. But as a receptionist in a bustling production company, I had certain advantages.

My front office position gave me access to successful wardrobe stylists who created the looks featured in popular music videos. Eager to gain on-set experience, I begged every stylist who walked through the door to let me work for free on my days off. Impressed by my enthusiasm, they granted my request. Thus was launched my thankfully short-lived career as a Hollywood wardrobe stylist.

In Hollywood, modest dress is considered aberrant. During my two-year career, nearly every male designer or photographer I worked with would ask me why I always wore "long skirts." This line of conversation not only defused awkward situations - it also reminded some creative types of their Jewish roots. Sometimes this meant the wrap-up party for a shoot would be held at a kosher restaurant. I was able to persuade busy photographers to break from their hectic schedules for Shabbat with families I befriended through Leah.

Non-Jews, too, were sensitive to my religious observance. For several months I worked as a wardrobe assistant on rap and hip-hop music videos. On set, I worked the long, hot and grueling shoots in a skirt and vintage blouse. Some of the female producers on questioned why I subjected myself to such discomfort. When I explained that a woman's true beauty is not meant to be flaunted, the women nodded approvingly.

My bosses, at first, accommodated my need to take off Shabbat and Jewish holidays. Ultimately, however, it became apparent that Hollywood truly worships the mighty dollar. As one stylist/costume designer put it, "I respect you and what you stand for, but I can't hire you if you're not available 24/7."

I flailed around for another year as an independent stylist. Investing in my career future, I often labored for free, making contacts and building my portfolio. After a year and a half, offers for remunerative work began pouring in. I rejoiced at the prospect of financial solvency, but then realized that most shoots conflicted with Shabbat.

I had mistakenly assumed I could lead a "double life," celebrating Shabbat on the weekends and wallowing in low morality throughout the week without being affected. By the end of my costuming career, I was almost completely desensitized.

One day as I draped strands of silver jewelry over a model dressed mainly in mud, I realized that I was literally immersed in shmutz. At that point I quit the business.

I am now happily married and live in a nice Jewish community. Between familial obligations I take classes in non-fiction writing, and am working on a book. I have learned to appreciate that Torah shines much brighter than showbiz stage lights.

Courtesy of Lchaim weekly newsletter