I grew up with a lot of men. It was me and nine boys, once you count all my brothers and cousins. My dad, Francis Ford Coppola, was a macho film-maker and his friends were all of that ilk, so I think I really clung to femininity and a kind of girly aesthetic.

When I was in my mid-20s, I came across The Virgin Suicides. I remember seeing the cover – it was just all this blonde hair. I read it and loved it. It felt like Jeffrey Eugenides, the writer, really understood the experience of being a teenager: the longing, the melancholy, the mystery between boys and girls. I loved how the boys were so confused by the girls, and I really connected with all that lazing around in your bedroom. I didn’t feel like I saw that very much in films, not in a way I could relate to.

I never thought I would be a film-maker. It wasn’t something I ever planned, despite the fact I loved hanging around on sets. That’s how I learned to do it. At a young age, I was really into fashion and clothes although I felt frustrated at art school. I had so many interests – design, photography, music – but I just couldn’t find one medium that really clicked for me. Then I made a short film, Lick the Star in 1998, and it brought together all the things I loved.

I made The Virgin Suicides, my first feature-length film, a little later. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, it was personal: when I was 15, my eldest brother Gio died suddenly in a boating accident. This gave me a connection to The Virgin Suicides, which is also about loss. Often, movies about teenagers are dumbed down with cheap photography. There aren’t a lot of quality art films made for young audiences. But I wanted to treat them with respect, to look properly at that deep, emotional time. Because I was still in my 20s, the idea of school wasn’t far away.

We have a family film company, American Zoetrope, so I really had my dad’s support. He encouraged me, really talked to me. He always said the most important thing about a movie is the acting and the writing. Although he wasn’t there on set very much, he really mentored me. When he did visit, he was kind of nervous. He would tell me to shout “Action!” louder so they knew I was in charge. I would say: “But Dad, this is how I do it.”Kirsten Dunst, who plays Lux, was 16 when we were casting. I remember being struck by her bubbly, all-American cheerleader look – and then this depth in her eyes, a wise sadness combined with all her effervescence. It was kind of her first role not being a kid actress. So the film was a first for both of us.

The whole thing was a challenge, though, and not just because the financing fell apart the week before shooting. It was just a low-budget production and creating a period film with limited resources is tough. Fortunately, I had experienced, respected actors such as James Woods and Kathleen Turner, who were all eager to participate.

But the hardest thing about making a movie, something I still find a challenge, is planning all the shots and how they’re going to cut together. A dinner scene is very complicated. I was so stressed about figuring out the one in The Virgin Suicides. You can get carried away and do way too many shots that don’t fit together. Eyelines have to match and you have to be really focused on whose point of view each shot is. It’s like a maths equation. The first screening took place at Cannes, which made for a nerve-racking debut. It was the Directors’ Fortnight in 1999. I think I was 29 and felt really scared. But I remember a friend telling me what Muhammad Ali thought of when he went into the ring. “Did I train as hard as I could?” he would ask himself. “Did I do my best?” And that’s all you can do.

It was well received and the critics were really supportive. I feel like I owe the start of my career to that Cannes audience. Despite this, practically nobody saw it in America. It got a dismal release and then it was gone. Still, it gave me something to show when I wanted to make my second film. And a couple of years ago, a bunch of teenage girls told me how much they loved The Virgin Suicides. I thought: “How do they even know about that? They weren’t even born.” Through the internet, it’s had a second life. It’s nice to know that it still speaks to some young women.

I couldn’t see myself making the film now. I’m at such a different stage in my life. It’s not what I’m thinking about. But each film builds to the next one. Making my most recent work, The Beguiled, did involve looking back to The Virgin Suicides. Certain elements reminded me of it: girls and women at different stages, but older and dealing more with their desires and the challenges of womanhood. It’s like my life has been bookended by those two films.

What does The Virgin Suicides mean to me now? It makes me remember shooting in Toronto with Kirsten and all the cast. Also, I have fond memories of it just not being a total disaster. I remember my Dad telling me that your movie’s never as good as the dailies – everything shot that day – and never as terrible as the first rough cut. When I saw the first rough cut, I thought: “Oh no, this is terrible, what have I done? I’ve talked all these people into letting me make a movie and it’s terrible.” Then, little by little, we pieced it together and made it into a film.

I don’t know if I would have a film career if it wasn’t for that book. Turning it into a film really opened me up, gave me the bug. I think I was just wandering in my 20s, trying to figure out what I wanted to do, trying different things and having that angst of not feeling comfortable in your own skin yet. It was scary directing a film, but I was so connected with the material I felt like I had no choice. The Virgin Suicides made me a film-maker.

This is an edited extract from The Start, the Guardian’s new culture podcast in which famous artists talk about their first work. Produced by Eva Krysiak, the series will also include Damien Hirst, Abi Morgan and Ai Weiwei. Go to theguardian.com/podcasts or search The Start on any podcast app.

‘An assured debut’: The Virgin Suicides appraised

In 1970s Michigan, five teenage sisters, corralled in their plush suburban enclave by their paranoid parents, succumb to a kind of group obsession with suicide – though not before becoming the objects of confused adoration from a group of local boys. Nothing so obvious as motivations are offered for the sisters’ gruesome destinies, as Coppola renders their story as a fable of heightened adolescent longing and desire.

Kirsten Dunst gives a definitive “grown-up” performance as the sister whose failed attempt to break free, via the handsome clutches of Josh Hartnett, ends up reinforcing the group’s isolation.

A more assured start to a directorial career it would be hard to imagine. Coppola tells this story with a beautifully crafted languor that perfectly captures teenage years as a time of mystery and regret. Andrew Pulver