nine

HERE’S AN IDEA © CHARLIE DEAN DESIGNS:

Embroider the following on a large pillow: Never let the ugly win.

DATE: MARCH 2

Days until fashion show: 63

I arrived at the atelier—atelier!—over eight minutes late—an eternity! I was the tiniest bit breathless because I am unused to running and have never found physical exertion fashionable and it was quite awkward but the teacher was so nice and I think I recovered well and made an excellent impression after those first few moments.

The assistants, Bijou and Tesla—their names are to die for—asked us to come into the Poiret room. The POIRET ROOM! (As anyone who might chance to read this will know, Paul Poiret was the godfather of draping and a major figure in fashion history.) I can’t even say how much I love that the fashion wing of Green Pastures has a Worth Room, a Westwood Room, and a Chanel Room. It shows such style and knowledge!

Once we were seated at our desks I was able to assess the other contestants. Allow Charlie Dean to peindre un portrait.

My fellow contestants were of all ethnicities and body types, genders and, one suspects, sexualities. We were pure fashion in that regard.

One could be described using one word. Sincérité. Avec un soupçon de patchouli. She was full figured and had long, spirally black hair. If I had to guess, I’d say her ancestors came from Romania, which would be so glamorous! Or maybe her heritage was Welsh, which would also be fantastic! Her look was witchy, if not exactly bewitching, if you’ll forgive a little pun. She had a major smoky eye going on, and a vampire lippie, and her entire maquillage looked like she had a part-time job smudging sage at haunted houses or maybe selling curses, three for a dollar, at the corner of Haunted House and Third Street. Her name tag read “Ainslee McPhee.”

It wasn’t my favorite look, but there was a commitment behind it that I admired.

A boy called Jason Wong wore a fabulous shredded ensemble. Totally nouveau Berlin punk visiting LA. Loved, loved, loved.

A pale girl named Ellen was channeling Anna Wintour by way of Audrey Hepburn. Terribly tidy in flats, cigarette pants, and a sharp bob is how I’d characterize her look.

Some of the contestants were not notable. They were instead pretty or cute. Whatever you want to call it, they were inoffensive, unless you like your fashion with some distinctiveness. But I’m sure they were very nice girls and their hair was really very long and shiny, which is never a bad thing.

I’d seen at least three or four of the other contestants in the halls of R. S. Jackson, although I didn’t know them personally. I wondered how they’d found out about the competition, since I’d intercepted the announcement from Mr. Oliver’s mail. They must have kept track of the website. Several of them apparently congregate in the old art room on breaks, as Charles had mentioned. I had no idea they were working on fashion design in there! What a terrific surprise, although I also hoped none of them was too skilled.

Then there was John Thomas-Smith from Careers class. He absolutely reeked of street cred and comfortable ease in a nothing sort of outfit. Charlie Dean needs to study him, especially now that he’s revealed his love of intellectual design. How does he manage to look so stylish in such mishmashed clothes? Is it connected to his intellectualism? John Thomas-Smith has excellent color sense. I was happy to see him, even though I had assumed he wouldn’t be serious competition and now I fear that he might be. I want everyone to succeed in the competition, but obviously I hope I succeed the most.

There was a darling girl called Madina, who I think was Muslim. She had marvelous dark eyes and wore a beautiful silk head scarf. She was absolutely next level in her white denim jumpsuit with many zippers. Another girl named Jo, short for Jo-Ann, had a Joan Jett look that was beyond belief cool. Jo-Ann looked at me for a moment too long and then winked, which was so saucy and hilarious of her! So rock et roll in her T-shirt with the gorgeous cover image from Moonshot on the front. If you haven’t read it, Moonshot is a collection of Indigenous comics. To. Die. For. Art. The cover image is particularly fabulous and of interest to all people who care about art and design. Another girl, white, with the glorious nearly translucent skin of the true redhead, wore a fabulous chiffon smock in various shades of smoke that swept around her wheelchair, transforming it into a veritable chariot when she moved! Magnifique! She called herself Cricket and said dry, cutting things and was generally très chic and funny, and her wonderful red hair had a wave the ocean itself would envy.

Mr. Carmichael, the head of the fashion design program, was absolutely the most stunning example of a well-dressed and handsome older man in his excellent gray blazer, dark jeans, beautifully cut sel et poivre hair, good loafers. The perfect pink shirt. Sigh. He was the best-dressed teacher I’d ever seen. Of course, he is probably much better compensated than the teachers at Jackson. I think the people who determine teacher pay should know that students, at least this student, feel more nurtured and better educated when their teachers can afford excellent clothes.

After his introductory lecture Mr. Carmichael congratulated us again on being accepted into the competition and said that our applications were “most intriguing.”

“I’d like to thank Tesla Wharton and Bijou Atwater for agreeing to help out with the competition. They are two of our most gifted seniors.”

I’m glad Bijou is not a competitor. She is purest style. Her hair is black with a white streak, and her outfit was the kind of chic that costs a lot of money and requires absolutely unerring taste. When Mr. Carmichael called her gifted, her eyes closed briefly in the most deliciously feline satisfaction.

I was sitting next to Jason Wong, the boy wearing the deconstructed look of shredded leather and denim. He leaned over and whispered, “Her dad funded most of this program and built the whole fashion wing.”

I didn’t react, but Bijou stared at us as though she’d heard the comment.

Tesla, the other assistant, had hair so pale, it was nearly silver. She was thin and graceful, with a pale athleticism-slash-sportif thing going on that made her look quite enchantée! Like a ballet dancer on a break or maybe a gymnast on her day off.

After lunch Mr. Carmichael had us talk about our backgrounds and perspectives on fashion.

If the contest was for enthusiasm, Madina would win the top three spots. She and her family recently immigrated to Canada after fleeing a terrible war. She has five brothers and was so compelling on every level, I almost couldn’t stand it. I wonder if she’ll incorporate head scarves into her looks. I really must get better educated about world fashion. There is so much to learn about other traditions, and I can’t wait.

Witchy Ainslee informed us she likes incense, the color green, and “island living.” Her particular focus was on sustainably produced clothing and organic fabrics with a historical bent.

Beside me Jason Wong told us that he wants to be a costume designer for the movies. He said he is an avid reader and writer of horror.

When asked about his passion for fashion, John Thomas-Smith said, “A bit of everything and a lot of nothing.” When Mr. Carmichael told him to go deeper, John said he sometimes resented fashion and how it pressures people to fit a mold.

“Can you unpack your critique?” asked Mr. Carmichael.

Mr. Carmichael speaks to us like we’re in the third year at Yale! J’adore!

John looked embarrassed and said nothing, but Mr. Carmichael waited him out.

“I just think that some aspects of it are, uh, sort of bullshit.”

Mr. Carmichael watched. Then he looked at the rest of us.

“And you? Do you think fashion is ‘sort of bullshit’?”

“No!” said two of the identical girls together.

“Yes,” said Cricket from her chair. “Obviously.”

The matching, long-haired girls swiveled to stare at her. Cricket stared back from under the swoop of flame-red hair that nearly covered one eye. Her hair was so perfect for her. And that chiffon dress. It really was extraordinaire! Such panache! Next time I see her in the halls at Jackson I will go and speak to her. Maybe.

“Industrial fashion doesn’t recognize that not everyone is a size zero able-bodied lemming bot,” she said. “And regular people can’t afford custom clothes.”

“Unless they change the way they think about clothes,” said Ainslee.

“The fashion world is full of thieves,” said Jo-Ann. “If I see one more big-name designer label knocking off indigenous designs, I’m going to . . . pinking shear someone.”

Everyone laughed, except me and John. I didn’t laugh because my heart felt too full of love for my fellow competitors. I don’t know why he didn’t laugh.

“This competition is designed to allow you to critique fashion as well as participate in it. We want to see that you have thought deeply about designing clothes that reflect your values and that honor your models. We want to see evidence that you understand not just the fashion industry as it exists today, but where it comes from and even where it might go.”

And then he gave us a magnifique lecture on the word “fashion.” He talked about how it means to make something, to change something, that it refers to a multibillion-dollar industry and is also a synonym for “trends.”

He told us he wanted us to consider the spiritual dimensions of clothing design. Now they were all gaping, except for me. Gaping is very unattractive.

Ainslee asked what Mr. Carmichael meant by “spiritual.” It was évident that Ainslee thinks she knows beaucoup de spirituality and was thinking she’d be having a conversation among equals.

“At the risk of sounding too esoteric or vague, some theologians say our spirituality can be defined as how we channel our desires,” he answered. “Fashion is all about desire. Who we want to be. How we want to be seen. During this competition I want each of you to think about what your deepest desire is. How has that desire brought you to the study and execution of clothing?”

“Fear!” said Jason, the horror lover. “We live in fearful times. Clothing is armor! Also, I want to be a costume designer for horror movies.”

Mr. Carmichael nodded.

“I am sickened by fast fashion,” said Ainslee. “Clothing should go back to a time when it meant something.”

“Tradition and elegance,” said Ellen, the tidy girl. “Plus revolution.”

John added nothing, but he was paying close attention.

I’ll say this about the conversation. I loved it. Every word. Because I believe that fashion design is a way to release the inner dreams! Histoire vraie! Mr. Carmichael was being so deep, and he was asking us to be deep, too! Our designs had to be more than beautiful and well made. They also had to be spiritual. That would be no problem for me. Clothing is basically my religion.

“As I was saying,” Mr. Carmichael went on, “everything we do as artists, designers, and human beings has multiple dimensions. We are looking for young designers who are going to explore the boundaries of what fashion can do and what it should do.”

So this was what students learned in the Green Pastures fashion program! They weren’t just getting news and views from the latest hot stylist. They were learning the history, art, politics, economics, sociology, and philosophy of fashion. I felt my heart swell and my brain grow.

Charlie Dean HAD TO ATTEND THIS SCHOOL! There was simply no other option.