It sucks, but I tell myself that this is just how high fashion operates. The House of Steele is an aspirational brand, and unfortunately, that doesn’t include big girls like me. No one sees it as “aspirational” to be curvy. They just want to be stick thin like the models in magazines.
Still, I try. I’ve talked to Marissa about the size-ism in our industry, explaining that there’s so much untapped potential in the plus-sized market, but she just laughed. Literally, laughed. Fashion designers don’t make clothes for those people, is what she said. I wanted the Earth to swallow me up because obviously, I’m one of those people. Yet I didn’t say anything. I merely nodded and went back to my stool, smarting with pain. I need this job, and swallowed hard even as my hands gripped the edges of the table with hurt. I’ll survive.
After all, I was lucky to land at the House of Steele right after design school. Most people have to start as window dressers or even secretaries, but Marissa and her husband took one look at my portfolio and decided to hire me on the spot. I’ve been here for a couple years as a junior designer now. I’m proud of the work that we do, and I’d like to move up the ranks, even if it’s tough never being able to wear my own clothes. Oh well. I tell myself that Karl Lagerfeld never wore any of Chanel’s clothes either, and he spent thirty years with the company. This job looks great on my resume, and that’s what’s important.
“Okay, Addy, take a look at this.”
I jump, startled. I’d forgotten that my coworker, Jemima, is here with me. We’re probably the last two people in the office, come to think of it. Jemima laughs.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it’s okay. What did you want to show me?”
“Right! Look at this dress I made for next year’s resort collection. What do you think?”
Jemima holds up a turquoise dress with sheer fabric draped over the skirt. The bodice is decorated with lace, but not too much. It’s understated and tasteful.
“This is amazing, Jemima. It’s beautiful.”
Jemima blushes. “Thanks, Addy. Mind if I try it on and you can do a walk around to check the fit?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much!”
Jemima disappears into the bathroom and I smile. The blonde girl’s been a good friend to me since we both started working at House of Steele a couple of years ago. We’re both junior designers but the difference is that Jemima is traditionally pretty and can wear our designs. I wonder sometimes if it gives her a leg up because she “fits” the House of Steele’s vision. Well, promotions will be coming soon, so I guess I’ll find out.
When Jemima returns, I’m in awe. My friend looks absolutely gorgeous, the dress swishing about her gracefully.
“Wow, you nailed it! I really like how the skirt just barely touches your ankles.”
She smiles happily, flipping her wavy hair back.
“Thanks, I figured it would look good with heels, but fine with flats, too. For the resort collection, it’s really important to go from day to night. Then again, I hate those torture-traps they call stilettos anyways.”
I laugh. “Me, too. I hate heels.”
She grins.
“I know, I love sneakers, and I’m so glad we live in New York, where women wear sneakers all the time. But what about the back of the dress? How does it look on my butt?”
It might seem weird to check out your friend’s ass, but it’s normal around here because sizing is very important. My co-worker twirls around and I stare at her tiny ass, frowning a bit. Then I smile.
“It looks great. The zipper falls high enough that it doesn’t make an awkward bump but low enough so that it’s flattering. I think Marissa is going to love it, too.”
Jemima beams.
“Thank you again, Addy. I hope she does like it. I’m going to change but I want to see what you’re working on when I come out!” she calls.
The blonde disappears and I turn back to the bodice that I’ve been working on. The skirt is finished already, so my sample is nearly done. I just have to finish hemming the neckline, and then wah-lah! I’ll be ready for a big reveal.
Jemima returns just as I’m finishing my seam, and I hold the dress up for her to take a look.
“That’s so pretty! Do you want me to stick around so that we can see how it looks? I’m happy to try it on.”
I smile.
“No, you don’t have to stay. It’ll take me a while longer to finish it enough to put on a human model. The dressmaker’s dummy is enough for now. Maybe tomorrow?”
Jemima smiles again.
“Up to you. I don’t mind staying.”
I shake my head.
“It’s really fine. It’s late. You should get home!”
She flashes me a dazzling smile.
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow, girlfriend.”
Jemima grabs her bag and squeezes my shoulder as she leaves. Without her, suddenly the sewing room is awfully quiet. I’m the only one here, but I still don’t turn on any music. I feel like Marissa would find out somehow and reprimand me.
Instead, I go back to humming my favorite song as I finish the dress. Marissa doesn’t require me to work overtime. In fact, she tells me to leave at six like everyone else, but I like to get to a specific closing point once I get started. Otherwise, it can make it really hard to pick up the next day.
I put the finishing touches on the hem and hold the fabric up with a critical eye. It’s fine for now, and with a satisfied smile, I begin to fold the material. I’ll
