Fashion Season

There is a season between childhood and adolescence that creates a series of dark lamentations for which a child feels that they have wasted their childhood or perhaps more precisely, their childish looks. Upon realizing this melancholy truth, they become

I have always been in love fashion. I can remember the beginning of every month during my preteen years I would anxiously wait for my teen vogue and seventeen magazine subscriptions to come so I could skim through their glossy pages for the latest styles. Then I would cajole my parents into buying me a few items from their style guides with a good grade on a test or a big showy act of responsibility. I would do anything really, just to get a new pair of penny loafers or one of those curve hugging bellbottoms.

 

When my father lost his job and my family couldn’t afford to spoil me with the piles of designer clothing I usually purchased each month, I learned to make my own clothes. For the first few months my clothes looked like lumpy sacks with irregular neck and arm holes and uneven seams. However, I improved greatly as time went on. I began making clothes that would rival anything that Macy’s had to offer and after a while,  it came to be that the only reason I would ever sent foot into department store was to buy a pair of shoes or to scope for new clothing ideas.

 

Well, as you can imagine my new clothes did not go unnoticed in my school and other girls in my grade began attempting to make their clothes. Some of them ended up being terrible at designing while others were pretty good. However no one was ever able to match the designs I made, I truly had a gift and I was lucky enough to have found it at an early age. Of course I became a so called popular girl for starting a trend and having a useful talent. Girls that would have normally put me through a gauntlet of hazing to be their friends flocked to me like worker bees around honey whenever I wore one of my fashions. I was still not the “queen bee” but I was defiantly high up on the social ladder.

 

Eventually, the initial awe of my designing skills wore off and I regressed back to the outskirts of my junior high’s social hierarchy. Every once in a while I would get invited to a sleepover or party that an elite person threw, but they were getting sparser and sparser with every invitation I received.  But I still had the intoxicating taste of being part of the elite on my tongue, a taste; I quickly learned that could never be completely satiated.

 

 Therefore I began my plot to dethrone the reining queen bee all the while designing my clothes edgier in order to enforce my fashion savvy reputation. First, in my evil plot I wrote horrendous rumors about the Katie, the queen bee, on the bathroom stalls of all the girls’ bathrooms. Then, I convinced my friend Stuart to create a few dirty rumors about Katie as well, and to tell them to all the boys in our grade. Then I was able to procure a small following of social climbers, such as my self, and together we publicly denounced Katie and her posse, calling them things that would have made my mother’s toes curl. About a week or so after my plan initiated there already were whispers that Katie took to crying in the bathroom during lunch hour. Bringing her to the point her kingdom was shunning her and teetering on chaos, I stroke.

 

For her last, devastating blow, I turned her into a common crook. First, I beaded a lovely purse making sure that each bead was a loud color, and glimmered brightly with any hint of light. Then one morning during me and Katie’s homeroom I slipped the purse into her book bag. Ten or so minutes after I slipped it in I began pretending to search for it telling my curious classmates my new purse I just made had been stolen. Not finding it anywhere, my smart teacher made each of us search in our book bags, and what do you think Katie found in hers? After vehemently denying having stolen my purse, she was sent to office for further questioning. And even though the administrators believed her story and she was let off, she still carried the stigma of being a thief in our classmates eyes.

 

With a few more manipulations and rumors, I was considered queen bee! I was invited to all of the parties and sleepovers and no one was able to enter the elite without my consent. I was in bliss. I reached my demented goal, and although afterward I did lament a few of the things I did, I did not lament the place that it brought me, ever. However, it is my opinion that the largest price of my conquest was growing up, for that crazed dethroning, my friends, was my season.

Author's Note

Also part of my book

Reviews

[Idris]

Looks like this is going in a very interesting direction.