So, here’s the thing about juggling fashion student life and trying to create a masterpiece, all while the clock is ticking towards the end of semester one. It’s like being in one of those reality TV shows where they drop you in the wilderness with nothing but a sewing needle and a lot of hope. I’m talking about creating the final mini-collection for the semester, and between you and me, it’s a wild ride.
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Picture this: a small room that smells like creativity and sometimes burnt fabric. There’s this constant hum of a sewing machine that’s been working overtime and mannequins draped in what I could only describe as experimental chaos. Kind of like when you try to make risotto for the first time thinking, ‘How hard can it be?’ Spoiler alert: it’s hard.
Anyway, there’s this unspoken rule in fashion school that fabric scraps are basically currency. You’ll see students shuffling around with bags filled with them, guarding them like dragons hoarding treasure. And don’t even get me started on the fabric stores in NZ, where I feel personally attacked by the sheer volume of choices. Something about those endless walls of textiles makes it feel like they’re mocking me with, “Bet you can’t pull this off, can you?”
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Then there’s the whole situation with inspiration boards. One minute you’re confidently pinning up ideas, and the next, you’re questioning every life choice that led you to this very moment. What was once a vision of pure genius now somehow resembles… not much at all. Then again, isn’t fashion entirely subjective? Or at least, that’s what I tell myself while drowning in tooltips and tutorials which I obviously, sometimes, completely ignore.
So, everywhere you go, fashion student drama: needles lost in haystacks of fabric piles, last-minute trips to the store because someone *cough* ran out of thread again (yes, me), and just a tiny sprinkle of coffee-fueled decision-making. I’ve also picked up on this unconventional habit of watching makeup tutorials to destress, don’t ask why, but they seem calming. Something about watching foundation blending makes worrying about a seam unraveling a tad less terrifying.
Well, that’s life tied up with various kinds of ribbons from my side of the sewing machine. Whether I’ll end the semester as New Zealand’s next fashion prodigy or just someone who survived one hell of a rollercoaster project remains to be seen. My eyes still hurt. I need coffee. Ugh.