Two-dimensional faces stare blankly at me, lips slightly open, relaxed, showing a hint gap between the white teeth I covet. Fabric worked into beautiful pieces fall over skinny tall bodies as beautiful as a piece of the most famous symphony. Hair perfectly framing chiseled faces and protruding cheekbones or blown out and teased into some kind of artwork never seen on a person in real life.
I carefully cut around the words and the letters that guide you to the bottom corner to where the designer is named and the shocking cost is revealed. Applying glue to the back I fill notebook page after notebook page of pieces of fashion that I will never own, but will try to copy with thrift store and chain store finds.
Feeling like a fool, writing too passionately about fashion, but not really, because that's just what it is.. a passion and dream of mine. One thing that I know I'm good at, unlike my failed attempts at writing and my failed attempts to lead a normal life.
I want to dress people, but I feel I wouldn't be able to think outside the box and venture into things that don't exactly appeal to me. I want to design, but my poor drawing skills and my sewing skills would not suffice.
So for now I will sit on the floor, among these fashion magazines, used glue sticks, and crumpled up scraps of paper, filling my notebooks while trying to learn all I can. Forever pretending I'll be the next big thing.