The Fake Scenes and Plastic Made Dreams

Today I really screwed up.

Ever since I started looking at college (and maybe before) I knew I wanted to go to Parsons School of design. Every major fashion designer in the past 50 years has gone to Parsons. So, that’s where I wanted to go. But more then it just being the best name, I genuinely loved the school when I visited it. I mean, Union Square has always been one of my favorite parts of the city, before I even realized that’s where the school was. Maybe I’m psychoanalyzing the situation a little so it turns into an episode of Sex and the City in my head, but I’ve always been a daydreamer. Anyway the point is that I’ve been preparing and working, and a little psyching myself out, for this application. Finally I finished and turned in the portfolio Friday night, minutes before the deadline. But that’s just me, no matter how much I prepare, nothing I think is good comes to me until the last minute. I had spent the entire school year trying to figure out what kind of work they wanted, even though they told me they wanted to see my point of view. So today, I’m reviewing everything I need to still do for college admissions, and I realize I forgot to send in the literal application part of Parsons. I got the portfolio, but I forgot that obvious part where you give them all your information. In a frantic haze I ran around my room before arriving back at my computer and submitted it as fast as I could. I had filled everything out already, but I needed a confirmation number from the website I submit my portfolio on. I got the application in a day and a half late, but as the website states, any applications submitted after the due date will be reviewed on a ‘space available’ basis.

So there I was. Sobbing in my room thinking my entire life is over. The fashion industry is not the place if you want to do things your own way and expect to be the next Proenza Schouler. I literally felt my whole world crashing around me. I wasn’t going to get into Parsons, I wasn’t going to graduate from their elite BFA fashion design program, I wasn’t going to nail an internship with a top fashion designer, I wasn’t going to be offered amazing opportunities, and eventually not have my loft overlooking central park and showing my line at fashion week twice a year. After cooling down, life still sucked, but a little part of me still believed everything happens for a reason. But I must admit I almost feel like a hypocrite now. Me, the poster child for the anti education, follow your own path association, crying over the fact that I might have completely screwed up everything I want in life, and it was my fault. School doesn’t really work for me; in fact it’s been one of the biggest struggles in my life. So why am I so obsessed with this school, and it being the only school for me? I sincerely hope that the glitz and sparkling lights of the fashion industry hasn’t blinded me from my own happiness. If that were true, I think I would become utterly lost in life. Truthfully, fashion has been my greatest thing that happened to me in high school. Fashion was the religion I went to when the real world didn’t make sense, and Vogue was its bible.

Fashion is fantasy. It is the search, twice a year, for the greatest style. Designers basically try to reinvent the wheel every year: the perfect black dress, the perfect pant, the perfect shoe, ideal hair, and flawless make-up. It’s a non-stop cycle searching for perfection that really isn’t there. Because we all know deep down that there is no such thin

g as perfect. And maybe this is exactly like my dilemma with Parsons. Parsons seems like my perfect outfit, and as time has proven, it doesn’t go out of style. But for now only time will tell (April 1st to be exact) if Parsons will fit me right.

How I'm feeling right now

source: fashion gone rogue

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