Yesterday afternoon, I sat with Susie in our Apparel 3 class holding our bodies very still.
We sat there and listened very carefully to the near whispered and, heavily accented words, coming out of our English born fashion professor’s perfectly painted red lips. Her hair is short and straight in an almost fashion homage to the military. Her skin is fair and after years of a probably intense daily skin regime, just starting to wrinkle. Her glasses are well trained against the bridge of her nose, not daring to make a move down her nose in fear of a strident push back up to their spot. They don’t move. They know their place.
She told us about the course work load. She told us late work was never tolerated. She told the boy in the first row to stop smacking his gum.
I sat there listening to her every word– the way she said papier-mâché with a french accent and how she laughed along with the TA when she told us that this class was going to be fun– and I waited to be intimidated by her demeanor, but instead, all I could think of was what her favorite ice cream flavor was. Or maybe she hates ice cream. And I thought about how she mentioned that factory production was the only way we were going to learn because it was the only way she had experience with. So, I tried to picture her as a factory worker. And I tried to picture her as a fashion student.
And right when I was trying to figure out whether she is a cat person or not, she paused, quickly scanned the room and said ‘Well, if you’re done with me, then I’m done with you. I’ll see you on Thursday.’ packed up her folder and class was over.
I’m so pumped.