In a recent meeting with my fellow compatriot of impeccable taste cum long time friend, the topic of my departure from WTS inevitably came up. Inevitable, because Gin is an alumni; a WTler. I was very frank with Gin since Gin is one of those rare WTlers who does does have a blind and insufferable infatuation with anything and everything WTS.
“It’s the head fashion editor and his assistant,” I confessed, “the latter runs rings around him while the former willingly let’s her.”
“Seriously? How does the school allow her to do that…?”
“She’s alumni… in that fashion school, alumni means EVERYTHING!” I gestured a big, full circle to drive the point home.
“Alumni? Hmm… names, names, give me names,” Gin implored, thirsty for juicy tidbits, “I remember names, not characters.”
“Geekay” at which point both of us broke into (elegant) guffaws at the mention of her name. The pronunciation of her nomenclature is a homophone for “singular item” in a local dialect.
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| “She was my fabric literature trainer!” exclaimed Gin. |
“I know her!” exclaimed Gin, putting on a serious face, as if something had suddenly clicked in his mind, “She was my fabric literature trainer!”
For the uninitiated, fab-lit in our circles refers to the understanding of the finer intricacies of the language of fabric – its colours, patterns and weaves. Anyway, I opened my eyes in surprise, echoing a Disney song. It’s a small world after all!
“Oh she sucks big time as a trainer!” Gin continued, “NOBODY could stand her! Everybody falls asleep during her lesson – she can’t teach to save her life!”
Gin’s sentiments, while personal and singular, appears to echo the many comments about her that I’ve come across her on fashion blogs by her ex-trainees. Gin’s was considered mild compared with others who makes comments about a certain part of her (hmm-hmm) anatomy or asking after her mother’s (ahem) well-being.
There are a few factors that make Gin’s comments all the more significant. Gin is by nature, laid-back and usually nonchalant. Also, Gin loves fab-lit and when I say love, I mean you can lay Gin on a bed of well made cloth and you can see sex in action. So to fall asleep during a fab-lit lesson and to condemn a trainer is so unbecoming of Gin than one has no choice but to listen and pay attention.
Imagine. Sixteen years after Gin’s dismal experience with Geekay and the memories is still so horrific that it can be recalled with all the negative, gory details. It can’t be good.
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| How would I be remembered sixteen years down the road? |
I am a fashion trainer, though I hesitate to compare myself to the ‘singular item’. As I see batches of wannabes become the fashion-savvy doyennes that they are, I should feel a sense of accomplishment. I should feel that a part of me is now pulsing through them – the thoughts that I have tried to impart, mixing colours, patterns, fabrics and cuts should now guide them to influence the next generation to good taste. They should be the future purveyors of beauty, culture and art.
However, I should be so saddened, if my existence seems never to have been any part of their lives, as if my presence was no more than a spectral entity to their consciousness. As much as I hope that it does not come to that, only time will tell.
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