I am quickly evolving into the leading female role in the movie of my mind. We'll call her Fran, short for frantically working through the night to make the morning's deadlines... Here I sit, one quarter till one (a.m.) and I just left the studio to come home for a change of scenery. I have been on the job for going on 17 hours now and here I sit, like the typical New York single designer, struggling to make ends meet, with bags under my eyes, inhaling left over Chinese (which is always better cold.) For desert, I cram a bowl of easy mac down my throat and beg for more. I look at the empty mugs in the cabinets and war off the idea that I need caffiene. Comfort is found in my flannel pajama pants and I think I hear my feet singing thanks to me for finally saving them from those horrible shoes that have confined them since yesterday morning.
The last two weeks of being back in "real" school have brought much clarification, in regards to what it is exactly that I am studying. After listening politely to people ask me how baking class was or if I learned to vacuum today, etc...
I decided that I would get to the bottom of this thing they call higher education. It is very simple. Take all of the majors on campus, roll them into one huge lesson plan and you end up with a progam entitled "The Textile and Apparel Industry."
Let's not be hasty to argue this point, now folks. I just signed up to draw and color, but I have found myself in the midst of a most intriguing and challenging institution. We "fashion majors" must understand all of our stuff as well as all of your's.
In order to remain competative in today's industry, they say, I have to be SHARP, people! I need to understand the complexities of business in a global setting. I have to know the economy of every nation inside and out. I have to be on top of political and social circumstances, world wide, and I have to be able to debate and correspond with persons of every ethnicity.
It is recommended that I learn five languages and understand the cultures/traditions of every continent. I must be cultured, understand ettiquet (and know how to spell it), speak properly and be able to write a miriad of press releases, proposals, business plans,etc... Oh yes, then there is knowing how to stich a pleat and design a taylored suit for Mr. Wall Street and a silk bias-cut ball gown for His Junior League Wife. Don't forget little Tommy, he needs a miniture golfing outfit and sweet Suzie must have her very own my size couture red carpet night gown.

Fran, Wake up! Wake up! You're going crazy, Fran!

And these are the days of my (dramatic) life....