Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Fashion Media - Grace
“Okay, so tell me what you’ve got,” says Samantha Browning, the journalism professor who serves as the faculty advisor for Cove Style.
I know I have a confident smile on my face, but inside, I’m beyond nervous.
It’s so much easier to compete in the pool in front of judges than do this!
It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m at my first one-on-one meeting with Samantha since joining the staff.
She’s the epitome of fashion, with her sleek platinum bob, dramatic oxblood nails, and perfectly nude lip.
She’s wearing a gorgeous black-and-white blouse with gold-and-diamond hoops in her ears.
Her expression tells me she’s going to be a tough critic to please. Her eyes—behind tortoise-frame glasses—are keenly trained on me, and there’s no smile on her face.
“First of all, I can’t tell you how excited I am to have this opportunity to contribute to Cove Style,” I begin. “I’m so eager to write features for the magazine.”
“We’re glad to have you here. Now what do you have?”
Okay, she doesn’t want small talk, she wants my ideas. I can do that.
“I would like to do a piece on creating a wardrobe with purpose. I’d write about buying from a few good stores or designers to create a look for yourself.
How to incorporate planning into building a wardrobe, like looking ahead on the calendar to a banquet or formal or rush, and buying now so you’re ready to go.
I’d demonstrate what to have in the wardrobe, and show collections in different price points, too. ”
Samantha nods and picks up her pen, tapping it against her lips. “I would love this for next month. Can you do that?”
Can I do that? Hell yes, I can do that!
“Yes.” I nod, my body humming with excitement. “I absolutely can.”
She turns to her computer, and I see she’s opening a calendar. “Can you have it ready by October ninth?”
“Of course,” I say, scribbling that down in my notebook.
“Great. What else?”
“For December, because that’s when our rainy season truly begins, a feature on stylish rain gear, from jackets to boots.”
“It’s been done before. Make it fresh and I’ll slide it in December second.”
“Thank you,” I say, making another note.
“What do you have for November?” Samantha asks. We’re encouraged to contribute one piece per month.
“Hockey fashion,” I say simply.
She stares at me. “Pardon?”
“The OCU men’s team always dresses up before a game.
It’s tradition. Think a lot of sharp suits.
If I could get a staff photographer to come with me, we could capture some of the most interesting looks and I could get information about the outfits if the players want to share. It’s a big deal in the hockey world.”
Her immaculately tweezed brows form a perfect V on her forehead. “It is?”
“Yes. The team posts their entrances on TikTok all the time, but I’d like to bring that to a wider audience. All the pro teams do it, too. Fit checks.”
The V doesn’t move. “Interesting. Okay. November nineteenth.”
I tamp down the excitement that wants to burst through me. Samantha took my first three ideas! I had a list of ten because I was sure she’d shoot some of them down, but I’m going to do all of my top ones!
She goes over the deadline process—everything goes to Aisha Shand, the editor, and she will assign graphic artists and photographers to work with me if needed. I thank her for the opportunity, and she glances at the watch on her wrist, letting me know it’s time for me to leave her space.
I go to Aisha’s office next, and first, I cannot get over the fact that she’s probably one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in person. She’s tall—I’d guess six feet—and slender, with a flawless complexion and long micro-braided hair.
“Hey, nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand to me. I shake it firmly. “Welcome to Cove Style.”
I quickly appraise her outfit—she’s dressed in a bohemian-style khaki-colored blouse, with ruffles down the front and sheer sleeves, paired with drawstring trouser jeans.
I look up and find she’s appraising my outfit the same way.
Even though I had a literature class before this meeting, I dressed up because I knew I was coming here, and really, it’s now like coming to work.
I picked a short, charcoal-gray, pinstriped skirt, a matching blazer with a white blouse, and tall boots.
I chuckle, and she does, too. “We’re always studying fashion, aren’t we?” she asks. “Please, have a seat.”
I sit down across from her, and she opens a notebook. I review what articles have been approved by Samantha. Aisha likes them all but reiterates what Samantha said about thinking outside the box on the rain-gear one. “We’ve done that one a lot, so if it’s not fresh, I will kill it,” she warns me.
“That’s fair. I’m here to learn. I’ve written short stories, and I’m a lit major, but this is a new style of writing for me.”
Her brows rise. “Really? I couldn’t tell that from your sample work. I was surprised to see on your application that you aren’t majoring in fashion media.”
I blink. “That’s a degree program here?”
Aisha nods. “Yeah, that’s what most of us here are majoring in.”
Both my head and my heart jump when I learn this. “I ... I literally had no idea. I enrolled last year with the idea of majoring in literature, then I’ve been active with artistic swimming and sorority life and didn’t think beyond that.”
“Oh yeah, it’s a whole major here,” she explains. “You take writing courses, the general stuff, but then you drill down into topics like Fashion Writing and Promotion of Fashion.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.” I begin scribbling in my notebook. “I’m going to dig into it, thank you for sharing this with me.”
“Of course. And if you look at it and have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them. You can reach out to me anytime.”
“I will, thank you. I’m so excited to learn more about it.”
She smiles. “Not a lot of universities have programs like this, so you definitely were guided to the right place by picking OCU.”
Could Aisha be right? I came due to my mom’s influence, but maybe I’m supposed to be here for a different reason. I joined Mom’s sorority to make her happy. But then I met McCall, who led me to magazine writing, which led me to Aisha.
It all could have happened for this moment, for me to find what I’m truly meant to study here. OCU didn’t feel like it was truly for me when all those things happened last year, but now it does.
Things aligned for me to find my best friends and my calling.
And Wyatt.
As Natasha would say, this is the journey I was meant to take.
“So where do you go for your fashion inspo?” Aisha asks.
“I like Women’s Wear Daily,” I say. “I also like looking at the OOTD on TikTok, observing people for street style, those kinds of things. What about you?”
“I like looking at vintage shops and vintage resale websites,” Aisha says, reaching for her iced coffee and taking a sip. “I love taking an old piece and reimagining it in a new way.” She studies the pin on my lapel. “Where did you get the brooch? That’s unique.”
I glance down at my pin, a gold Scottish terrier with crystals.
“Oh, my grandma was cleaning out before she moved into her retirement community and gifted me a huge collection. I took them because I felt like I should, and every now and then I’ll wear one.
They’ve been passed down in my family for a long time. ”
“I think that would be a cool article,” Aisha says, and I can tell her brain is putting it together as she speaks. “Your personal story, your collection, how you wear them now. Like putting one on the strap of a sexy blouse, for example.”
“I’ve used them as decorative ponytail holders.”
“I love that.”
Now my brain goes to work. “You could also decorate a bag with them.”
Her eyes light up. “Yes! Stuff like that.”
“I can do that.”
“That would be fantastic!” she says excitedly.
We go on to talk for longer than we should, and by the time I leave the publication offices, I’m buzzing with excitement.
I can’t wait to get started on these articles, and I have some more ideas of my own, too.
Like eventually starting a fashion Instagram, showcasing inspiration, outfit ideas, stuff like that.
Heck, I could even do a niche one on my brooch collection!
I exit the building and enter the late afternoon sunshine.
I really liked Aisha, and I can tell we’re going to work well together.
She’s a senior, has been the editor for the past two years, and has done summer internships at major fashion magazines in New York.
I’m so lucky to get to work under someone with that kind of experience. She could also be a great mentor, too.
I find a vacant bench under a eucalyptus tree and take out my phone. I’m about to message Wyatt, but I see that I have a missed call from my mom. I bite my lip as I stare at her name. Okay. It’s time to tell her about my position at the magazine.
I deflate a bit as I think about it. She won’t be happy. But if it’s writing, she has to support it more than she does my artistic swimming.
At least I hope so.
I call her back, and she picks up on the second ring. “I finally get a live person!” she says cheerfully.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I’ve been so busy!”
“I was the president of Phi Mu Phi, remember? I know how busy you are,” she says warmly.
“Right,” I say.
“Tell me what’s going on. I’m not leaving the office for a while.”
I picture Mom in her university office. It’s very tidy, everything has a place, and she has beautiful antique copies of classic works of literature displayed on her shelves, along with framed quotes from her favorite authors and pictures of Dad, Natasha, and me.
“Have you been writing?” she asks.
I bite my lip. The door is open. I need to walk through it now. “Yes,” I say as anxiety rushes through me. “But different things.”
Silence.
“I’m writing for Cove Style,” I blurt out. “I wrote two sample articles for them, and that got me a position on the magazine, and now they’ve approved three feature articles for their website this fall. I’m really excited about it.”
Mom is still silent. I hang on to a small, misguided shard of hope that she might be proud of me.
“Grace, fashion writing? I know that must seem fun and all, but you’re there to study literature. You’ve already on the philanthropic committee for Phi Mu Phi, and you’re trying to cram in swimming as it is. Is this really the best decision for your goals?”
My insides twist into a tight, frozen knot.
“I want you to think about this, sweetheart. Is this really the mature decision to make?”
“I love fashion. This is an opportunity to write about something I’m passionate about,” I counter. I pause for a moment before continuing. “I thought you’d be proud of me.”
“Grace. I’m proud of you for many things. Your short story, for example.”
“Oh my God, it always comes back to that, doesn’t it? That one short story I wrote two years ago! Mom, there is more to me than that, and I wish you could see it!”
“Grace, why are you yelling at me?” she says, sounding completely taken aback. To be fair, she probably is. I’ve never challenged her like I’m doing right now.
“You don’t see who I am!” I cry in frustration.
“Of course I see you. You are an amazing writer, sweetheart. I know you’ve got some brilliant books ahead of you, too.”
“What if I don’t want to write books?” I fling out. There. I’ve said it.
“Of course you want to write books, what are you talking about?”
“I don’t think I do.”
“What? Grace, what is happening to you? You’re studying literature in one of the best departments in the country!”
“I’ve never wanted to study literature!” I burst out.
There’s an audible gasp on the other end of the line. I should be panicking, but something else is happening inside me. The dam has broken. There’s no holding it up anymore, and all my hidden feelings come tumbling forward.
“I am doing everything so I don’t disappoint you!” I blurt out. People shoot me curious looks as they walk by, but I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything except telling the truth.
“I didn’t know what I wanted to study. You kept pushing literature because of one stupid story I wrote. One, Mom! Yes, it was good and people liked it, but that’s the only one I’ve ever had in me to write!”
“Sweetheart. You’re spiraling. You need to take a breath. It’s natural for you to panic like this, wondering if you’ll have another creative idea like you had for ’Internal Rain.’”
“No, Mom. I’m not. I was inspired to write one short story that won a contest. That’s all it was.
One contest. I’ve never wanted to write another, but you don’t want to hear that.
I didn’t know what I wanted to do, and you kept pushing literature over and over so it was easier to agree to do it than to tell you no.
It was better for me to pretend rather than disappoint you! ”
I stop to breathe, and Mom fills the void. “I don’t know what is going on down there on campus, but it’s not fair for you to take it out on me,” she says stiffly.
“Mom, would you stop? I’m not taking anything out on you.
I’m trying to tell you how I feel! I don’t want to major in literature.
I don’t want to write fiction. I’ll never be writing the books you imagined, nor will there be a bidding war over a book proposal of mine. I want to write about fashion.”
“Oh my God, do you hear yourself? You want to write about fashion when you have the talent to write literature? If I only had a tenth of the talent you had I—”
“That’s the problem!” My heart is pounding in my ears now.
“You want me to do what you have always wanted to do but couldn’t achieve.
You,” I say, my voice shaking, “are living through me. This is what you would do if you could, but you couldn’t achieve that dream, so you are making it mine to fulfill. ”
“That,” Mom retorts, “is unfair, untrue, and hurtful for you to say!”
I push past the lump that’s trying to form in my throat.
“It hurts me to say it, but I have to, Mom. I love you, but I can’t be the daughter you want me to be.
I can’t. You’re going to have to love me as I am.
As your daughter who loves artistic swimming and won’t give it up.
As your daughter who is never going to write a great literary work, and your daughter who might major in fashion media.
I just hope you can get past your disappointment to love me as I am, because I can’t pretend anymore to be the daughter you thought you had just to make you happy. ”
I hang up.
And then burst into tears.