Before I freed myself from a prison without bars, just an invisible door that I couldn’t exit as I wanted, I had to smile gently ‘is it OK, can I go on lunch now?’ sometimes he said ‘No, not yet’ and sometimes he gave me a little approving nod. He was a grey haired man in his late 40’s and had big bushy eyebrows that could form the meanest face expression I’ve ever seen. He had a rough charm that appealed to women, it seemed like all of them flocked around wanting approval from him before buying that “Friday dress” or simply just ask me, ‘can you get me Harry’ when I came carrying the clothes to the fitting-room. He was my boss, the store owner but also the guard forcing me to never ever leave without his consent.
For anyone who wants’ to become something in the fashion industry it’s necessary to have worked some “dog years” in a fashion store selling clothes. I was one of them, a dreamer that had high goals set, saw myself bowing in front of a huge audience, camera flashes going off in the dark and spotlights in my face, there I was in the middle of it all, center stage with tall skinny models coming up behind me, I wanted to be a Fashion Designer. I remember my mom’s bitter comment ‘so, Fashion Designer ha, well everyone wants’ to be that’. ‘Well, me too I guess’, I remember saying not knowing then how right she was, It was true, everyone really wanted to be a Fashion Designer and the competition was fierce.
Realizing that years later here I was still struggling, getting short term jobs at Agencies and Ad Firms. Brewing coffee and cleaning plants with pieces of wet cloth, to then work in a Fashion Store folding clothes instead of white sheets of paper.