Once upon a time (1978) in a sleepy little fiefdom (Kent) in the land of Ohio, lived a fair maiden (me) who toiled at mastering her craft (Graphic Design) amongst the jolly boys (gays) and evil sheriffs (nasty gay professors) who attempted to thwart her every contribution (portfolio reviews) and banish her from their castle (department).
They (two professors in particular) felt their domain was not a place for a GIRL. I kid you not.
The maiden, however, felt differently, and went and won a national art contest in spite of them.
‘So THERE, ya big assholes’, could be heard around the world.
is looking for
in it’s annual competition for
Guest Editorships in NYC.
Yes, she was chosen as one of 14 (out of thousands) to come hither out of the bailiwick of mediocrity and receive senior year credit as a contributor to the (then) modern-day bible of fashion, not as a copy editor, not as the fiction & poetry editor, not as the career editor, no no nooooooo…but as the associate FASHION editor- in a FASHION magazine.
Score one for the girls.
When the evil sheriffs received the news they were s-t-u-n-n-e-d.
‘What have you done? And how could you do this without our help?’, they spit through thousands of dollars of orthodontic intervention and faces that reddened under a tub of bronzer.
‘Help? What help? Ever?’, was her reply, as she ran a perfectly manicured red lacquered fingernail over the certified Congratulations letter.
‘This can’t be possible’.
‘Oh, it’s w-a-y past possible. It’s done. And the University President is just thrilled, though a bit confused as to why your department hasn’t signed-off on my portfolio yet when Conde Naste Publishing has such confidence in my work. ‘Ya may have to do that soon’.
So off she went in her carriage (airplane) to live in a castle (apartment in the Barbizon Hotel), eat Big Apples (Le Cirque), scale the towers of Gotham (Madison Ave.), dance the night away (Studio 54), make a few new friends (Perry Ellis), and even do a little work, all with her magic bag (black velvet) under her wing (vintage Chanel coat) and the wind at her back- for exactly two months- before the fairy dust cleared and she realized that all of the things she had been reading, and believing in, and charting her course by between the pages of a ‘glossy’ were just made-up, willy-nilly, around a big table by a slew of unhappy poorly paid people that had access to really good tickets but couldn’t pay the rent.
It was time to go home.
Sometimes you just have to write your own ending.