fake plastic trees

thus ends my harrowing combi-weekend of jr.kilat in manila/philippine fashion week. what a mad scramble. I had been suffering a withdrawal from fun with karl and was looking forward to exploring the fashion world with him. then suddenly i went from anticipating having a good time to working overtime, and figuring out how to have my cake and eat it too.

needless to say it's got to take a toll on something - and that was karl. We had some spats that were my fault (me an hour late - not likely but it happened), but what the hell, we patched it up relatively quickly. except of course the bug that he caught (not my fault) wouldn't leave by monday either.

i was able to catch the collections of my two teachers, aries & john, plus the rest of the young designer's guild. i loved aries' caped jumpsuit, john's puckered red ball gown and wool creatures that I will christen Dr. Worm (they call me dr. worm! good morning, how are you, i'm dr. worm!), louis clapariols' long white empire dresses, mel vergel de dios' two-tone ribbon panels, and james' reyes baby doll goth minidress.

so here i am, with one foot out of the door in the music industry, because i hate those radio assholes, but at least i can bluff my way through many a fast talker. after all, my education in rock n roll started way back when i was 10 years old, and i've read industry books that virtually extend my 1.5 years of experience.

here's what the other foot in the fashion industry found: there was a very loud and rowdy group who sat in front of us at aries' show, who wouldn't stop mugging for their self-generated paparazzi of pocket digicams. a pack of cigarettes fell from the pocket of the worst of them, and he never noticed. i was hoping that he had a serious nicotine dependency and spent his last pesos on that pack so that the loss would cause much suffering. there were lots of pretty girls with vapid eyes. there was also a gay overtanned shithead from republic retailers (local boutique tyler) who called me in for a job interview and expected me to give him defining characteristics of milan's, london's and new york's design aesthetic as well as to differentiate yves saint laurent from gucci. i fumble my way through some vague descriptions and then he says sorry, he needs someone with more experience for the job. what the fuck? i never said i had any experience in merchandising anyway. it's an assistant position, entry level, and the fucker wants experience. why they called me in is beyond me. i never misrepresented myself in my CV. I was perfectly clear that i was still educating myself. the explanation? the fuckers don't read.

i had almost deluded myself into thinking that being involved in the creative process of garment-making and in being concerned with beauty and craftmanship in the end product would exempt me from the very same crap that i'm running away from in the music industry. but i find this world more plastic than what i'm already used to.

i know my love for fashion will not wane, but the degree to which i would like to participate in the circus is still a big question for me. what kind of demands will i need to cope with to be a name designer? or should i instead be a small couture and alterations shop called "landrito teeth & tailors"?