this post will be part storytime, part fashion industry exposé.

bear with me as i am gonna try to get this all in one go and just hit post and never look back. it is 5:09 am in los angeles. here is proof:

if you are not caught up, i was laid off from my corporate design job a little over one month ago. you can read about it here.

as a result, booked a one-way ticket to amsterdam. as you do. you can read about it here. and copenhagen, here. shout out @yasgotvisuals for making me feel so incredibly welcomed and for basically creative directing my whole stay.

anyways, i was over the moon because i had a job waiting with my old boss at an independent company in la and i was lined up to start when i got back. i finished off my trip staying with friends in new york for a few days, landed back in la friday, then hit the ground running monday morning.

the structure of the job was unique (under-the-table) and the company itself small (slapdash). i am hesitant to write about this because i do intend – at least currently – to stay in the fashion industry and everything gets around eventually, but, as my parents advised me many a time growing up, fuck 'em.

day 1:

my first red flag: my new boss was a man. i'm joking but like not really. the real actual red flag was that i thought i would be working for my old boss, who i love and who i reached out to about the position, but in actuality i hardly saw her and my new man-boss immediately squashed any and all ideas the two of us girls came up with. hm.

second red flag: they were cooking up some shit in the back that absolutely did not have to do with clothing and which i will not disclose out of respect for the hustle.

day 2:

tuesday was okay, fun even. we attended a fabric show as a team and it felt familiar, felt like i was back in my world, talking to vendors, snapping pics of headers and getting swatches. my old (girl)boss and i got to chat and there was some grounding and hope.

we got back from the show, my (man)boss went to hot yoga, and this is where things start getting dicey. red flag of the day? he comes back in nothing but a towel, dripping wet. at this point i am the only one left in my section of the facility. awesome. i oddly don't feel as strange as i probably should because in fashion everyone is basically naked and changing all the time (sorry, slight exaggeration) and i have a relationship with these people, whatever. overlooked. he grabs a sample off a rack, changes kind of behind the rack but basically in front of me and then walks over to discuss the fit of the shorts, still dripping wet.

day 3:

more fittings. in an effort to not paint such a graphic picture for you all, i will use small word. not a lot of word. so basically, fitting. from yoga, wet. more shorts. very short. compression shorts! me, pinning for fit. thinking, why is boss also fit model? indie brand, sure what the hell. just normal fitting. no undergarments... hm. me, still pinning for fit. him, bending over. hm. cotton thin. wet cotton. not good.

now mind you, my real official design job was in menswear. i have done many a men's fitting, and never once was subjected to the discomfort i felt at that facility. i did not realize how much discomfort i was actually in until after i left (unfortunately often the case as women are trained to mask discomfort so well that we get ourselves too).

i started feeling like maybe it wasn't a good fit (pun definitely not intended). besides the aforementioned, he had no clue about fashion (had to ask me what a hem is...) or how time-consuming garment creation is. when i was a full-time sample maker, i would do 100+ pieces a week. i used to knock out 45 samples in a weekend. i'm not slow. but these are production-ready garments we're talking about. actually designing and engineering a garment from scratch and working thru all the kinks takes time, even speedrunning things. i was clearly not meeting his expectation of getting a 17-piece production-ready collection done in two weeks.

it came to a head when i tried to explain this to him in an effort to collaborate on a more long-term structure, SKU plan, anything. this was met with a text (on a saturday) with paragraphs of critiques on my speed, skill, character, and the cherry on top, reducing my pay.

i told this story to my old team at a catch-up potluck picnic we held the next day. this was a much-needed grounding. i had missed my girls. besides that, i was affirmed by designers who've been working in fashion much longer than i have that my circumstances were not normal in any way, even at an indie company, and i should not stay being so uncomfortable.

i have already told many a working-in-fashion story – little old me who basically just got here. from chats among friends and colleagues, i've also heard many a story. like the time my company sent their video team to coachella and fed them influencers leftovers and literal table scraps. or the time a peer's boss fired models of color to appeal to racist midwest clientele (in writing). hearing how many department store websites use AI models now. or the countless "work for us we won't pay you but you must have a car and we won't pay you gas either and also we will spit in your coffee" job listings or crazy hours doing backstage gigs or work being stolen or knocking off vintage stitch for stitch and i could go on. never had i heard a story like mine. neither had my seniors.

i sent my notice on the way home. i felt immediately relieved. i was met with respect and understanding, and the chapter closed peacefully.

when i got home, i swept my apartment, the kind of sweep where you just kind of get around the piles of everything. this included a brief sweep around my carry-on suitcase, which i never unpacked, i just live out of it like it's an extension of my wardrobe, and will continue to do so until every garment has been worn and the suitcase is empty and only then will i put it away. probably something from my quasi-nomadic early upbringing, and/or the fact i am not ready to let go. i sat down. i looked around. what now?