shadows of the spotlight; here between the racks

I'll start with the good news that I am officially out of lockdown and have remained COVID-19 free since my return home from the hospital. This also means my son finally was allowed to come home to me which is dazzling and exciting and also a little terrible too. He's at a precocious age where tantrums are the cool way to communicate and having been gone for so long completely thrashing his established routine has caused friction. He came home and his parent was not the same as when he left; is much weaker and less energetic than before, paler and shaky - but also there's the addition of my best friend having moved in to assist and take care of me/him while we all do our best to muddle through.

The readjustment has been rough and a lot of this week has made me incredibly thankful to have practically zero memory of how I was as a child. There have been injuries: I have been whacked in the face with the metal cover for a floor vent while dozing on the sofa instead of paying rapt attention to whatever silliness he was showing off to me, there was his complete dismissal of me asking him to stay back and away from the hot oven as I pulled lunch from it's fiery jaws only to then be faced with a toddler quickly approaching with his hand raised to touch so I naturally made a move to block him and in the process I let go of the oven door which slammed upward and clamped my arm tightly between it and the inside cavern of the oven while it was set to a roasty 400 degrees Fahrenheit - earning me a mangled arm with burns of varying degrees, and then we also had that fit where it seemed like a much more grand idea to scale the babygate cordoning the stairs and I had to rush up them to stop him from tumbling face first down two flights and of course did the falling all on my own and did it backwards then slammed painfully into the wall of the landing. This all happened within a 48hr time frame and makes me wonder why I am so catastrophically inclined.

I have bruises that range the majority of my spine courtesy of the wall and stairs, two minor first degree burns on my forearm that are in the shape of an equals and quite large despite the lack of actual pain I feel from them, and the underside of my forearm was instantly blistered then popped then melted down into a horrid glob of skin mush and sticky red-orange and is a second degree burn that I have been assured is no real cause for concern as long as I tend it with care. In all, I managed to escape my momjuries relatively unscathed and with a child that was scared senseless at having hurt his momma and is quick to listen and never stops cuddling me in the time since. Here's hoping he isn't significantly traumatized from this since exactly none of this is especially his fault and is due to my clumsy, accident-prone status in life.

So yes, The Toddler has returned home to me and after some happenings we have settled and are happy. However, his blast from the past father has suddenly just decided to reemerge after more than a year of radio silence and static and has slapped me with a custody petition. Hooray. While I have no worries on this matter due to my mother working for one of the top custody lawyers in the state and snagging him as my representation, and the utter lack of competency on my estranged baby daddy's end clearly being displayed in literally anything and everything the idiot does/says, I do have to now go through the overhaul of a custody case and that is just so weak and exhaustive. Not to mention the basis of his claims that I am not fit to raise a child are founded in my health concerns and the crazy work schedule I keep; ironically, my health is making it so that I have much less insane hours and makes this fairly moot but to each their own I guess. Also worth noting on this matter is that he only did this now because he was recently placed under penalty for child support back pay and nothing in this world matters to him like his money and this is his special way of getting one over on me for tampering with his meager earnings. (He's a wannabe musician - the soundcloud rapper sort, just so we are all on the same page here). If I thought for even a second this was a genuine desire to be an active and stable parent I would be a lot less pressed to act in favor of making it legally binding that he can only see him under a supervisory condition and share time evenly, but it just is not believable in the slightest.

So the thing is - my health is actually quite dismal presently. I'm due in for open heart surgery on the 8th of April and until then I have been doing my utmost to mind all the nagging I get from doctors, PT specialists, the surgeons that will be slicing and dicing me, and my in-family medical practitioner that sometimes remembers he is also my brother and not just an MD. But like, you guys, this surgery is terrifying and technically is two surgeries rolled into one. They'll be cracking my chest open and then stopping my heart while they lift it from where it sits sweetly unhinged and lopsided in my body and very finely shave away some of the excess muscle that has built up around the wall of my heart as well as some unfriendly scar tissue that has lingered since my last surgery years ago. Granted there is no accidental slip that nicks my ugly gargantuan heart and renders me as good as dead, once this first part is finished the other surgeon will need to be deft and very quick to place this ventricular assisting piece in the valve that has all but given up on functioning altogether and do so in the time remaining before the time limit for my heart being essentially unplugged from by body is up, which would also feasibly mean my death. Lots of exciting and terrible sounding consequences, am I right?

Well let's bear it in mind that I am just below 30 in age and therefore not duly experienced in the realm of facing down my own mortality via making all necessary legal arrangements and managing my affairs and assets so that, in event of my untimely death, the custody case still doesn't stand a chance of snatching my son away to the sad misfortune of being raised by a man that has stated openly he only has interest in his kids so far as what they can do for him/get for him in terms of benefit and that he would be unwilling to be hypocritical and never deter his children from drugs and a lifestyle of extremely questionable moral integrity and hygiene alike. Eugh. But I also have had to make sure there is a DNR in place just in case things go wrong during the operation, my will has also been finalized and notarized, all my savings and financial/material assets have been squared away to come into my child's inheritance when he is of age and, most importantly, a document that states clear and direct instructions for him to be placed in care of my mother or, if she is unwilling or incapable, he will be under custodial order and guardianship of my best friend whom he has always viewed as a pseudo-dad anyway. Legally binding and even in light of the paternity petition this document supersedes parental right by way of the provided evidence I have submitted to prove a lack of parental credibility. That's right, I spent days lowkey stalking and sleuthing about to capture what I needed to show this man for what he actually is and I have precisely zero guilt or shame for doing it; this is my child on the line and that means momma doesn't have to play by the rules of snitches getting stitches or whatever other scary street rules he tosses at me as idle threats. (He's done this routinely for all the years I have known him, and it is somehow both pathetic and hilarious because he knows for a fact that, if I wanted, I could throttle him in less time than it would take for him to form a rational thought between his drug soaked braincells - I was also a person of less than savory character not too long ago and can handle myself very well. But I digress because I am losing my track of thought.

After the surgery I will have so damn much PT and rehab, all of which will be specific to varying parts of my body that will need to be reworked and strengthened. Weeks, months of it really. This surgery is major and hits heavy enough that I will be in the hospital for at least 10-14 days just recovering from it without taking into consideration any number of complications that could pop up. Hell, if they get in there and find a situation worse than they currently have an understanding of in the limited capacity of cardiology tech can provide of such a gnarled beastly heart and realize they can't really do anything with it after all, I'll be added to the transplant list. I think this is more daunting to consider than the surgery, honestly.

In that way that doctors have about them, I was "comforted" by being informed that this was an inevitability and I would have been faced with this in a matter of years - less than a handful actually - but the way COVID-19 chewed through me sped it up. I'm sure my years of substance issues were also very helpful in this endeavor, but either way I still am unsure whether I feel better knowing this or not? Mostly I think I feel conflicted and hopeful tempered with the caution of life being super shady in the ways it has often brought me to the doorsteps of dying in situations that seem like odd chance. I also am gifted with being so capable in jinxing myself that I brought myself to COVID-19 ("The way life is going I'll probably square up with Rona next week or some bullshit." Positive test flagged within the following week) and also into labor ("Watch me go into labor on Labor Day since that would be the sort of universal pun that would strike my bad penny having ass." Indeed hatched my youngling on Labor Day of that year) by saying some things within the scope of my bad humor that instantly manifested as reality so I'm not taking any risks here lol.

The gist is that life is really stirring up the winds over here and so I haven't been online and posting anything that would make my blog valid in a fat minute. I do apologize for this and also for the fact that this post took me nearly a week to type up, but when things calm a little I will be back in full. For the time being I will be sporadic and do what I can when I can!

Regarding coursework and education routes into becoming a pro stylist, the thing is that there isn’t necessarily a need for a specific type of education. You could literally drop school and strive for success by the grit of your teeth and iron will alone if you really want and still could gain great acclaim. It isn’t exactly common but it does happen if you strike upon fortunate circumstances and garner experience wherever possible to form the base of your portfolio and profile which will later shape your reputation. 

As it is, most studios and clients do tend to give more consideration to those that come from an academic qualifications and learning. While experience if the foreground on which all stylists (and any other set of industry workers) tread, having the support and security of studying styles and fashion and marketing and all manner of related blather gives a sense of merit and provides opportunities for your to be selected for a job despite a lack of reputation or experience. The best stylists fall from both trees and the worst do as well; there is no guaranteed recipe for success in this field as fashion itself is too fluid in expression to be quantified. 

As for what I did; I had hands in both pots and have the educational background that assures I know what I am doing in terms of textual/technical understanding as well as experience from moments of pure luck compounded by my audacious efforts. I have a Bachelor’s compromised of fashion merchandising, fashion retailing, marketing, and visual arts. I took side courses at a fashion technical institute with a more tailored program that catered to the fundamentals of fit, body (and measurements) assessment, design and trends, media styling, and fashion industry principles. Additionally I did half a semester of social skills in a business. From there I went on to snatch up an internship and spent a bit more than a year being a shadow of the stylists for the company I work for before grasping a golden chance to become notable and step beyond that restricted role. I also have the certifications of AICI CIC and AICI CIP with hopes to one day finally snag the coveted AICI CIM (respectively; certified image consultant, certified image professional, certified image master).

I had friends that have worked in and out of this end of the industry and knew from the jump that I wanted to pad my portfolio with the safety net provided by academia and use it to bridge the gaps in my experience early on. I figured if I had the knowledge of how to deal with the business side of things as well as the styling side then I was a bit more valuable and, worst case, could go be a consultant or advisor for retailers or big wig company heads. As it is, the only reason I have any clout to my name at all is due to my internship - it paved over all the potholes in the road I was on and has been very favorable, but not everyone is as fortunate as I have been and this is not an easy path to undertake and forge into a career with any real sense of stability or security. Freelance stylists have a completely different struggle despite the majority coming from similar backgrounds as myself. 

Now, onto the daily scope and specs of wardrobe styling ~

Please take into consideration that I am an admitted workaholic/perfectionist/overachiever within the boundaries of my work. I’m quite lazy in almost every other sense of living and make existing seem like a wreck and I’m the one driving the struggle-bus that caused it, but for the job I have I am a supremely different breed (though still a lunatic). So yeah, I do a lot more than most would in my position and it is actually something that my company head both loves and hates and is rumored to be writing a clause for all employees regarding allowable working methodology due to the sheer amount of paperwork I alone generate. I am the hazard of our company, but I am also an asset. 

Anyway, I start most of my days with a lot of reading through emails that range from client comments and commands to vendors looking to use my company or clientele to bolster their credibility, to brands extending offers of product usage for marketing and campaigning reasons, and a variety of back and forths between me and the PAs or clerks of photographers, other studios, and fashion houses. Next comes hours of phone calls and reviewing schedules to ensure there is no intersections between client-oriented event slots. For one photoshoot I typically spend 3-4 weeks on the semantics of lighting quality and set features and then the rest of the time is dedicated to wardrobe and piecing out however many styles are called for, and then usually adding in at least 2 extras just for good measure. There's so many meetings my butt goes numb and touching base with the other members of my glam teams to reaffirm that we are all working on tandem and on the same page as far as vision goes. I sometimes have a turn in taking care of a new trainee or intern that is wandering our workplace like a fawn on clumsy legs and have questionable instincts.

When it comes to pulling apparel to make up sets, I have been known to be in the rack rooms and show rooms and fashion archives for over 7 hours a day. Our archivists know me as personally as I know my assistants and friends from how often I am in there territory and have to rely on their hardwork and favor. I spend days doing this until I have what I need and then dedicate every bit of my attention designing and creating looks which is another 5+ hours of one day, over the course of many. I have had days where I have been at work for 16 or 17 hours before I realize it, which is why I am such a thorn in my boss’ ass and often told to take a day off or get sent home midway through the morning - my hours alone could have business bureaus raising their eyebrows at the legality of my working hours. (This is cranked to max when shows and events are in the schedule; Awards Season is a nightmare and tours are the bastard offspring of Hell actually. The amount of hours put in are truly horrific). 

Also worth mentioning for the sake of perspective is that my job is as expansive as my clients allow; if they request me for one of their various activities in the public eye or in media, if available, I am obligated to prioritize their needs above the projects that my company has assigned to me as per our contract and am expected to either find a replacement or delegate to my assistant and apprentice when possible. The opposite is also true: if my clients have a light workload or are on break from their careers, I am typically doing the busy work of in-studio tasks or tracking rising trends and other features of the fashion forecast. I also host a multitude of temporary contracts with all manner of clientele from brand ambassadors to photographers to celebrities to commercial shoots & services. These jobs come upon official requests made through the company and then negotiated into the terms of how short the working schedule will be, what work I will be undertaking, and an assessment of skills vs revenue to maintain a balance of my time as a professional being properly valued within the sad decline of styling budgets before it will be officially taken on in my name. For these I tend to make better use of my status and hand off most of the project unless I am specifically needed. I make appearances as necessary but am mostly an advisor rather than the producer, instead focusing on my exclusive clients all while staying keyed in so that the work isn't below standard. This is all a badly kept secret of my company and myself - the clients do typically know and accept this is how I handle things in general and are aware that they are paying for an absent role of by way of my name/credentials unless they specify otherwise. There have been times when a side job like this has more prestige than all the years of my experiences combined could generate which ostensibly is treated with much more care and most of my other work pauses in deference to this. 

Being a stylist, especially a wardrobe AND fashion stylist, is just so much I don't think I could fully capture the scale of it for a proper index of what we do. 

In short, I don't have routine days. I have days that are at the beck and call of a workload that changes at the drop of a pin or the half digit uptick that dictates the emergence of a new trend or the downwind of when a trend skews into becoming mainstream. I can be paced out and looking at a light day at my desk and suddenly be crammed into a pitch meeting or called out to a set. I've also spent many days lounging on the sofa in a client's dressing room playing on my phone and cracking jokes with the glam team as we wait for our client to return between performance takes. And then there are days when I only go into work for our weekly meeting and review before heading back home. It's constant and consuming and sometimes I can't catch my breath before I'm shoved into the show room under a daunting time crunch because an entire ensemble has been misplaced or ruined. Just a matter of days before I was felled by COVID-19 I was having a nap during a photoshoot which I had already fulfilled my purpose and had no further need to participate in.