#scyvie

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CHAPTER 1: Never meet your heroes

“Hello everyone, welcome to Advanced Fashion Studies,” announced Raja, attempting to summon some enthusiasm from her seated position at the table at the head of the studio.

Hellos and nods echoed back from the students who had taken seats in the large, familiar room. Raja taught in the college’s central fashion studio during the fall, winter, and occasionally summer term, and had for the past several years of her career. The wide, padded work table sat in the middle, and the walls were lined with tables with sewing machines on top, one station for each student in the class. Shears, rulers and other shared tools were in a cupboard at the end of the room, each neatly labelled. Rolls of basic fabrics were on the wall, a collection of dress forms in the corner, and other supplies were hidden away in cupboards.

The room was set up to be the ideal version of a working fashion studio, similar to the ones she’d been employed in before going into teaching. The design was intended to prepare the students for whatever came next after graduating from The RuPaul Charles College of Art and Design.

The bank of windows at the far end of the room backlit her, hopefully enough that the students wouldn’t notice the dark circles under her eyes.

“Anyway, before we get started let’s get attendance over with,” said Raja, tucking a loose lock of her long grey hair behind her ear and glancing down at the sheet. She recognized a few names, one or two of the students who had grabbed attention in their sophomore year had continued through the program, but during her sudden leave of absence last winter she’d lost track of the cohort currently heading into their senior year.

She much preferred teaching senior year students; they were smarter, more consistent, and took her criticism better. Well, most of the time.

She went quickly down the list, reading each name aloud and receiving a response: Jaida, Brock, Vanessa, Scarlet, Jan, Jackie, Yuhua, Jinkx, A’keria, Violet-

“And…Yvie?” 

No one responded.

But Raja recognized the name. This particular student had been making a splash at the college since she’d arrived, and Raja vaguely remembered the skinny punk with the wild creations and determined attitude. But she wasn’t in the room at the moment. Maybe she’d dropped the class.

Raja continued, putting the sheet aside. “Well, it looks like Yvie isn’t here, so let’s get started-”

The door at the far end of the room burst open.

Raja pursed her lips as Yvie strode in with total confidence, not appearing even remotely embarrassed about being late. She raised her chin to Raja across the room, her septum piercing glinting in the sun streaming in the window. Her hair was sheared short and dyed a bright green. She wore black jeans ripped at the knees, a tight-fitting crop top across her rope-like torso, a patchy messenger bag over her shoulder and a sarcastic little smirk that Raja didn’t particularly appreciate.

“Sorry I’m late,” announced Yvie without sounding sorry at all, meandering over to one of the chairs by the sewing machines and flopping down into it like her long limbs were made of rubber.

The students Raja had identified as Jaida and Scarlet glanced over her shoulders, waving at Yvie and whispering greetings.

“You must be Yvie,” said Raja, unable to keep her tone from becoming dry and unimpressed. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” replied Yvie, with a shit-eating grin.

A few of the students giggled.

Raja shrugged dismissively, refusing to give Yvie another glance, and sat up straighter, keeping her gaze ahead. Normally a student being late wouldn't bother her much, but her patience was limited these days. But she couldn’t quite keep the tinge of sarcasm out of her voice. “So now that we’re all here, come take a syllabus and we’ll go through it.”

The students got up and milled around the edge of the table, Violet reaching out and snatching the first syllabus off the top of the pile with a perfectly manicured hand. Brock rolled his eyes at her, took three and passed them back to Jaida and Scarlet respectively.

Aside from Yvie’s dramatic entrance, this batch of students seemed okay, about as present and respectful as a group of twenty-one(ish)-year-olds could be.

Yvie wandered up to the small crowd and snuck through, leaning over and snatching the last syllabus from the stack with an ironic flourish. Raja resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but Yvie’s hands caught her attention; her fingers were long and deft, short nails decorated with chipped black nail polish, a few reddened hangnails showing the evidence of a bad habit.

Raja took her time to go through the syllabus. Advanced Fashion was a heavily weighted course, requiring many hours of both in-class and studio time. Taken in the fall, it finalized the technical skills required for the students to take their Open Fashion Studio course in the winter, which was largely self-directed, to construct their final collections for the graduate show in the spring.

Yvie sat slumped in the faraway chair like she didn’t give a shit, legs haphazardly splayed, flipping over the page of the syllabus and frowning at it. Without even seeming to notice, she started to pick at her nails with her opposite hand, her thumb anxiously worrying at the nail bed on her fourth finger. Hm. Raja had guessed correctly. Her right knee twinged and she adjusted her position on the stool again.

“...and that’s about it,” said Raja to the room of visibly overwhelmed students as she closed the final page of the syllabus. “As you know from your other classes, we do group critiques for every assignment. It’s one of the best ways to really interrogate your concepts.” She chuckled, gesturing at the class, who all stared at her nervously. “Don’t look so scared, my criticism is always constructive.”

A few students let out sighs of relief, while others raised their heads, accepting the challenge. Raja considered herself to be a chill, relaxed instructor; she always gave unique, relevant, and constructive feedback. She just didn’t especially care about being nice about it, and she didn’t like seeing boring work. She’d seen so much boring work over the years. Sure, her standards were high, but she was easier on the students than Bianca, for example. Yvie cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at her from across the room.

“Just don’t show me something boring,” said Raja in her most reassuring voice. “Now let’s get started with the first demo…”

She quickly directed the students to go over to the central drafting table for her first technical demonstration. Although this class was largely for the students to practice and perfect the technical skills they’d learned in the previous years, she still had a few advanced technical sewing and design concepts to teach. The students talked amongst themselves, not paying particular attention to Raja as she got up slowly, cautiously putting weight on her right knee.

The injury last winter had been a blow to both her ego and her sense of mortality. However, Raja hadn’t been able to take any more leave into the fall, given that it was her turn as department head this year. The role circulated among the faculty in the fashion department, Bianca had come off her term as planned, and with it Raja received a smaller teaching load and extra administrative and organizational responsibilities. But she outright refused to use crutches at work, so her knee would just have to speed up its healing according to her schedule.

Just a twinge of pain, it was fine, and she straightened up. No one had noticed her hesitation, except. Ugh. Raja frowned.

While the other students were chatting with each other around the central table, Yvie watched her. Her expression was indiscernible, but she'd definitely noticed her moment of caution. Raja met her eyes briefly, like a shot across the room. Yvie’s mouth twitched with what looked like scorn, and Raja offered her a petty sneer in response as she walked confidently over to join the group at the table and deliver the patterning demonstration.

-

“Ugh, that class was so long…” Yvie let out a groan as she pushed open the door at the end of the hallway and left the building, turning her face up towards the sun. It shone bright and lovely, and she tried to let its warmth soothe her feeling of annoyed embarrassment, glad to be out of the confined indoor space for the brief lunch break before her afternoon class. 

“It’s only the first day, what the hell do you have to groan about?” teased Jaida, a step behind her.

“Term literally just started,” added Scarlet, on Jaida’s other side.

Mondays were going to be brutal this term, given her work schedule; she had a closing shift on Sunday nights. She glanced back at them. “I know, but I barely got a break this summer, I was working like all the time.”

“I know, we like barely got to spend any time together…”

“You went to multiple raves, and like three music festivals,” said Jaida dryly, leading the little group over to a bench in the courtyard, near a twisted tree that grew out of the patch of dirt surrounded by stone. At least September was warm, practically summer, the sun high in the sky.

“Hey,” protested Yvie, before she laughed, shrugging. “Okay fine, we partied a little…”

“Just a little,” chuckled Jaida, sitting down primly on the bench. “Yeah, all our jobs sucked this year, those early shifts just about wrecked my sleep schedule permanently.”

Yvie joined her and Scarlet sat on her other side, so close she was practically in her lap, taking out her phone. Yvie didn’t particularly like being sat on, well, not unless Scarlet was sitting on her face. They’d had some fun this summer: she’d done a reasonable amount of MDMA, danced all night a few times, and gone out to clubs to perform and be seen. Yvie, Scarlet and Jaida (and her on-and-off-again girlfriend Crystal) had gone to one particularly good music festival and had ended up covered in paint and mud, exhilarated and high, sore from dancing all day, escaping reality for a glorious weekend.

But still, the rest of the time she’d spent working. And ruminating.

Yvie took out a cigarette and put it to her lips, digging around in her bag for her lighter.

“Do you really have to smoke?” complained Scarlet, scrunching up her nose.

“Yes,” replied Yvie dryly. “It’s an addiction.”

“But like, I thought you were trying to quit.” Scarlet slung her legs onto Yvie’s lap, and pouted. “You said you’d quit for me…”

Yvie caught Jaida raising an eyebrow in her peripheral vision as her manicured fingers typed rapidly on her phone. Yvie sighed with mild guilt that was mostly covered by familiar irritation creeping up her shoulders. She didn’t remove the unlit cigarette from her mouth, instead she rested her hand on Scarlet’s legging-clad thigh. Sure, keeping her girlfriend happy should be closer to the top of her list of priorities, but instead she was thinking about when her student loan was going to come in, the distinctly low number left in her bank account after this month’s rent, the upcoming semester’s material costs, her stupid job, her follower count, and how her phone bill was a month overdue.

As the final week of summer had passed and everyone had tried to get in one last hurrah before school started up again, Yvie had still been anxiously hustling. So she deserved a cigarette.

“Personally, I’m looking forward to Advanced Fashion,” said Jaida, changing the subject, “I think it’s going to be intense, but in a good way.”

“Me too,” agreed Scarlet, leaning forward slightly to look around Yvie. “But it's going to be a lot of work. Did you hear the prof describe how much time she’s expecting us to put in? I know it’s a triple-credit course, but Jesus.”

“Yeah, she seems like kind of a bitch,” added Yvie, taking the cigarette out of her mouth so the filter wouldn’t get soggy, and twirling it between her fingers. She wanted to get up and smoke, but Scarlet had trapped her.

Jaida and Scarlet fixed her with dual disapproving looks. “Rude.”

“Come on, everyone says she’s the worst,” kvetched Yvie, digging her heels in anyway. Raja had definitely seemed like a cold bitch sitting at the front of the room in a crisp white shirt, grey hair sitting loose on her shoulders, dramatically back-lit by the bank of windows, making everybody have to squint to even see her. “I heard she acts like she’s all chill and blasé, and then she’s really harsh in critiques. Did you hear her say ‘just don’t show me something boring?’ What a drama queen, and she was sarcastic with me when I came in.”

"I mean, you were late," commented Scarlet.

Jaida added contemplatively. “I don't know, she was gone for most of last winter, only a handful of people in our year have had her as an instructor before. Jinkx said she gives really critical feedback, but that can help you grow.”

“Or piss you off, I know my work is good, I don’t need someone who’s just going to bully me-”

Jaida smiled, glancing up from her phone as she finished typing out another rapid text. “So you just want everyone including her to pat you on the back because you got featured in i-D Magazine?”

“Ha! I sure did,” replied Yvie, with a proud smirk. Seeing her name, her face and her creations published had been such an exciting moment. She’d caught the publication’s attention on Instagram through a performance at the last remaining punk club downtown. A journalist had contacted her, asking if she’d be interested in being part of the feature, which had been called Young Americans by the British publication. It had been so exciting, a big step; and her follower count had tripled. A sense of delirious hope had lodged itself in her gut. Maybe she could really make it.

“That was so cool, it’s like you’re almost famous,” said Scarlet, tilting her head back as if to luxuriate in Yvie’s peripheral almost-fame. “And if you really don’t like Raja then just wait and take the class next semester when someone else is teaching it.”

“I can’t, I need this class to graduate on time.” The anxious feeling that Yvie had been trying to manage all summer rose up, and she kept going, needing somewhere to dump it. “I mean, she acts like she knows so much more than everyone about fashion when it’s like, okay sure, maybe you were cool twenty years ago and now you’re just some teacher. Like, chill the fuck out.”

“Why are you so annoyed with her again?” replied Jaida, frowning worriedly down at her phone like she was only half-engaged in the conversation. “She seems more relaxed than Bianca was. Bianca nearly failed us both in Intro to Pattern Drafting.”

"Well, yeah..." Yvie felt a little guilty as she compulsively rolled her cigarette back and forth between her fingers. She did feel annoyed, and disappointed, she should just let the argument go, but-

“What Jaida said,” added Scarlet disinterestedly, playing with a lock of her hair. “Like, give her a chance or whatever.”

Yvie opened her mouth to continue her rant and realized she needed her cigarette right now. “Can you let me up so I can suck on my cancer stick?”

It came out more harshly than she’d anticipated, and she immediately felt bad. Scarlet made an insulted ‘hmph’ noise and removed her legs from Yvie’s lap, scowling. Yvie stood up and took a few steps away from the bench.

“Sorry, I just…” muttered Yvie. She’d felt trapped, but didn’t know how to say it.

“Whatever.” Scarlet crossed her arms, not looking at her.

Jaida didn’t say anything, once again typing rapidly on her phone.

Yvie sighed, digging around in her pocket for her lighter, and lit the cigarette. Scarlet was only three years younger than her, but sometimes she seemed ridiculously immature. Things weren’t quite clicking between them the way they had last year.

Yvie had been doing her own thing more or less since she was fourteen and refused to stop or listen to anyone who told her what to do. But the feeling that she only had so much time left to figure things out was creeping up on her. Maybe it was because she’d started college a few years later than everyone else. She took a deep, steadying drag on her cigarette.

Despite her hopes, Raja was just going to be another barrier to get over this term.

Several years ago Yvie had been a bit lost, she’d been surfing the internet and had discovered a 1994 documentary telling the story of the alternative fashion and underground queer club scene in L.A. Raja had been featured in it, the story following her among a handful of other people in the scene. Like a switch had flipped in Yvie’s brain, she’d latched onto the footage of the young, androgynous club kid; embedded in the subculture, making totally out-there clothing, a party monster at every rave. It showed all the glory of rebellion, love and art pushing back against a capitalist hellscape. All of a sudden Yvie saw what she wanted reflected in an aesthetic and a community that had started fading from existence when she was only an infant, and had watched Raja’s transfixing appearances in the documentary over and over.

Luckily, nothing could stop Yvie from doing her own thing, so she started performing at clubs, making her own clothes, playing music with a couple of different bands, and pouring all her creative energy into whatever alternative scenes she could find, with a sharp eye on 1990s grunge and punk nostalgia. All the while slogging through a series of depressing day jobs. But with her unexpected social media popularity and degree of success, in an attempt to take seriously a future career in fashion she’d re-thought her decision not to go to college. After a bit of research, she’d discovered that the club kid from the documentary had grown up and turned out to be a fashion instructor at RCCAD. The desire to finally meet Raja had been a large part of the reason Yvie had chosen to give college a shot, move half-way across the country, and take on student debt.

But what she’d hoped to be an important, impressive, meaningful moment hadn’t happened yet. Or maybe it had already passed. Raja didn’t teach freshman or sophomore year classes, and Yvie’s attempts to introduce herself in passing had been awkward. Last year Yvie had hopefully signed up for one of her classes only to have Raja go on unexpected leave just before the first day, with Bianca as a last-minute replacement.

Three expensive years had sped past since Yvie had made her decision, and now she was twenty-four - which felt old somehow - and the energy that had always whirred under her skin manifested as a constant, nagging dialogue in the back of her mind, questioning her choices, making her doubt herself, afraid that things wouldn't work out how she’d hoped.

And now, now that she finally had her opportunity to meet and learn from Raja, she’d managed to be late for the first class, attempted to be blasé about it only to be met with hostility, and the whole situation had left her feeling embarrassed, irritable, and anxious. ‘Never meet your heroes' was good advice, it turned out.

“Who are you texting?” asked Yvie, jutting her chin at Jaida. “None of your business….”

“Is it Crystal again?” teased Yvie, a smile curling on her mouth as she flicked the ash from her cigarette. “I told you to play it cool this time.”

Jaida scrunched up her face in a way that indicated she’d been caught. Scarlet laughed and nudged her, teasing. Jaida glanced to the side, eyes going towards the side door the three of them had exited earlier and Yvie looked over her shoulder, following her gaze.

“Hey, look, speak of the devil.”