Design Disaster Read online

  Measure twice, cut once or you won't make the cut.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dear Diary

  1

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  5

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  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  Dear Diary,

  I can’t believe two weeks of my Stefan Meyers internship have already passed! I still have six weeks to go, but if it’s anything like the past couple weeks, it’s going to fly by. There’s always something new to learn, especially since I’ll be changing departments soon. I can’t say I’m thrilled about it — working with Laura in knits and denims has been amazing! But apparently it’s something Stefan does so interns can get experience in more than one area. And I don’t want to complain, so… tomorrow I start in dresses with Taylor.

  But there is some good news! I’ll get to keep working with Laura! She needs help with a last-minute addition to the line Stefan is showing at Fashion Week — a small art deco collection. The tricky (and stressful!) part is going to be splitting my time between two departments — I’ll be with Taylor on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and with Laura on Thursday and Friday. I’ve heard rumors (mainly from Madison) that Taylor can be hardcore. I’m a little anxious about having to prove myself again.

  Speaking of Madison… she’s still not my biggest fan. I don’t really know why. She’s had it out for me since we met.

  She’s convinced I only got this internship because I was on Teen Design Diva. Yes, the internship was the grand prize, but I’m also a good designer. She acts like all my successes are a fluke. You’d think she’d be psyched about everyone changing departments so she doesn’t have to work for Taylor anymore, but you’d be wrong. As soon as she heard I was looking forward to working with Taylor, she stalked out of our suite. I guess she didn’t want me working in that department either.

  Thankfully Bailey and Avery have both been really supportive, and staying in the dorms at FIT has been completely surreal. Living here now gives me a taste of what it could be like if I were a student. I wish my mom or Alex were here so I could vent about the Madison stuff. I talk or text with them every day, but I haven’t wanted to share any of the downsides of this internship. No need to worry anyone back home. I’ll figure the Madison stuff out on my own.

  The truth is, it seems like Madison will only be happy if I fall flat on my face. But, newsflash: I’ve waited too long for this opportunity to let that happen.

  Xoxo — Chloe

  Monday morning, the skies rumble and lightning flashes as I try to keep my umbrella steady. The walk from my dorm at FIT to the subway is a short one, but the wind kicks up, and in seconds, my hair gets drenched. Great. Now I look like a cat that got sprayed with a hose. What a way to begin my first day in my new department. I take a seat on the train, which thankfully isn’t too crowded yet, and pull my raincoat tighter around me. At least my outfit is still dry!

  I take out my sketchpad, which never fails to calm me, and glance around the subway car, hoping to see something inspiring. Unfortunately, thanks to the rain, everyone is wearing some sort of jacket. Their features are hidden by

  hoods or wet hair that’s plastered to their faces. I focus on a woman wearing an oversized hooded rain cape in a bright, neon yellow. The fabric appears to be lightweight and water-resistant, making it the perfect garment for today’s warm but crummy weather. The cape could look shapeless, but the woman has paired it with tight pants and tall boots for a chic, wearable — and more importantly, dry — look.

  The train lurches to a stop, and the woman grabs the pole beside her. I shade in the color on her raincoat and notice her free hand close around a brightly colored umbrella. The train stops again, and the woman makes her way out the doors. I pack up my sketchpad since my stop is next.

  When I reach my stop, I’m calmer — and thankfully somewhat drier — than when I rushed on. I head up the stairs to get out of the gloomy underground, and notice the rain has stopped. Stefan Meyers, here I come.

  * * *

  According to the information I got from Stefan last week, I’m supposed to report to the fifth floor today. As the elevator takes me there, I check my hair and makeup in the mirrored panels. My hair is no longer dripping, but it’s definitely on the frizzy side. Nothing a few finger scrunches can’t fix.

  Turning around, I check out my striped knit sweater dress and smooth out a few wrinkles with my hand. I always prefer my own designs, but there was no time to make anything new for this internship. This dress, which I bought from my favorite Santa Cruz store, Mimi’s Thrifty Threads, is as close to wearing my own stuff as I’ll get. I’ve paired it with some low-heeled ankle booties, which have miraculously kept my feet somewhat dry.

  The elevators whoosh open, and I step out. No one is there to greet me, and I take a moment to check out my surroundings. Even though the workday just started, everyone is clearly busy. Designers are sketching, pinning ideas on inspiration boards, and checking fabric against mannequins. Others are huddled in the corner chatting and sipping coffee, but their eyes are glued to the clock on the wall.

  Unlike my first day with Laura, no one stops to stare at me. After two weeks here, I’m old news, and I like it that way. I was getting tired of whispers about “Diva Girl.” That’s a name Madison started, meant to be an insult. Like people only cared about me because I was on television.

  I walk through the aisles, and my face lights up. There are images for art deco inspiration everywhere. From mood boards, to sketches, to books — all showcasing different designs. I stop and look at the beading and fabrics displayed on a nearby mood board, imagining what the glitzy and glamorous styles will look like when they’re finished.

  “It gives you chills, doesn’t it?” a woman’s voice says from beside me. I jump, and she chuckles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Taylor.”

  Taylor extends her hand, and I shake it. She has a firm grip, and I immediately understand why Madison was intimidated by her. Even though she’s smiling, her severe bun and perfect posture let me know she’s all business.

  “Chloe,” I say.

  Taylor nods. “I’ve heard great things about you from both Laura and Stefan. I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

  I’m about to laugh but stifle the impulse when I realize she’s not kidding. “I promise I won’t. I’m a hard worker.”

  “Then we’ll get along just fine,” Taylor says. “Follow me to your desk, and I’ll show you what you’ll be doing today.”

  My desk, an exact replica of the one I had in knits, is located right in front of Taylor’s office. At least I won’t have to venture far if I need her help, I think.

  I scan my new workspace. Sitting on top is an overstuffed binder, and on the floor next to it are several bins of fabric. Then I see what’s on my seat — a laptop!

  “It’s here!” I exclaim.

  Taylor looks confused for a moment, then notices the laptop. “Oh, right. They delivered it this morning. We still do the majority of our work by hand, but it’s nice to have it for note taking or perfecting designs.”

  “So what am I doing today?” I ask eagerly.

  “Today is about me getting to know how you think,” says Taylor. “When I work with interns, I like to see their thought process and what they know. It allows me to see just how much direction and guidance you need.”

  I swallow. This sounds like a
test.

  “Let’s look at these bins,” Taylor continues. “Each one is sorted by material. The silks are here, the satins here, tulle in that one, and so forth. Now, let’s explore the binder.”

  Taylor flips it open to the first page. On one half, I see swatches of material — scraps in all different colors and textures. On the other half is a sketch of an outfit with the swatches representing the clothing. The first page has a sketch of a ball gown. The top half is covered with black silk swatches, while the bottom is covered with sheer organza.

  “It looks like an inspiration board,” I say. “You get a rough image of the outfit before you make the prototype, like a mini-version of a design.”

  “Exactly,” Taylor says, nodding. “I like inspiration boards, but I also like binders. They help me stay organized. I’d like you to go through the binder, and make a note of your favorite designs. Explain why you do or don’t like something. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. Many of these were just brainstorms and never used. Others were from seasons past.”

  Taylor flips to the back of the binder. “I haven’t gotten around to matching these sketches with fabric yet. When you get to this section, I’d like you to try your hand at that. Just like you saw on the other pages. Make sense?”

  I nod. “So for those sketches in the back, you want me to go through the bins and choose the fabrics I think would look best on them?”

  “You got it,” says Taylor.

  “But what if it’s totally different from what you had in mind?” I ask nervously.

  “That’s fine,” says Taylor. “Like I said, I just want to see how you think. It might seem silly, but it helps me going forward. When you match the fabrics, please do it in your sketchpad, not in the binder. I want to save that for the finished product. I really don’t like leaving anything to chance.”

  Taylor goes back into her office and closes the door. I start poring through the designs, immersing myself in all the details. I know there’s no right or wrong, but I really hope we’re on the same page.

  I spend the rest of the morning working, taking my time with each page. Since this is my first full day with Taylor — and my first impression — I want to make sure it’s a good one.

  I flip a page, and a dress in blinding yellow catches my eye, and I make a note on my “dislike” list. I like the cut of the dress, and I love a pop of color, but this bright neon is not my thing. I’d rather see a solid, neutral dress, maybe in black or khaki, with a neon belt or subtle pattern as an accent. I make a note of that too.

  Another page is a mid-length dress with a contrasting belt. I make a note about how the contrast in color brings the outfit to life. Some designs leave me lukewarm. They have all the things I like, such as pops of color and smooth fabric, but something does not work for me. A beige dress with white polka dots and a white belt looks chic, but I’m not totally in love with it. It’s a little preppier than my normal style.

  I’m excited when I get to the back of the binder. The sketches Taylor created are of flowing dresses with geometric patterns. They definitely look like the preliminary drawings for the art deco line. I pick out a gray silk and pair it with silver threading, then paste the combo into my sketchpad. For another dress, I match a satin top with an organza bottom. Too bad none of the bins have embellishments. Threaded pearls would look pretty.

  A few hours later, I take a break for lunch. I run out quickly and buy a sandwich to eat at my desk in the hopes that Taylor will come back early. I can’t wait to hear what she has to say about what I’ve done so far. As I eat, I study the piles of sketches, notes, and designs I worked on this morning. I’m really proud of them, but I can’t help but be a little nervous. What if Taylor hates all the styles I love? I worry silently.

  Finally, Taylor emerges from her office and walks over to my desk. “Let’s see what you have,” she says.

  I watch her face as she flips through my sketches and looks over the notes I made on the laptop. Sometimes she smiles and nods. Other times, her face is unreadable. I take a sip of my water and try to calm my fidgety legs.

  After what seems like forever, Taylor says, “For the most part, you and I are on the same page. That is such a relief.”

  I laugh. “For me too!”

  “I’m glad that you’re not a fan of the loud, busy prints,” she says, pointing to the bright, neon-yellow dress. “These, on the other hand,” she says, setting aside my art deco drawings, along with the sample fabrics and designs I’ve chosen from the bins, “are exactly my style.”

  I shift my chair closer. “I loved the rich feel of the fabric here,” I say, picking up a shimmery silver swatch. I hold it against a sketch of a mermaid-style dress. “This will look great.”

  Taylor cocks her head. “It’s what Stefan had in mind too. He was right on the money putting you here.”

  I beam. My earlier anxiety is gone, and now I’m filled with excitement.

  Tuesday morning, coffee in hand, I’m back in the office. It’s only seven-thirty, but I was itching to start my day. At eight o’clock on the dot, the elevator doors open, and Taylor makes her way down the hallway. Her arms are loaded with bags, but she manages to balance her coffee cup too. I marvel at how put-together she looks.

  “You’re here early!” she says, passing my desk to drop off her bags. “That’s what I like to see.”

  I’m glad she’s pleased, but I also hope she doesn’t expect me to be this early every day. After placing her bags in her office, Taylor eases into a chair beside me, coffee in hand.

  “As you know, Stefan made a last-minute addition to the designs being showcased at Fashion Week next month. Now that I know we’re on basically the same page design-wise, I’d like you to work on coming up with three art deco-inspired design details that can be carried out throughout this collection,” she explains.

  I think about what she wants. “You mean like the beading?”

  Taylor nods. “Exactly. Then, we just need two more elements that can be our signature within these designs. I also have these binders filled with art deco elements to use as inspiration,” she says, placing a crate filled with binders beside my desk. “Get creative.”

  Taylor heads back to her office, and I pick up my pencil and start flipping through the pages. Time to let my imagination run wild.

  * * *

  When Taylor checks in after lunch, my sketches are detailed and ready. I enhanced the beading design, showing variations of bead size and type. I also added a sketch of beaded fringe.

  Taylor inspects each one, somehow managing not to spill the coffee she’s holding. If this were Laura, the drawings probably would have been coffee stained by now. This silly detail makes me miss Laura and her chaos. At least I’ll get to see her on Thursday. That feels like a long way away, but Stefan said it’s better to spend consecutive days in each department so there’s less disruption, and I can finish projects I start.

  “Very nice,” Taylor says. “I especially like this stitching design of overlapping V’s. I can see it embroidered in a satin gown.”

  That’s just how I pictured it too. A floor-length dress made of shimmering silver satin. Taylor takes another sip of her coffee and turns a page in my sketchbook.

  “This one is probably my favorite,” she says, examining a scalloped sequin pattern.

  “I really like it too, maybe for the front of the dress,” I say. I imagine the pattern shining, this time on silk fabric, as a model struts on the runway.

  Taylor nods. “You have a good eye for this. If I were the warm and fuzzy type, I’d probably be hugging you right now.”

  I grin. “Mental hug?”

  Taylor laughs. “Sure. I’m glad you made so much progress on this. We only have one more day together this week, and then I won’t see you again until Monday. I’m going to keep you super busy, but I think you can handle it.”

&nbs
p; I think about how much Madison complained about Taylor, and how nervous that made me. But these two days haven’t been bad at all! “Definitely,” I say. “I’m up for anything!”

  Wednesday morning, I wake up to a text from Taylor telling me to check my e-mail. When I do, my jaw drops. There are more than three pages of items she needs me to pick up for her. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was going to keep me busy!

  I feel someone peering over my shoulder and have a hunch that it’s Madison. Sure enough, I turn around and see her smirking at me.

  “No break for you today, huh?” she says. She attempts to sound concerned but totally fails.

  I print out the pages and close my laptop. “Better than being bored all day, right?”

  Madison shrugs. “I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with Princess Taylor anymore.”

  “We get along fine,” I say.

  Madison rolls her eyes. “You would,” she mumbles.

  I decide to just let her comment slide. It’s not worth it. Instead, I grab the pages and head out the door, pausing to say goodbye. Instead of answering, Madison pops in her headphones and starts sketching.

  * * *

  As I head to the subway, I skim Taylor’s e-mail again. There’s a P.S. at the end telling me to try M&J Trimming. I’ve never been to that store, so that’s something new. I try to push Madison’s rude behavior out of my mind and focus on the task ahead of me but give up after a few unsuccessful attempts.

  Instead, I whip out my sketchpad and focus on drawing. Madison’s head, complete with earbuds, fills my page. I add a lightweight, off-the-shoulder sweater, darkening the lines. Next I sketch a pair of summer-weight shorts. Even drawing Madison, sketching is still therapeutic.

  Just as I add espadrilles I think Madison would hate, the train stops at Avenue of the Americas. I make a beeline for the subway doors and search for the Exit sign. It’s only ten o’clock, but my hair is already starting to stick to my neck. It’s always hotter underground, but it’s especially sweltering today. Thankfully, M&J Trimming is right in front of me.