the conductor announced the stop I usually took for cosmetology school. Instead of getting off, I rode straight past it
In the nights after I quit cosmetology school, I dragged out my old sketchbooks and opened to a blank page. I hadn’t looked at them — or added anything new — in years. Now that I was going to start my own fashion line, it was time to pick up the pencils again.
I blasted music and sat down to work. As evening turned to midnight and midnight turned to morning, I kept turning the pages, sketching, designing, dreaming.
By the time I was ready for production, I had finalized my four first dresses. I didn’t draw items that would simply fit people who are plus-sized. I wanted items that were chic and trendy. I wanted people to walk into my shop and see the same off-the-runway looks they’d get in any typical shop — except that these would fit them.
I joined the daily rush-hour crowds taking the trains to Manhattan with my designs tucked under my arm. I was bleary-eyed and exhausted, but I’d also never felt so alert.
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