When I’ve found out that in my bank account there were only 25€ left i’ve felt a jolt of fear running along my spine.
I’m a girl, so I do shopping, right?
That means some of the money have gone for the usual useless things a girl needs (or she thinks she needs)
But it’s not the stupid shopping what ruins me.
What ruins me so bad is the absolute stinginess in deciding salaries of people working in my field.
The paradox is clear and I can sum it up in a few points:
1. People who study fashion, attend expensive private schools, most of the times facing big economical sacrifices.
2. They are taught very little but their minds are pumped up and moulded in terms of glory and money this job will bring into their lives once they start working.
2B (VIP. very important point). They start becoming horrible people too. Who embraces the fashion world, empathizing with the know-it all stylist role, completely fucks his/her brain up.
3. So people can’t wait to finish school and start the job of their dreams.
They also congratulate with themselves thinking how cunning they have been when they decided to undertake this carrier!
4. Once they got a degree, SURPRISE!
School promised to help out with placing them somewhere, but run away with your money slamming doors in front of their faces instead.
Therefore the new young fashion designers find themselves thrown in an alarming over-saturated market and world where there’s NO space for beginners.
Companies search for young people to hire as interns (that means..working for free) but with experience (which is a fuckin joke!).
Those who get a better job is never better. They all end up doing all the shit work for the rest of their life. And there’s no carrier advancement. No way. The seniors take root and turn the other people lives a hell.
5. Salaries are jokes as well. Meagre money. And no pay rise. NO pay rise.
To make it short:
In the end that beautiful Marni coat you have drawn, that was on the catwalk and now in big stores, doesn’t show your name and it costs more that 1,000$ (of course, which has been paid 5 to 10$ to the chinese tailor who sewn it all night and day).
You gained 500 or less in one month to sweat blood and be just a unidentified number among many. No thanks, no gratifications.
That was the glory you were promised?
Walking in front of the shopping window and see a piece of fabric on a deformed mannequin?
Or do you prefer when you see it on some rich fuckface with a wallet your pockets won’t ever ever see, in 100 years of hard-working neither? Oh.
A personal satisfaction won’t feed your stomach and pay bills.
That’s simply insane.
Fashion’s a circus, a clowning.
Like people taking it seriously.
I hate people living it just like it was real life.
Sometimes I believe being a prostitute is a job that would give me more dignity.
And I’m still warning whoever wants to choose it as a carrier.
It’s not like before. It’s not Chanel in the 20’s.
Or Armani and Prada in the 80’s.
The world was empty.
Everyone could impress and be the one.
So go. Go and fight for a miserable salary.
Go and have a meal with some other’s life to survive.
Nice job this one, ah!
Oh fuck it.