User:TanTran

=English Composition=

Statement of Intent


Overview
+ A total of three short stories (2000 words each)

+ A runway coverage (1500 words on various designers)

+ A trend report (1500 words for the Spring 2010 trends)

+ A short study on a particular designer/garment/trend (Avant Garde fashion) --> possible for publication

Rationale
To get a balance between critical and creative writing. I also want to be able to incorporate a little bit more research into some of my writings.

Publication/Presentation
The study of a designer/trend/garment can be presented in a format of a book with many images accompanying the texts. The boon can be a amalgamation of different styles of writing such as creative, critical and informative.

Schedule
+ Week 2: Finish first short story (~2000 words)

+ Week 3: Runway coverage for Spring 2010, examining work of 5 designers (-1500 words in total with images)

+ Week 4: Finish second short story (~2000 words)

+ Week 5: Trend report for Spring (~1500 words)/Workshop: Book of designer/style (Avant Garde)

+ Week 6: Finish third short story (~2000 words)

+ Week 7: Runway Coverage for Pre-Fall 2010 (~1500 words)

+ Week 8: Runway Coverage for Fall 2010 (if possible) (~1500 words)

+ Week 9: Continue to work on book

+ Week 10: Finish book

Anticipated Problems
+ Misjudge work load: The runway coverage for Pre-Fall and Fall may be pushed aside or cancelled in order for the book to complete.

Week 6 Project Review
Many things have been coming up. I no longer know whether I can pull everything together at the end. Right now, I am trying my best to catch up with my weekly work and I think the weekly work does motivate me to keep going. If I were to put a final together - one that is not a compilation of my weekly work, the final zine would be quite weak. It may be shorter than I had anticipated. Following the death of Alexander McQueen, I would like to do a tribute for him and I hoped that would be big and grand enough for the final. The pictures mostly speak for themselves and the class has not read my fashion commentary in a while so that would be a great change of pace. One thing that I may think about is how to publish that. Right now, I am thinking of a folder, portfolio or a scrap book. The scrap book may be labor intensive to reproduce but that can be a fun project. I just hope to complete my weekly goals that I set for myself because they seem somehow tangible as opposed to the final, which happens in the distant future. I will try my best though to pull together something really spectacular.

Reader's Report


Project
Week 2: The Agreement

 The Agreement

The store still stood stubbornly after all these years with the rapid development thrusting upon this delicate corner of the small province. The changes that city initially was so hesitant to accept did almost nothing to the minute clothing store. The mood somehow shifted towards a much-forced modernity, despite the display persistently styled with a mannequin looking ever so haughty and a couple of moldy vintage-y furniture.

The owner continued to be behind the neatly arranged counter with an amalgamation of one-of-a-kind vintage jewelry, greeting his beloved clientele who paid the patronage because of word of mouth. The most fashionable crowd still flocked to this tiny boutique, carrying with them a love for fashion and a penchant for the thrill of hunting that oh-so-unique item. The crowd changed so much. Oh so at least, as Whitney had noticed when she first waltzed through the mahogany-framed glass door. The crowd actually included some teenagers now, acting so hoity-toity, confident that they had virtually limitless credit cards and got their style tips from their perpetual subscriptions of Vogue and Elle.

Whitney was like that once. And by that, it meant that Whitney was once a teenager with a fascination for fashion and all things that defined the city life. She was a girl from a small town, from a family doing just well enough for their little girl to receive the best education the country can offer. She was never the one that aspired to dress nice. She was never the one that had the magazine subscription. She was never the one that had frequent wardrobe changes every month.

But she knew so well what she had been and what she aspired to be. She had been the girl that managed to put aside her urge to rebel for the good of her family. She had been the girl that realized what she wanted at an early age and went after it with all she could. And most importantly, she knew that someday, she wanted to become a homemaker just like her mother.

Her mother was no ordinary homemaker, in her eyes. As the teenage Whitney would put it, her Mom made the most “badass” batch of cookies of all assortments. Her Mom also made the most “awesome” pitch of lemonade on a hot summer day with lemons handpicked from the family garden. And most importantly, her Mom loved her family and devoted everything she had for them.

Five years ago, as Whitney was exploring the city on her own upon her first trip, she was attracted to the petite store with its very own distinct retro styling, complete lost in the fast-paced city of bright lights and enormous architectural structures. She was drawn to it, feeling like she could somehow belong there.

Taking cautious little steps towards the boutique, Whitney tried to peer in through the store window. She was taken aback at the sight of the display.

Within a tiny, constricted space, the owner, so skillful, managed to arrange a heart-warming scene with an array of quirky furniture, likely to be found nowhere. Amidst a vintage clock, a wooden stool on the verge of collapsing and an antique couch with many questionable stains, the mannequins, contorted in all sort of poses, stood and leaned against one another with a manufactured grace and forceful happiness.

The scene with its much artificial emotion somehow reflected the way Whitney perceived the city life. It was as though everyone just wanted to make friends for a purpose, for their own selfish gain, or worst yet, to look for that one accessory. The mannequins, with their cinched waist, jerked their head back and appeared so joyful with their widened smile, revealing rogue lipstick and shiny teeth. Whitney wondered if they were being tipsy or that they were actually happy. Maybe, they were very successful in their previous life, sitting down for a chat down memory lane. Perhaps, getting together with a glass of martini swept all their worries away. Or, a possibility kicked in: they might be so happy because they were all looking oh-so-glamorous in their sheath dresses, reminiscing of the 50s.

At least that was what Whitney thought for herself.

She was mesmerized by a particular sheath on the mannequin with copper red hair. Perhaps it was the attention that mannequin commanded with her presence. So confident. So powerful.

The puff sleeves added much height to shoulder, establishing a strong silhouette without compromising femininity. The band collar somehow shielded the back neck away, as if to playfully tease an onlooker just then to descend into a deep plunging V in the front, setting any glance on fire with an overwhelming sense of constrained sensuality.

“Buy you a dress, mi’lady?” – a deep, warm voice with an assertive tone diverted Whitney’s attention.

“Oh…were you talking to me?” – innocently Whitney replied while pulling herself together.

“I can see that you display a tremendous interest in the dress behind that glass.” – a charming young men, looking ever so dapper in a V-neck sweater, contrasting dress shirts and a cheeky narrow tie was home to the deep, warm voice. – “The name is Sean. Nice to meet you! Would you like to join me in a fascinating, one night say rather grown-up conversation between two adults over coffee?”

“Oh…oh…” – Whitney couldn’t help but flustered. – “My name is Whitney. From a small town. It is my first day here. I hope you can show me around the city. But then again, my mother said that I should not trust any boy in the city. So…Uhm…can I trust you?”

“Fear not, my enchantress! I am merely a messenger.” – the boy continued to utter a slew of fancy that appeared to be out of this world yet he delivered the line with such ease and finesse. The words became somewhat…understandable. – “Fortunately for you, my pretty birdie, my master has set his eyes on you, thus, he sent me forth to tell you that your pristine beauty set his heart ablaze.”

“Wow, I’m flattered.” – Whitney was caught off guard that she had a secret admirer. In fact, she was rather astonished that the concept of master and servant still existed. – “Can you take me to your master, dear Sean?”

“Most certainly, my Queen! How endearing it is that you used my own name! Other people often referred to me by my, well, affiliates” – Sean walked Whitney towards a narrow alley. Their steps glided over the rocky stones that paved the path. The chilly winds of autumn swirled around them, caressing their youthful skins in a flirtatious manner, bringing with the fallen leaves, creating a sense of rush and hurry. Suddenly, Sean turned around. – “Here, a rose for you! The master compared this delicate flora to the purity of your beauty and charm.”

Whitney was presented with a purpose rose on a stem. The rose was beautiful. Its color was rich. Its beauty appeared untouched. It was made of crystal.

She received a single crystal rose from her admirer.

Intrigued by it all, Whitney overcame the anxiety about the legends and myths her mother informed her about the wild boys of the city. She became more and more eager to face this mysterious fan that she hardly knew. Her steps bounced with much excitement and a sense of urgency. They finally arrived at a small coffee shop. The antique chairs surrounding the front door did not hinder the path while providing an intimate atmosphere with art deco umbrellas and gothic tables. From far away, Whitney could spot a handsome young man, sitting quite casually with a relaxed posture yet he somehow commanded so much power and presence. She also noticed that he was placed in a get-up that was rather out of place with a place so miniature yet so upscale.

He was entirely clad in nothing but jersey and fleece. The baggy navy sweatshirt hid away a healthy, gorgeously built body, hinted by the tightening at the sleeves, revealing strong and protective arms. The hood being pulled over obscured a handsome, confident face with well-defined features. His baggy grey jersey pants, coupled with dusty running shoes placed an aura on him that somewhat portrayed the opposite of what the man could potentially look.

“Your prince is waiting for you over there. The man in the rather, uhm, depressing get-up.” – Sean signaled for Whitney to come and greet her admirer and turned away to depart. – “And by the way, can you do a me favor by telling your prince not to forget my twenty bucks? Lovely to meet you!”

Whitney was slightly surprised. Then she chuckled with some delight, watching Sean disappearing into the alley. She turned and skipped over to her guest of the day. Her crystal rose glistened in the sun, coating her with a halo that sparkled the floral prints of her homemade dress. As she approached, her man was caught by surprise, jumping at her presence and clumsily dropping his modern device.

“Hi…hi…uhm…how are you? Sean didn’t tell me we’re going to meet today.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I wanted to meet the mystery man, anyway. Thank you for the rose. It’s thoughtful of you.” – Whitney became rather flirtatious to her own surprise. She turned on her small town girl charm that mother said could bring any men down on their knees. – “Sean also mentioned that you should not forget his twenty dollars.”

“I am going to kill him.” – hissed the guy in the sloppy get-up. – “My name is Issac. I believe we will be attending the same university. I saw you in the hall coming out of the administration office. I wanted to, uhm, get to know you a bit better.”

“I saw you, too. What a coincidence! Were you the guy that got his picture framed near one of the trophies? You are quite the hero.”

“I am not sure about hero. But I’m glad you took notice.” – Isaac began to gather himself and summon up the courage to pop the important question. – “Since you just got started, uhm, I, uhm…well…there is this tradition…this annual dance. Well, I was wondering if I can have the honor of you being my companion for the night.”

“I would love to.” – Whitney replied with no hesitation, feeling complete safe besides Isaac. She wondered if it was love at first sight. – “But I don’t have anything to wear. My Mom made most of my dress and it is not till another month that she will send me another one.”

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but, uhm, how’s about I buy you one? I saw you looking at the dress in the corner shop.” – Isaac was so hesitant about his offer, knowing that it would reflect badly or portray his person rather negatively. – “I don’t mean to, you know, brag. But I do come from a family, how you put it, well-to-do? I am sure a vintage dress will fly.”

“Oh, that is so sweet. But I cannot let you do that. My Mom taught me differently. I wanted to earn that dress.”

“But the dance is three days away. All right, how’s about this? You will have the dress to go with me to the dance. If you have fun at the dance, you will work to pay me back. If you don’t, you can keep it without returning favor. How does that sound?” – Isaac held his breath, waiting impatiently for a response.

“Okay then, but I will say this. Fun or not, I will return the money or favor. And if this ever works out between us, you know that you will make me work hard and earn what I deserve. Can you promise me that?” – Whitney held out her pinky, waiting with much eager for her man to make an interest or in her mind, to confirm his interest in her.

They continued to talk and share about their lives at the coffee shop. They completely forgot the time quickly passing by. They ignored the bitterly cold wind crawled and crept along their feet. They paid no attention to the economic backgrounds that divided them as day and night. Their care melted away. They shared their first kiss.

The memories reeled in her mind slowly like an old Hollywood movie, suddenly disrupted by a phone call. Whitney gracefully reached her long, slim fingers and took out her phone. She quickly pushed the green button and spoke softly into the tiny silver rectangular box with black metal edging and wooden accent.

“Hi, honey! How are you? Are you at the office?”

“I am. Missing you, baby! Are you at the store?”

“I sure am. Returning you the favor. You prefer grey over black, am I correct?”

“That’s swell, honey. But I don’t need anything. I don’t really…”

“Are you sure? What about that charity event you told me about? Don’t tell me you are not going?”

“I am. All right. Why don’t you pick out something for me? And don’t forget that we have to co-ordinate.”

“Is that the theme of the event now? All right, I will see you when I got home. Don’t forget to pick up Isaac Jr.”

Whitney hung up. Ten years had past and the first day they met was imprinted in her mind so clear like a movie that perpetually played to remind her of the good times they had and encouraged them to endure what lied ahead. Whitney now had become that housewife that she had always aspired to be, supporting Isaac with all she could. Isaac inherited his family’s business, learning the discipline that Whitney was brought up with, becoming humble and grateful of what he achieved. Together, that had a son, now, being 4 years old.

Ten years being together. Five years of marriage. They were still going strong. All was because of a 50s dress.