Before I decided to pursue journalism, I studied fashion design. I knew almost from the start that I didn’t want to be a fashion designer. However, I was given a choice: go to school and get help paying for it or take another year off and make the money myself. Of course, I decided to go to school. Who wouldn’t? My gap year was spent slinging ice cream at a tourist spot in downtown Victoria and I’d just about overdosed on caramel praline sundaes. It was time for school.

Let’s back up for a second.

My true passion was always writing. I had every intention of studying media communications at Camosun College before switching to the University of Victoria. However, a few mishaps here and there ended with my application getting totally derailed. After taking extra courses to prepare and everything. I was devastated. My dad and step-mom came home one day to find me stressed, depressed, and crying into an Ooh La La cupcake. All because the school told me that I needed to complete yet another course before I could start… the following year.

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Anyway. I’m a problem solver when I’m not drowning my sorrows. So, I thought back to a field trip I took in grade 11 with my fashion studies class to Pacific Design Academy. Fashion design! That was my answer! I was obsessed with Style.com, Vogue, and the outfits in Sex and the City. Fashion design made sense. This revelation came just a couple of days before the start of the semester. However, with the hefty tuition—and an essay I wrote explaining why I should be admitted—they accepted me.

What I didn’t anticipate was how awful I’d be at certain aspect of design. Drawing? Mediocre. Sewing? Shaky at best. Pattern drafting? Terrible. I was at a point where I wanted to sob in a heap on the floor every time we had to get out our drafting tools. I’ve never sucked so bad at anything in my life. Except for maybe textiles. It was impossible for me to tell the difference between various fabrics as well.

So, what did I do? Took matters into my own hands. I called a meeting with my professors and explained my life or death situation. I was going to explode if I had to draft one more pattern. They probably thought I was being dramatic.

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After brainstorming some solutions, I convinced them to let me cater the course to my passions. Patterns? Nope! Writing. I’d write anything and everything they wanted me to. Nothing would make me happier! And nothing did make me happier. I ended up becoming the school’s official fashion reporter. Seriously. I got a gig writing for The Times Colonist and was beyond ecstatic about it. In fact, I’m still in contact with my editor from the newspaper.

My first article was a print piece called Americano with Room for Style. It was about five or so different coffee shops in Victoria and the types of customers they attracted. What was their general aesthetic? What kind of clothes did they wear? Were they hipsters, glamazons, or business chic? It was so fun to go around and observe people while sipping on a dark roast coffee.

So, the moral of the story is: If you’re hating your life, take action. Do something about it. If you never ask, you’ll never know. And what’s the worst that can happen?

—ᴍᴍᴍ

All photos by Jeeval Tailor Photo.