I’m not really well educated—other than an art survey course at the High School of Art and Design in New York when I was, like, 15. I don’t know the history of art, but I got over intimidation from the art world when I realized that I was allowed to feel whatever I want and like whatever I want. That’s what I always laugh about with Richard [Prince]. When someone says, "Why did you do that?” and you say, "Because I liked it”—I think that’s really enough. And when I think about what came before Pop art, I understand that maybe these people were spilling their guts onto canvas through use of abstract strokes and colors and techniques, but that’s not really moving to me. There’s something about what I see every day, and the banal—I mean, what Pop was. I can kind of worship that, and I can look at that and smile, or I can just say I like it and that’s fine. That’s all I really want. I don’t want to work that hard, you know? I like what Pop did, and I think that we live in a world where, on every level, people like what Pop did.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Marc Jacobs, on Art, in Interview Magazine
Friday, May 23, 2008
My First Trip to Paris
I had studied French since 5th grade and I had always wanted to visit Paris but had never had the opportunity. I decided that even if I wasn't able to get an internship that summer in Paris, I needed to visit before I graduated. I couldn't find anyone I really wanted to go with so I decided to go alone during my spring break. One of the house masters was a professor in French literature so he gave me a recommendation for a good cheap hotel in the 6th arrondissement, near the Jardin du Luxembourg, called Hotel Jean Bart. The proprietor was an old French man who spoke no English and the hotel was very French. The rooms were tiny but there was a free breakfast that included delicious warm croissants and hot chocolate.
Paris is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful cities in the world and very pleasant in the spring time. It was surreal walking around the city. I felt safe walking around alone, even at night (although I didn't stay out too late).
Fortunately, during my stay, I was able to schedule my interview with Madame Riviere, the Directrice de la Haute Couture. I made my way to the 8th arrondissement, the ritzy neighborhood where many of the big fashion houses are headquartered, along with fancy hotels and expensive nightclubs. Someone at the boutique housed on the ground floor of the Dior mansion directed me towards the back entrance, where there is a reception area and the entrance to the offices and studios. After a while, Mme Riviere's assistant, Cecile Levy, let me in to see Madame. She gave me a brief introduction to haute couture, somewhat condescendingly as she puffed on her cigarette. She was very thin and dressed in a very French and chic manner. I realized that her haughtiness had probably developed from her job of communicating daily with very rich and powerful women. The interview was more of a formality. While I don't remember much of what was said, I left knowing I would be interning at Christian Dior Couture that summer.
When I returned to Cambridge, I began the arduous processing of paperwork necessary to do pretty much anything in Paris. I had to get the French Consulate to sponsor me for a Convention du Stage ("stage" meaning internship). A new acquaintance told me about a foyer, or residence hall, she had stayed at when she was in Paris the previous summer.
Paris is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful cities in the world and very pleasant in the spring time. It was surreal walking around the city. I felt safe walking around alone, even at night (although I didn't stay out too late).
Fortunately, during my stay, I was able to schedule my interview with Madame Riviere, the Directrice de la Haute Couture. I made my way to the 8th arrondissement, the ritzy neighborhood where many of the big fashion houses are headquartered, along with fancy hotels and expensive nightclubs. Someone at the boutique housed on the ground floor of the Dior mansion directed me towards the back entrance, where there is a reception area and the entrance to the offices and studios. After a while, Mme Riviere's assistant, Cecile Levy, let me in to see Madame. She gave me a brief introduction to haute couture, somewhat condescendingly as she puffed on her cigarette. She was very thin and dressed in a very French and chic manner. I realized that her haughtiness had probably developed from her job of communicating daily with very rich and powerful women. The interview was more of a formality. While I don't remember much of what was said, I left knowing I would be interning at Christian Dior Couture that summer.
When I returned to Cambridge, I began the arduous processing of paperwork necessary to do pretty much anything in Paris. I had to get the French Consulate to sponsor me for a Convention du Stage ("stage" meaning internship). A new acquaintance told me about a foyer, or residence hall, she had stayed at when she was in Paris the previous summer.
Friday, May 16, 2008
The Simple Life
I happened to watch a bit of Nightline last night and one segment caught my attention. It was about a family in Pasadena that has a small farm on their 1/5 acre property and has managed to be self-sufficient. They make money mainly through selling produce grown on their property and also do things like distill their own car fuel from waste vegetable oil and use solar panels for heating. You can watch the segment here.
It was actually quite interesting to me because I've always romanticized a time when people could pretty much do or make whatever they needed, be it food, clothes, tools, furniture, etc. This is one reason I am enamored with Native American culture. As a lass, I was fascinated in school when they taught us about the Iroquois and how they made their own longhouses and tools and clothing and weapons. Sure I understand the importance of the Industrial Revolution and ideas like the division of labor, and I love my Apple products and gizmos as much as the next person. And I don't think I'd ever want to live on a farm for more than a week. But I've always enjoyed being able to make things that you might normally buy, such as greeting cards. When you make something with your own hands, it's more unique and more meaningful because it takes you that extra time to do it.
The segment emphasized the family's frugality, which highlighted another unfortunate consequence of industrialization -- waste. Now, I'm not a big tree hugger (although when I was younger I used to be really into the whole idea of saving the earth through recycling and whatnot, and I used to have this book:)
but growing up in a Korean household, I was ingrained with a notion of frugality. It was cool to see one of the daughters using a hand cranked blender as opposed to an electric one, or seeing her cut her brother's hair (something I've always wanted to try but haven't because I'm afraid of giving my brother a bad haircut).
The whole idea of being "green" is a big trend in fashion now, although often I question the motives. For instance, people are all about clothing made from organic cotton but what would be more "green" would be to recycle garments that are already made. One thing I've done for a while is take old clothes and reconstruct them. At first it started because I wasn't very good at sewing, but I still retain an interest in it because it's good for the environment and often you find outdated clothing at thrift stores that has potential to be interesting if you just shorten the hem or take in a seam. It's a project I'm incubating because I enjoy it but it's very labor-intensive and difficult to scale since you're mainly making one-offs, so I haven't figured out how to make it a profitable venture. I love H&M, but sometimes I wonder what happens to all the clothes that aren't sold, and how they manage to make the clothes so cheaply...
It was actually quite interesting to me because I've always romanticized a time when people could pretty much do or make whatever they needed, be it food, clothes, tools, furniture, etc. This is one reason I am enamored with Native American culture. As a lass, I was fascinated in school when they taught us about the Iroquois and how they made their own longhouses and tools and clothing and weapons. Sure I understand the importance of the Industrial Revolution and ideas like the division of labor, and I love my Apple products and gizmos as much as the next person. And I don't think I'd ever want to live on a farm for more than a week. But I've always enjoyed being able to make things that you might normally buy, such as greeting cards. When you make something with your own hands, it's more unique and more meaningful because it takes you that extra time to do it.
The segment emphasized the family's frugality, which highlighted another unfortunate consequence of industrialization -- waste. Now, I'm not a big tree hugger (although when I was younger I used to be really into the whole idea of saving the earth through recycling and whatnot, and I used to have this book:)
but growing up in a Korean household, I was ingrained with a notion of frugality. It was cool to see one of the daughters using a hand cranked blender as opposed to an electric one, or seeing her cut her brother's hair (something I've always wanted to try but haven't because I'm afraid of giving my brother a bad haircut).
The whole idea of being "green" is a big trend in fashion now, although often I question the motives. For instance, people are all about clothing made from organic cotton but what would be more "green" would be to recycle garments that are already made. One thing I've done for a while is take old clothes and reconstruct them. At first it started because I wasn't very good at sewing, but I still retain an interest in it because it's good for the environment and often you find outdated clothing at thrift stores that has potential to be interesting if you just shorten the hem or take in a seam. It's a project I'm incubating because I enjoy it but it's very labor-intensive and difficult to scale since you're mainly making one-offs, so I haven't figured out how to make it a profitable venture. I love H&M, but sometimes I wonder what happens to all the clothes that aren't sold, and how they manage to make the clothes so cheaply...
An Introduction to Haute Couture
So if you watched my video you would know that the spring semester of my junior year I was busy with a myriad of projects -- costume design for the campus G&S production and designing for Eleganza in addition to keeping up with my VES painting and video courses, plus my other coursework and extracurricular activities (mainly the Korean drum troupe and the band I was in).
Sometime after Contradictions, Michelle and I were in New York and visited my professor, Julian, at his loft in Greenwich Village. I told him about the show and how I was interested in getting an internship in Paris, although I hadn't figured out how to make this happen. He said his friend, who I had met briefly when she came up for our class art show the year before, might be able to help me. He talked to her and she said that she thought that I should intern for a couture house, to really see the epitome of fashion. She was a big couture client and forwarded my resume to the different couture houses.
Before I continue my story, I want to enlighten my readers with the true definition of "haute couture," because before this all happened I was pretty much in the dark and now when I hear some really bad shit described as "couture" I get a little irritated. The BBC actually did a good documentary on it, which you can view here. In French, "haute" literally means high and "couture" means sewing or dressmaking (or seam, depending on the context). As Dior's haughty Directrice de la Haute Couture informed me, haute couture is clothing made by one of a dozen houses, or maisons de la couture, approved by the Chambre Syndicale which regulates the haute couture industry. The clothing is made specifically for the client and is therefore one-of-a-kind. The Chambre Syndicale has strict rules for which houses can be considered haute couture, including the following:
The other big component of the cost is the labor. The workers, or "petits mains," at the ateliers of these houses start training when they are in their teens and generally work their way up from apprentices to the head of the atelier. They don't generally get paid a ton, but couture garments can take hundreds of hours to make. A lot of the work is done by hand and whereas many short-cuts are taken in ready-to-wear (or "pret-a-porter"), couture garments are expected to look as beautiful on the inside as they do on the outside. The inner construction is carefully hidden and the littlest details, like the finishing of a hem or a seam, are regarded with great importance.
Clients start with a meeting with the directrice, generally after the haute couture show, or defile. They describe what garments they are interested in -- generally they won't want the garment as shown on the runway. Often the looks on the runway are quite outlandish, to show off the craft and the capabilities of the house. The client might ask for a suit or dress made from the fabrics in one of the outfits on the runway. An illustrator attends the meetings and sketches an idea of what the client wants. The sketches are given to whichever atelier will be responsible. There is an atelier flou, for dresses and softer, draped garments, and an atelier tailleur, for tailored garments.
The client gets a fitting where appropriate measurements are recorded and placed in the client's file. A mannequin that is slightly smaller than the client is taken and padding is added where appropriate to resemble the client's form as much as possible. For instance, if the client's hips are a little wider than the mannequin, the padding is added there. A prototype, or "toile," is made out of muslin of the outfit. The client is fitted with this proto and the appropriate changes are made. They use the muslin because the fabric is so expensive they don't want to mess up on the first round. After this first fitting the garment is begun, though not finished, and with large seam allowances (seam allowances on most garments these days are around 1/2" wide, maybe 1" at the most -- haute couture garments generally have 2" or wider seam allowances). The atelier workers are quite skilled so once the garment is finished and they have another fitting the garment fits the client beautifully. However, if the garment is not correct, the atelier will work until it is perfect. The atelier workers have extremely strict standards and see imperfections that most people, even many dressmakers, might not catch. Also, if the client happens to gain or lose weight in the future, they can always come in and get the garment altered to fit them correctly.
Haute couture is generally a money-losing business (with the exception of Chanel), which is why many couture houses have shut down. Despite the high costs of the garments, it's hard to make money since the fashion shows cost millions of dollars, the cost of French labor is high, and there aren't many couture clients left. The ones that carry on do it for the publicity to maintain brand cachet and prop up the fragrance and accessories businesses that are the true moneymakers for the brand. However, because of the resources available to the biggest couture houses, including the level of crafstmanship, haute couture is truly where fashion and art intersect. This was why I jumped at the chance of getting to witness how this world worked firsthand.
The first hurdle was an interview with Dior's Directrice, a Madame Riviere. I missed her while she was meeting with clients in New York (she flies all over the world to meet with clients and do fittings since some clients don't have the time or simply can't be bothered with flying to Paris) since I was in school in Boston, so it was decided I would interview with her at the Dior headquarters in Paris, during my first trip to Paris ever.
Sometime after Contradictions, Michelle and I were in New York and visited my professor, Julian, at his loft in Greenwich Village. I told him about the show and how I was interested in getting an internship in Paris, although I hadn't figured out how to make this happen. He said his friend, who I had met briefly when she came up for our class art show the year before, might be able to help me. He talked to her and she said that she thought that I should intern for a couture house, to really see the epitome of fashion. She was a big couture client and forwarded my resume to the different couture houses.
Before I continue my story, I want to enlighten my readers with the true definition of "haute couture," because before this all happened I was pretty much in the dark and now when I hear some really bad shit described as "couture" I get a little irritated. The BBC actually did a good documentary on it, which you can view here. In French, "haute" literally means high and "couture" means sewing or dressmaking (or seam, depending on the context). As Dior's haughty Directrice de la Haute Couture informed me, haute couture is clothing made by one of a dozen houses, or maisons de la couture, approved by the Chambre Syndicale which regulates the haute couture industry. The clothing is made specifically for the client and is therefore one-of-a-kind. The Chambre Syndicale has strict rules for which houses can be considered haute couture, including the following:
- Design made-to-order for private clients, with one or more fittings.
- Have a workshop (atelier) in Paris that employs at least fifteen people full-time.
- Each season (i.e. twice a year), present a collection to the Paris press, comprising at least thirty-five runs with outfits for both daytime wear and evening wear.
The other big component of the cost is the labor. The workers, or "petits mains," at the ateliers of these houses start training when they are in their teens and generally work their way up from apprentices to the head of the atelier. They don't generally get paid a ton, but couture garments can take hundreds of hours to make. A lot of the work is done by hand and whereas many short-cuts are taken in ready-to-wear (or "pret-a-porter"), couture garments are expected to look as beautiful on the inside as they do on the outside. The inner construction is carefully hidden and the littlest details, like the finishing of a hem or a seam, are regarded with great importance.
Clients start with a meeting with the directrice, generally after the haute couture show, or defile. They describe what garments they are interested in -- generally they won't want the garment as shown on the runway. Often the looks on the runway are quite outlandish, to show off the craft and the capabilities of the house. The client might ask for a suit or dress made from the fabrics in one of the outfits on the runway. An illustrator attends the meetings and sketches an idea of what the client wants. The sketches are given to whichever atelier will be responsible. There is an atelier flou, for dresses and softer, draped garments, and an atelier tailleur, for tailored garments.
The client gets a fitting where appropriate measurements are recorded and placed in the client's file. A mannequin that is slightly smaller than the client is taken and padding is added where appropriate to resemble the client's form as much as possible. For instance, if the client's hips are a little wider than the mannequin, the padding is added there. A prototype, or "toile," is made out of muslin of the outfit. The client is fitted with this proto and the appropriate changes are made. They use the muslin because the fabric is so expensive they don't want to mess up on the first round. After this first fitting the garment is begun, though not finished, and with large seam allowances (seam allowances on most garments these days are around 1/2" wide, maybe 1" at the most -- haute couture garments generally have 2" or wider seam allowances). The atelier workers are quite skilled so once the garment is finished and they have another fitting the garment fits the client beautifully. However, if the garment is not correct, the atelier will work until it is perfect. The atelier workers have extremely strict standards and see imperfections that most people, even many dressmakers, might not catch. Also, if the client happens to gain or lose weight in the future, they can always come in and get the garment altered to fit them correctly.
Haute couture is generally a money-losing business (with the exception of Chanel), which is why many couture houses have shut down. Despite the high costs of the garments, it's hard to make money since the fashion shows cost millions of dollars, the cost of French labor is high, and there aren't many couture clients left. The ones that carry on do it for the publicity to maintain brand cachet and prop up the fragrance and accessories businesses that are the true moneymakers for the brand. However, because of the resources available to the biggest couture houses, including the level of crafstmanship, haute couture is truly where fashion and art intersect. This was why I jumped at the chance of getting to witness how this world worked firsthand.
The first hurdle was an interview with Dior's Directrice, a Madame Riviere. I missed her while she was meeting with clients in New York (she flies all over the world to meet with clients and do fittings since some clients don't have the time or simply can't be bothered with flying to Paris) since I was in school in Boston, so it was decided I would interview with her at the Dior headquarters in Paris, during my first trip to Paris ever.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Living In A Video - Part 2
Sometime during the spring semester, a major Korean broadcasting company, MBC, approached the Harvard Korean association, looking for individual students with "unique" backgrounds to cover for their upcoming documentary on Korean Ivy League students. Since there weren't many Korean students at Harvard who were as involved in the arts as me, my name was one of the ones given to the documentary crew. Since I was in the middle of learning about videomaking, I thought it would be an interesting experience, so I agreed to be one of their subjects. They ended up following me around as much as possible, although University policy prohibited them from entering certain spaces, like Lowell Lecture Hall, where Eleganza rehearsals and the performance took place. (I ended up letting them use some of the footage I used for my own video). It was amusing to see the finished product. In a few instances, they embellished certain details to make things more interesting or dramatic, and said stuff that wasn't entirely true. Since I happened to do a lot of random things I got more screen-time than a lot of the other students featured. What made me happy was that my grandmother who has had multiple strokes and pretty much sits at home all day watching TV got a kick out of the documentary, and ordered a copy so she could watch it every day.
I visited Korea a little while after the documentary aired and a couple people recognized me because of my distinctive eyebrow ring. Click here to view it (unfortunately, I can't figure out how to embed it) -- it's mostly in Korean but there are some bits where I'm talking in English that are humorous.
I visited Korea a little while after the documentary aired and a couple people recognized me because of my distinctive eyebrow ring. Click here to view it (unfortunately, I can't figure out how to embed it) -- it's mostly in Korean but there are some bits where I'm talking in English that are humorous.
Living In A Video - Part 1
Within Harvard's VES concentration there are two tracks: studio and film. I was a studio concentrator, with a focus in painting. However, VES concentrators were required to take a "crossover" course, or a course in the other track, so I took an intro video-making course called Life Stories, taught by Alfred Guzzetti. Since there are a lot of technical things to learn in filmmaking, the course involved learning more of the fundamental elements -- how to use the camera, log and capture clips, and edit. We also discussed the process of telling a story. Alfred tried to teach us to be very selective in editing and critical in deciding what needed to be presented to tell a comprehensive and compelling story. Often we were limited by what footage we actually had, and I learned that through editing you can construct an alternate reality.
In the video course, we did three projects. The first involved asking someone to tell a story while you captured it on video, and then using simple edits to streamline the story. I asked Peter Emerson, a resident scholar at Kirkland House (the house in which I lived for three years) and who lived in our entryway. It became a bonding experience and Peter has become a mentor figure for me over the past several years.
For the second project, we were asked to create a video diary.
For the final project, we were able to choose the subject of our video. I was wrestling with my fear of uncertainty in pursuing a career in fashion, so I announced to the class that I would be doing a video which explored this subject. Luckily, one of my classmates, Nancy Chang, didn't have an idea for a project so we worked on my idea together. Nancy had taken a couple of photography courses and had a good eye. The video centered around my involvement in Eleganza as well as my quest for an internship in Paris. Some of it is a bit embarrassing to show now, five years later, especially since it's a very basic project (remember, this was an intro course), but the video has sentimental value. We spent many long nights editing the project, coming out when the sun rose.
Here it is:
In the video course, we did three projects. The first involved asking someone to tell a story while you captured it on video, and then using simple edits to streamline the story. I asked Peter Emerson, a resident scholar at Kirkland House (the house in which I lived for three years) and who lived in our entryway. It became a bonding experience and Peter has become a mentor figure for me over the past several years.
For the second project, we were asked to create a video diary.
For the final project, we were able to choose the subject of our video. I was wrestling with my fear of uncertainty in pursuing a career in fashion, so I announced to the class that I would be doing a video which explored this subject. Luckily, one of my classmates, Nancy Chang, didn't have an idea for a project so we worked on my idea together. Nancy had taken a couple of photography courses and had a good eye. The video centered around my involvement in Eleganza as well as my quest for an internship in Paris. Some of it is a bit embarrassing to show now, five years later, especially since it's a very basic project (remember, this was an intro course), but the video has sentimental value. We spent many long nights editing the project, coming out when the sun rose.
Here it is:
Friday, May 9, 2008
Contradictions - Part 4, Reflections
Despite how successful the show was, I found it difficult not to get caught up in all the things that didn't go right, the little flaws, and what could have gone better. Things like how we should have raised the ticket price or the whole CD mishap stayed on my mind. But those things are what keep you moving on to the next project, and overall Michelle and I were very satisfied with the results of our hard work over those past several months. It was the first time we had undertaken something of that scope while having pretty much complete control over the project. Whereas Michelle had handled more of the business/administrative aspects, I had handled more of the creative side of things, including the direction of the production. The show was exhausting but left me wanting to continue being involved in fashion projects. I became involved with designing for the spring Eleganza show.
I also started thinking about what I wanted to do the summer after my junior year. Harvard fashion shows were fun but I knew that if I wanted to work in fashion I would need to do build up my resume professionally. I didn't want to repeat my experience with my previous internship, and I knew that if anything, the other fashion houses based in New York would probably be less interesting. I wanted to go to Paris and witness the highest echelon of fashion -- where fashion truly intersected with craft and artistry. I wanted to see haute couture. I had never been to Paris and knew that I needed to go before I graduated from college. I had wanted to do study abroad (I had taken French starting in middle school) but couldn't go in the fall because of the show (and Harvard wasn't very supportive of study abroad programs) and I didn't want to go in the spring because a well-known painter, Sue Williams, was coming to teach an advanced painting course.
During the fall semester while we were preparing for our show, I had been continuing with my VES coursework. I had taken an intermediate painting course with the woman who would become my thesis advisor, Nancy Mitchnick. She was/is an excellent painting instructor and we developed a rapport. Despite the show, I did well in her painting course (logging in the hours necessary), and was luckily able to use one of the projects for that class for my contemporary art theory course as well. Nancy also attended the show with her huge dog, Olivia, and was impressed by the work we did. It was during that class with Nancy where my painting skills really began to solidify, although they still have a ways to go. She made us work hard and gave us exercises that weren't fun to do but taught us how to paint. Here is a painting, one of a series of three almost identical paintings, that I did for her class.
Michelle remembered it and wanted to borrow one, so this photo was taken of the one I've loaned her for her apartment. My mom wants me to get another one framed for her living room.
I also started thinking about what I wanted to do the summer after my junior year. Harvard fashion shows were fun but I knew that if I wanted to work in fashion I would need to do build up my resume professionally. I didn't want to repeat my experience with my previous internship, and I knew that if anything, the other fashion houses based in New York would probably be less interesting. I wanted to go to Paris and witness the highest echelon of fashion -- where fashion truly intersected with craft and artistry. I wanted to see haute couture. I had never been to Paris and knew that I needed to go before I graduated from college. I had wanted to do study abroad (I had taken French starting in middle school) but couldn't go in the fall because of the show (and Harvard wasn't very supportive of study abroad programs) and I didn't want to go in the spring because a well-known painter, Sue Williams, was coming to teach an advanced painting course.
During the fall semester while we were preparing for our show, I had been continuing with my VES coursework. I had taken an intermediate painting course with the woman who would become my thesis advisor, Nancy Mitchnick. She was/is an excellent painting instructor and we developed a rapport. Despite the show, I did well in her painting course (logging in the hours necessary), and was luckily able to use one of the projects for that class for my contemporary art theory course as well. Nancy also attended the show with her huge dog, Olivia, and was impressed by the work we did. It was during that class with Nancy where my painting skills really began to solidify, although they still have a ways to go. She made us work hard and gave us exercises that weren't fun to do but taught us how to paint. Here is a painting, one of a series of three almost identical paintings, that I did for her class.
Michelle remembered it and wanted to borrow one, so this photo was taken of the one I've loaned her for her apartment. My mom wants me to get another one framed for her living room.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Contradictions - Part 3, Showtime!
Whenever you plan something involving the cooperation of many people, shit gets complicated. for our show we had a couple dozen models, a few different performing groups, and the MCs, not to mention all the different designers and individuals loaning us clothing. We had to dismiss one of the models early on because she kept missing rehearsals.
I'm a bit of a control freak who has a hard time delegating responsibility. Somehow I imagined that Michelle and I could be everywhere, taking care of everything. Fortunately, we had the assistance of many people -- our roommates, Helen and Candice; their and Michelle's boyfriends who were also my bandmates (Geoff and Lee); a girl who magically appeared out of the woodwork to become our number two, Sarah Johnson, who now has her own jewelry line (SISU) and site for designers; and other volunteers -- Stephanie Tung, Luz Gonzalez, and Mollie Chen. Plus countless other friends and strangers who became our friends who helped in various different ways -- the experience not only helped me meet tons of wonderful people, it made me realize how many people at Harvard were just plain nice. (Or maybe they were just excited about the girls in bikinis?)
The show happened in the evening so late in the afternoon we got all the models at Pforzheimer Hall. Sarah had a couple of friends from out of school who volunteered to do our hair and makeup. We had done a rehearsal the night before during which most of the furniture had been rearranged (and during which I almost lost it, screaming and cursing -- not one of my finer moments).
There was a small space we had blocked off as our "backstage" where the models would change. At Harvard there are exclusive men's clubs known as "final clubs," Harvard's version of fraternities. Our buddies through the bathroom door were in one called the Fly and our show occurred right after new members, dubbed "neophytes" had been admitted into the club. These boys, generally sophomores, were subject to mild hazing, and were recruited to help us with setting up. Also, an hour before showtime, we had them man different entrances to the dining hall so we wouldn't have gate crashers.
The first show started at 8pm and I remember when 8 rolled around being surprised that the time had gone by so quickly. Nevertheless, we were more or less ready and I signaled to the MCs and the sound and lighting people to start the show. My parents had driven up to see the show, as well as Michelle's parents. They had brought our old video camera and one of our friends videotaped and photographed the show (although we hadn't really thought too much about documenting it so the lighting wasn't suited for photography). Everyone was a little nervous and there were a couple of outfits that never made it to the stage and some of the order was changed around when people didn't make their changes in time.
However, overall things went smoothly. Alexis, one of the MCs, and Jamin, one of the models, who were also good friends, even improvised a segment based on Zoolander, which had come out the year before. They did a "walk-off."
Jamin taking his turn.
Alexis, trying to get the audience's support.
Things were going well, that is, until our last segment, swimwear. Geoff and Lee alerted me that somehow our CD with the soundtrack had gotten stuck in the back of the player. I started freaking out. I had chosen a Caribbean steel drum track for the segment and listened as the MCs awkwardly tried to keep the audience entertained during the increasingly longer pause while the boys tried to get the CD out of the player. Alexis brought out Teddy, one of our models/his "hetero-life-partner." Then he pulled his trump card. He called up my dad to the stage. My dad, seeing his beloved daughter in trouble, told his favorite joke in his thick Korean accent. (It's pretty bad, trust me.) Embarrassment took over my anxiety but I also appreciated the effort and the audience seemed to like it, especially those who knew me personally.
Ultimately, we decided to use one of the performers' CDs as the swimwear track and the show finished without any further trouble. Geoff, who had once run long distance in high school, ran all the way back to the river (where we lived -- there's a mile or two distance separating the houses in the "Quad" and the houses by the Charles "river"), burned a new copy of the soundtrack and raced back just in time for the second show.
With one successful show under their belt, the models became more comfortable, improvising different poses and acting more playful. Both shows had sold out and many people tried to come backstage after the show to congratulate us.
finale
saying thank you
After the show, our friends helped us clean up and then of course, we went to the Fly club for the after party. It was a long night but very satisfying.
I'm a bit of a control freak who has a hard time delegating responsibility. Somehow I imagined that Michelle and I could be everywhere, taking care of everything. Fortunately, we had the assistance of many people -- our roommates, Helen and Candice; their and Michelle's boyfriends who were also my bandmates (Geoff and Lee); a girl who magically appeared out of the woodwork to become our number two, Sarah Johnson, who now has her own jewelry line (SISU) and site for designers; and other volunteers -- Stephanie Tung, Luz Gonzalez, and Mollie Chen. Plus countless other friends and strangers who became our friends who helped in various different ways -- the experience not only helped me meet tons of wonderful people, it made me realize how many people at Harvard were just plain nice. (Or maybe they were just excited about the girls in bikinis?)
The show happened in the evening so late in the afternoon we got all the models at Pforzheimer Hall. Sarah had a couple of friends from out of school who volunteered to do our hair and makeup. We had done a rehearsal the night before during which most of the furniture had been rearranged (and during which I almost lost it, screaming and cursing -- not one of my finer moments).
There was a small space we had blocked off as our "backstage" where the models would change. At Harvard there are exclusive men's clubs known as "final clubs," Harvard's version of fraternities. Our buddies through the bathroom door were in one called the Fly and our show occurred right after new members, dubbed "neophytes" had been admitted into the club. These boys, generally sophomores, were subject to mild hazing, and were recruited to help us with setting up. Also, an hour before showtime, we had them man different entrances to the dining hall so we wouldn't have gate crashers.
The first show started at 8pm and I remember when 8 rolled around being surprised that the time had gone by so quickly. Nevertheless, we were more or less ready and I signaled to the MCs and the sound and lighting people to start the show. My parents had driven up to see the show, as well as Michelle's parents. They had brought our old video camera and one of our friends videotaped and photographed the show (although we hadn't really thought too much about documenting it so the lighting wasn't suited for photography). Everyone was a little nervous and there were a couple of outfits that never made it to the stage and some of the order was changed around when people didn't make their changes in time.
However, overall things went smoothly. Alexis, one of the MCs, and Jamin, one of the models, who were also good friends, even improvised a segment based on Zoolander, which had come out the year before. They did a "walk-off."
Jamin taking his turn.
Alexis, trying to get the audience's support.Things were going well, that is, until our last segment, swimwear. Geoff and Lee alerted me that somehow our CD with the soundtrack had gotten stuck in the back of the player. I started freaking out. I had chosen a Caribbean steel drum track for the segment and listened as the MCs awkwardly tried to keep the audience entertained during the increasingly longer pause while the boys tried to get the CD out of the player. Alexis brought out Teddy, one of our models/his "hetero-life-partner." Then he pulled his trump card. He called up my dad to the stage. My dad, seeing his beloved daughter in trouble, told his favorite joke in his thick Korean accent. (It's pretty bad, trust me.) Embarrassment took over my anxiety but I also appreciated the effort and the audience seemed to like it, especially those who knew me personally.
Ultimately, we decided to use one of the performers' CDs as the swimwear track and the show finished without any further trouble. Geoff, who had once run long distance in high school, ran all the way back to the river (where we lived -- there's a mile or two distance separating the houses in the "Quad" and the houses by the Charles "river"), burned a new copy of the soundtrack and raced back just in time for the second show.With one successful show under their belt, the models became more comfortable, improvising different poses and acting more playful. Both shows had sold out and many people tried to come backstage after the show to congratulate us.
finale
saying thank youAfter the show, our friends helped us clean up and then of course, we went to the Fly club for the after party. It was a long night but very satisfying.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Contradictions - Part 2, Execution
As soon as we returned to school in the fall of our junior year, Mich and I were working on our show nonstop. We were living together that year, which made things convenient. I had seen a fashion show in the dining hall at Pforzheimer (one of the "houses" or dorms on campus) that had impressed me, so we got permission from the super and the house committee to do our show there. Fortunately for us, the catwalk from the same show had been preserved in the basement, which cut at least one thing off of our list of expenses. We also needed permission from the University to hold the event, which Mich took care of, along with ticketing through the Box Office.
Somewhere along the line, we decided to shift the focus from "Asianness" to being multicultural, since making an "Asian" show would only reinforce the stereotype of Asian self-segregation. One of the segments would display this through the exhibition of traditional costumes from all over the world. My roommate Helen was charged with rounding these up, loaned to us by other students on campus. We started the segment with the song "American Woman" and three girls walking out in jean cutoffs and tops I made from American flag fabric.
Then the Korean drum troupe, which I was a part of, started up with a traditional song and the models came out in costumes from a variety of countries.
Our other roommate, Candice, was charged with recruiting campus acts to perform in between segments and keep the audience from getting bored. For the two shows we got break dancers, salsa dancers, and the Caribbean Club dance troupe.
Our other segments included one showcasing most of the designers whose clothes we borrowed, then a segment of student designs,' then a final segment which was everyone's favorite -- swimwear (by Keiko). Here's a photo of a few of my designs (I'm a little embarrassed to show it ;-) )
Our next big project was recruiting models for our show. We handed out flyers between classes advertising our auditions, spammed house e-mail lists, and went around to the different dining halls during meals and harrassed good-looking students, asking them to audition. Harvard's weekend magazine, "Fifteen Minutes" does a survey of the 15 hottest freshmen each year, and while many people disagree with some of the selections, I e-mailed the 15 from each year previous to encourage them to try out. We had a good turnout and made our selections. Some people wrote angry e-mails when they weren't chosen (typical Harvard egos) but we were going for a certain look and also had to make sure our models' measurements fit the sample sizes we got. I learned a lot about bodies from doing the show -- like how some people might look thin but actually be larger than they look, or some people might be really thin but have a big booty or chest. We found a rehearsal space in Currier Fishbowl (a space in another house) and did rehearsals. We taught the models how to walk and did run-throughs without the clothes.
Our room was connected to my ex-boyfriend-turned-friend's room through the bathroom and we had become buddies with them through late-night random hanging out. My ex-boyfriend was one of the models and two of the other roommates were recruited to be the MCs because they were very charismatic and hilarious. One ended up having to drop out because he had a squash game but we got another girl who I had wanted to model in the show to replace him.
We charged the models with getting their friends to come to the show, requiring each to sell 10 tickets. We advertised the show as we did the model auditions, although I got into a bit of a controversy over our marketing slogan. Since the show was benefitting breast cancer research, I came up with the slogan, "Like breasts? So do we!" It might have been a little less than classy but I thought it was funny while attention-grabbing (especially for the boys). One girl in one of the houses I sent our advertising e-mail to engaged me in a fight over the whole house list, accusing me of being insensitive, and how she knew someone who had struggled through breast cancer. I was taken aback and responded that I hadn't meant to offend and that unfortunately, fewer people would pay attention to an e-mail inviting someone to an event benefiting breast cancer research than an e-mail like mine. Fortunately, it seemed that the majority of people on the list (or at least the ones who responded) agreed with me, and some even went so far as to stat they would send me checks for the research fund (and did), in defiance towards this girl.
As we approached the date of the show, there were more and more things we realized we had to do. Michelle picked up the clothing around Thanksgiving weekend, a couple of weeks before the show. It was a struggle to stay on top of everything while also trying not to fail our classes. I lost almost 10 lbs. because I was nervous and just plain didn't have time to eat sometimes. We were both excited and stressed about how our baby would turn out.
Somewhere along the line, we decided to shift the focus from "Asianness" to being multicultural, since making an "Asian" show would only reinforce the stereotype of Asian self-segregation. One of the segments would display this through the exhibition of traditional costumes from all over the world. My roommate Helen was charged with rounding these up, loaned to us by other students on campus. We started the segment with the song "American Woman" and three girls walking out in jean cutoffs and tops I made from American flag fabric.
Then the Korean drum troupe, which I was a part of, started up with a traditional song and the models came out in costumes from a variety of countries.
Our other roommate, Candice, was charged with recruiting campus acts to perform in between segments and keep the audience from getting bored. For the two shows we got break dancers, salsa dancers, and the Caribbean Club dance troupe.Our other segments included one showcasing most of the designers whose clothes we borrowed, then a segment of student designs,' then a final segment which was everyone's favorite -- swimwear (by Keiko). Here's a photo of a few of my designs (I'm a little embarrassed to show it ;-) )
Our next big project was recruiting models for our show. We handed out flyers between classes advertising our auditions, spammed house e-mail lists, and went around to the different dining halls during meals and harrassed good-looking students, asking them to audition. Harvard's weekend magazine, "Fifteen Minutes" does a survey of the 15 hottest freshmen each year, and while many people disagree with some of the selections, I e-mailed the 15 from each year previous to encourage them to try out. We had a good turnout and made our selections. Some people wrote angry e-mails when they weren't chosen (typical Harvard egos) but we were going for a certain look and also had to make sure our models' measurements fit the sample sizes we got. I learned a lot about bodies from doing the show -- like how some people might look thin but actually be larger than they look, or some people might be really thin but have a big booty or chest. We found a rehearsal space in Currier Fishbowl (a space in another house) and did rehearsals. We taught the models how to walk and did run-throughs without the clothes. Our room was connected to my ex-boyfriend-turned-friend's room through the bathroom and we had become buddies with them through late-night random hanging out. My ex-boyfriend was one of the models and two of the other roommates were recruited to be the MCs because they were very charismatic and hilarious. One ended up having to drop out because he had a squash game but we got another girl who I had wanted to model in the show to replace him.
We charged the models with getting their friends to come to the show, requiring each to sell 10 tickets. We advertised the show as we did the model auditions, although I got into a bit of a controversy over our marketing slogan. Since the show was benefitting breast cancer research, I came up with the slogan, "Like breasts? So do we!" It might have been a little less than classy but I thought it was funny while attention-grabbing (especially for the boys). One girl in one of the houses I sent our advertising e-mail to engaged me in a fight over the whole house list, accusing me of being insensitive, and how she knew someone who had struggled through breast cancer. I was taken aback and responded that I hadn't meant to offend and that unfortunately, fewer people would pay attention to an e-mail inviting someone to an event benefiting breast cancer research than an e-mail like mine. Fortunately, it seemed that the majority of people on the list (or at least the ones who responded) agreed with me, and some even went so far as to stat they would send me checks for the research fund (and did), in defiance towards this girl.
As we approached the date of the show, there were more and more things we realized we had to do. Michelle picked up the clothing around Thanksgiving weekend, a couple of weeks before the show. It was a struggle to stay on top of everything while also trying not to fail our classes. I lost almost 10 lbs. because I was nervous and just plain didn't have time to eat sometimes. We were both excited and stressed about how our baby would turn out.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Contradictions -- Part 1, Planning The Fashion Show
Michelle and I immediately began planning the show. This was not too long after the controversies on campus over the A&F t-shirts that depicted negative stereotypes of Asians, i.e. Two Wongs Make It White and Juice Fong's "The Invasian" piece for the Crimson, an essay which ostensibly stereotyped and bashed Asians.
Eleganza was sponsored by a couple of the African-American organizations on campus, and the majority of the planners and performers were African-American or partially African-American. Eleganza was the cool "black people" show, so we wanted to do an Asian counterpart. Our goal was that it would be more about the clothes and less about the performative, hot-people-dancing-in-very-little-clothing aspect (although of course, we intended to have some of that action to draw the crowds). We also wanted the show to showcase positive and non-stereotypical aspects of Asian-American culture, in response to the aforementioned occurrences.
Producing the show was my first experience in starting something from the ground up, and I learned many skills that would help me later on, particularly for starting my own line/company. We had to figure out what needed to be done to accomplish our vision, and then how to make it happen.
For the show to fly, we needed funding. The great thing about Harvard is that there's so much money available. If you just seek it out, you can get funding for almost anything. Michelle had experience with getting grants from her previous extracurricular experience and somehow managed to get the grant applications in before the deadline (it was almost the end of the school year by that point). She got us the necessary funding.
We made a list of designers we would want to loan us clothing for our show and spent the summer contacting them. Since we were both from the New York area (I'm from Westchester, she's from Long Island) it was fairly easy for us to do this. We were a little naive to think that we could get people to loan us clothes for a college fashion show but through a lot of aggressive cold calling and persistence, over the next several months we shored up several designers (mostly not in our original list) who were willing to loan us pieces for the show.
We created a schedule. The date was set for December, a few days before my 21st birthday. (We didn't want to compete with Eleganza, which happened in the spring.) Then we worked backwards, figuring out when we would need to hold auditions for models, get permission from the university to do different things, hold rehearsals, book the venues, book other acts, etc.
We worked out a general format for the show, which would undergo changes and be fleshed out later on when we returned to campus. We also thought about ways to make the event compelling, making it a charity (benefiting breast cancer research) and deciding we had to make a concerted effort to recruit very hot models. There would also be a student designer portion, where I would show some designs, along with the work of other students on campus.
Once we got back to campus in the fall, our work was cut out for us.
Eleganza was sponsored by a couple of the African-American organizations on campus, and the majority of the planners and performers were African-American or partially African-American. Eleganza was the cool "black people" show, so we wanted to do an Asian counterpart. Our goal was that it would be more about the clothes and less about the performative, hot-people-dancing-in-very-little-clothing aspect (although of course, we intended to have some of that action to draw the crowds). We also wanted the show to showcase positive and non-stereotypical aspects of Asian-American culture, in response to the aforementioned occurrences.
Producing the show was my first experience in starting something from the ground up, and I learned many skills that would help me later on, particularly for starting my own line/company. We had to figure out what needed to be done to accomplish our vision, and then how to make it happen.
For the show to fly, we needed funding. The great thing about Harvard is that there's so much money available. If you just seek it out, you can get funding for almost anything. Michelle had experience with getting grants from her previous extracurricular experience and somehow managed to get the grant applications in before the deadline (it was almost the end of the school year by that point). She got us the necessary funding.
We made a list of designers we would want to loan us clothing for our show and spent the summer contacting them. Since we were both from the New York area (I'm from Westchester, she's from Long Island) it was fairly easy for us to do this. We were a little naive to think that we could get people to loan us clothes for a college fashion show but through a lot of aggressive cold calling and persistence, over the next several months we shored up several designers (mostly not in our original list) who were willing to loan us pieces for the show.
We created a schedule. The date was set for December, a few days before my 21st birthday. (We didn't want to compete with Eleganza, which happened in the spring.) Then we worked backwards, figuring out when we would need to hold auditions for models, get permission from the university to do different things, hold rehearsals, book the venues, book other acts, etc.
We worked out a general format for the show, which would undergo changes and be fleshed out later on when we returned to campus. We also thought about ways to make the event compelling, making it a charity (benefiting breast cancer research) and deciding we had to make a concerted effort to recruit very hot models. There would also be a student designer portion, where I would show some designs, along with the work of other students on campus.
Once we got back to campus in the fall, our work was cut out for us.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Crawling Back To Fashion
In the spring, for whatever reason, I didn't take a painting class. I don't remember if it was because there were none being offered that fit my schedule or because I decided I wanted to try other media during my foundational studies. In any case, I ended up not being very happy with them. I took silkscreening and sculpture, which sounded fun, but 6 hours a week of something can quickly kill your liking for it if you're not totally into it.
My silkscreening class was particularly difficult because my teacher was a bitch. That might sound harsh but it was a pretty unanimously held opinion within the department. She didn't like my work because I wasn't really interested in conceptual art, and was trying to somehow do painting in silkscreening class. (However, we got along very well my senior year when she became the moderator of our senior thesis critique sessions). I also have a problem with tardiness, and she had this thing where she forced latecomers to do 15 jumping jacks.
Yeah.
Anyway, in these two classes I was trying to figure out how to marry my interest in art and fashion and yet still come out with compelling work that met the conceptual requirements of my professors. In my sculpture class, I ended up making figurative work, including welding a metal armor-like dress.
In my silkscreen course, I experimented with what most people think of when they hear of silkscreening, which is t-shirts. This somehow snowballed into convincing the board of the Korean Association (I think I was Culture Chair or something like that at the time) that I should put on a fashion show within the annual Culture Show, which started out with traditional Korean costume, or hanbok, and finishing with pieces I had created for my class.
I didn't really think much of it besides just really wanting to do something fashion-related, but the roommate of one of the girls who was in my little fashion show happened to be in the audience. She was one of the directors of Eleganza, the biggest fashion show on campus (not that that really means anything to anyone outside of Harvard). Eleganza was less of a fashion show and more of a debaucherous spectacle, one of the few times where Harvard students would let loose in public. They would usually do the show on PreFrosh Weekend, when prospective students came to visit, to try to trick them into believing that Harvard is one big party with lots of hot people dancing around in very little clothing.
She contacted me to put my pieces in the show. (It's a little weird to look at the pics because one of the girls who modeled the pieces actually committed suicide while we were in college.) My blockmates came to support me and it felt great to see my clothes in the show, although they are a bit embarrassing to look at now (I usually find it hard to look at old work without cringing). After the show, my blockmate Michelle, the most fashion-conscious of the bunch, turned to me, and said, "Let's do a fashion show!"
And thus began one of the most difficult projects of my life.
My silkscreening class was particularly difficult because my teacher was a bitch. That might sound harsh but it was a pretty unanimously held opinion within the department. She didn't like my work because I wasn't really interested in conceptual art, and was trying to somehow do painting in silkscreening class. (However, we got along very well my senior year when she became the moderator of our senior thesis critique sessions). I also have a problem with tardiness, and she had this thing where she forced latecomers to do 15 jumping jacks.
Yeah.
Anyway, in these two classes I was trying to figure out how to marry my interest in art and fashion and yet still come out with compelling work that met the conceptual requirements of my professors. In my sculpture class, I ended up making figurative work, including welding a metal armor-like dress.
In my silkscreen course, I experimented with what most people think of when they hear of silkscreening, which is t-shirts. This somehow snowballed into convincing the board of the Korean Association (I think I was Culture Chair or something like that at the time) that I should put on a fashion show within the annual Culture Show, which started out with traditional Korean costume, or hanbok, and finishing with pieces I had created for my class.
I didn't really think much of it besides just really wanting to do something fashion-related, but the roommate of one of the girls who was in my little fashion show happened to be in the audience. She was one of the directors of Eleganza, the biggest fashion show on campus (not that that really means anything to anyone outside of Harvard). Eleganza was less of a fashion show and more of a debaucherous spectacle, one of the few times where Harvard students would let loose in public. They would usually do the show on PreFrosh Weekend, when prospective students came to visit, to try to trick them into believing that Harvard is one big party with lots of hot people dancing around in very little clothing.
She contacted me to put my pieces in the show. (It's a little weird to look at the pics because one of the girls who modeled the pieces actually committed suicide while we were in college.) My blockmates came to support me and it felt great to see my clothes in the show, although they are a bit embarrassing to look at now (I usually find it hard to look at old work without cringing). After the show, my blockmate Michelle, the most fashion-conscious of the bunch, turned to me, and said, "Let's do a fashion show!"
And thus began one of the most difficult projects of my life.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Learning To Be An Artist
Sophomore year, I took a couple more economics classes, thinking I could maybe do consulting, like many other Harvard grads before me. However, I was still a VES concentrator, so I was able to continue taking studio courses. I shopped a couple of painting classes, including one taught by Julian Lethbridge. In the interview, he asked me a question which I can't recall but when I responded, he said, "That's what I think, but you're the only one who answered that way!" He had a British accent and was very cerebral in his manner of speaking. Later, I was trying to decide on which courses to take for the fall when his TF, Tova, happened to walk by my window. She recognized me and urged me to take the course, saying that Julian had taken a liking to me.
I did and it was a difficult but edifying class. The course was titled, "Drawing Into Painting" and was meant to explore just that -- going from sketching to making paintings. We would meet once a week for 7 hours, which we spent critiquing the work done in the previous week. (The idea is that we would spend the week away working on whatever ideas had been generated in the previous critique). It was the first time I had really been exposed to talking about art critically and academically, and what it meant to be an artist. I was used to just drawing whenever I felt like it, not really thinking about what it was about or where it was going. I can't say that I followed through with it in the actual course, but the course taught me how disciplined an artist must be, and how the drive must come from within. No one is really asking for more art in this world, so if you are to be an artist, there must be an internal force compelling you to continue to create work.
Julian was/is a thoughtful and generous mentor, and even after the course was over, I kept in touch with him. He would be instrumental later on in my pursuit of a career in fashion.
I did and it was a difficult but edifying class. The course was titled, "Drawing Into Painting" and was meant to explore just that -- going from sketching to making paintings. We would meet once a week for 7 hours, which we spent critiquing the work done in the previous week. (The idea is that we would spend the week away working on whatever ideas had been generated in the previous critique). It was the first time I had really been exposed to talking about art critically and academically, and what it meant to be an artist. I was used to just drawing whenever I felt like it, not really thinking about what it was about or where it was going. I can't say that I followed through with it in the actual course, but the course taught me how disciplined an artist must be, and how the drive must come from within. No one is really asking for more art in this world, so if you are to be an artist, there must be an internal force compelling you to continue to create work.
Julian was/is a thoughtful and generous mentor, and even after the course was over, I kept in touch with him. He would be instrumental later on in my pursuit of a career in fashion.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Initial Disillusionment With The Fashion Industry
My devoted readings of Vogue along with other depictions of the fashion business on TV and in film had given me a false impression of how the business works. There was a glamorous gilded exterior presented by the media which hid the gritty and dirty reality of the busienss. Now that I've been working in fashion for several years, it's a little difficult for me to reconstruct this impression but here are a few things I remember being struck by:
1. A true "designer" doesn't sew the clothes him/herself. I think I imagined that somehow a designer magically created all the garments alone, which is impossible. This is what separates a designer from a dressmaker/seamstress. A designer is more like an architect (indeed, it was at Marc Jacobs that I first heard someone describe architecture as fashion on a larger scale) or a director of a film. He/she conceptualizes design ideas and directs his team to make this a reality. In addition to the designer, generally the team consists of one or more assistant designers, a patternmaker, samplemakers, production manager, and interns. Depending on how much money is on hand, one person may handle more than one of these roles.
By the time I was an intern at Marc Jacobs in 2001, the company had been around for a while and so it was fairly large. The MJ label took up an entire floor of a small office building in SoHo; the Marc label was on another floor. There were separate offices for production, design, sales, and I think PR, with the front of the floor housing an elegant showroom space and reception desk.
Marc himself was only around for a week or so a month, as he spent much of his time in Paris (designing for LV). Even when he was in the office, the interns were instructed not to talk to him (which of course, we all wanted to do) and he spent most of his time talking with Richard Chai, who was his assistant designer at the time. Richie, as he was called, had two assistant designers.
I was starstruck when I saw Marc walking around the office. I remember being struck at how small he was in real life (although I guess most people are). This was before his glam makeover, and he used to walk around in green sweatpants and a ponytail.
Interestingly, only one of the interns actually seemed to have any real responsibilities. He was Jack McCullough, who I only interacted with a couple of times during my brief internship at Marc Jacobs. He would later famously go on to start Proenza Schouler with Lazaro Hernandez with Jacobs' support.
2. Designers rip off ideas from other designers. I now know that fashion is very cannibalistic, and there are very few, if any, truly "original" ideas. However, at the time, I remember being very disappointed when I saw a rack of vintage clothing which was to serve as "inspiration" for the new collections.
3. In fashion, as in many other industries, you are expected to pay your dues. This means, that as an intern who is at the bottom of the totem pole, you should be expected to be treated like shit. Aside from things like picking up coffee or office supplies, we did things like pick up and drop off things to and from factories and stores in the garment district in Midtown. There were also tasks like organizing and cleaning up. Since I was officially a production intern, I was also asked to do work on Excel, mainly checking over to make sure that the numbers for store orders were correct. For me, the worst part of being an intern was just sitting around and waiting for someone to tell me to do something.
Also, I was expecting that in return for my slave labor, I would be taught things. In retrospect, I did learn a lot but I didn't appreciate it at the time. Additionally, interns in fashion don't get paid. It's difficult to break into the fashion industry if you don't have money or some outside source of income. You're expected to intern for free for a few days a week or more, and somehow figure out a way to support yourself. Even if/when you do eventually get a job in fashion, it usually pays poorly.
Essentially, I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel, and envisioned myself in this hell of running errands indefinitely and never doing anything creative or interesting. My parents weren't a huge fan of me doing fashion, as I've mentioned (and who would be a huge fan of pissing away 160K on a Harvard degree to have your child do fashion) and after a month I felt like I'd had enough of this. I rationalized that with my degree I could easily find well-paying employment where I wasn't doing menial labor, and where I was treated with a bit more respect. I informed my supervisor of my decision, who told me to tell her boss, the production director, Danuta. She listened with a look of understanding, and told me I was better off because fashion was such a tough business.
I regretted not being able to help out with the upcoming fashion show, but I felt free.
1. A true "designer" doesn't sew the clothes him/herself. I think I imagined that somehow a designer magically created all the garments alone, which is impossible. This is what separates a designer from a dressmaker/seamstress. A designer is more like an architect (indeed, it was at Marc Jacobs that I first heard someone describe architecture as fashion on a larger scale) or a director of a film. He/she conceptualizes design ideas and directs his team to make this a reality. In addition to the designer, generally the team consists of one or more assistant designers, a patternmaker, samplemakers, production manager, and interns. Depending on how much money is on hand, one person may handle more than one of these roles.
By the time I was an intern at Marc Jacobs in 2001, the company had been around for a while and so it was fairly large. The MJ label took up an entire floor of a small office building in SoHo; the Marc label was on another floor. There were separate offices for production, design, sales, and I think PR, with the front of the floor housing an elegant showroom space and reception desk.
Marc himself was only around for a week or so a month, as he spent much of his time in Paris (designing for LV). Even when he was in the office, the interns were instructed not to talk to him (which of course, we all wanted to do) and he spent most of his time talking with Richard Chai, who was his assistant designer at the time. Richie, as he was called, had two assistant designers.
I was starstruck when I saw Marc walking around the office. I remember being struck at how small he was in real life (although I guess most people are). This was before his glam makeover, and he used to walk around in green sweatpants and a ponytail.
Interestingly, only one of the interns actually seemed to have any real responsibilities. He was Jack McCullough, who I only interacted with a couple of times during my brief internship at Marc Jacobs. He would later famously go on to start Proenza Schouler with Lazaro Hernandez with Jacobs' support.
2. Designers rip off ideas from other designers. I now know that fashion is very cannibalistic, and there are very few, if any, truly "original" ideas. However, at the time, I remember being very disappointed when I saw a rack of vintage clothing which was to serve as "inspiration" for the new collections.
3. In fashion, as in many other industries, you are expected to pay your dues. This means, that as an intern who is at the bottom of the totem pole, you should be expected to be treated like shit. Aside from things like picking up coffee or office supplies, we did things like pick up and drop off things to and from factories and stores in the garment district in Midtown. There were also tasks like organizing and cleaning up. Since I was officially a production intern, I was also asked to do work on Excel, mainly checking over to make sure that the numbers for store orders were correct. For me, the worst part of being an intern was just sitting around and waiting for someone to tell me to do something.
Also, I was expecting that in return for my slave labor, I would be taught things. In retrospect, I did learn a lot but I didn't appreciate it at the time. Additionally, interns in fashion don't get paid. It's difficult to break into the fashion industry if you don't have money or some outside source of income. You're expected to intern for free for a few days a week or more, and somehow figure out a way to support yourself. Even if/when you do eventually get a job in fashion, it usually pays poorly.
Essentially, I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel, and envisioned myself in this hell of running errands indefinitely and never doing anything creative or interesting. My parents weren't a huge fan of me doing fashion, as I've mentioned (and who would be a huge fan of pissing away 160K on a Harvard degree to have your child do fashion) and after a month I felt like I'd had enough of this. I rationalized that with my degree I could easily find well-paying employment where I wasn't doing menial labor, and where I was treated with a bit more respect. I informed my supervisor of my decision, who told me to tell her boss, the production director, Danuta. She listened with a look of understanding, and told me I was better off because fashion was such a tough business.
I regretted not being able to help out with the upcoming fashion show, but I felt free.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Talking About Your Work
Quoted from Gang of Four, Cathy Horyn's article about Rei Kawakubo (of Comme des Garcons) for T Magazine:
For as much as journalists remark on Kawakubo’s cryptic silences, it is actually language — or verbosity — that inhibits the creative process, shutting off the possibilities of imagination. Katsuya Kamo, a hairstylist who works on Watanabe’s shows, said as much when he told me, "Western designers explain everything. ‘The clothes like this, the music and lighting like that.’ It gets complicated.” Watanabe, by contrast, says almost nothing, but that refusal, Kamo said, leaves the hairstylist room to exercise his own imagination.This reminds me of something that I hated about studying art. People were always asking you what your art was "about." Often I was driven to paint something without really know what it was about, and I would either have to make up something, or later, I found that I was led to create work that I wasn't that excited about but that I could explain. As a result, I was very unhappy with my senior VES thesis at college.
Landing My First Internship
In fashion, as in life, there is always a bit of luck (or divine intervention, if you're a person of faith as I am) involved.
When I got back home after my first year at college, I compiled a list of designers I would want to work for. I cold-called all the companies and found out where to fax my resume in hopes of obtaining an internship. (This was the summer of 2001, and the fashion industry was a bit behind in terms of e-mail.) I quickly realized that many of the companies I wanted to work for were based in either Paris or Milan (i.e. Prada, Christian Dior), which meant I wouldn't be able to get a studio/design internship with them.
However, I was most intent on interning at Marc Jacobs, who was probably my favorite designer at the time. (Currently, my favorite designer is Nicolas Ghesquiere over at Balenciaga.) When I called the office, the receptionist kindly informed me that they got tons of applications for design interns but not many for production interns, who did pretty much the same thing as the design interns.
Since I didn't have a design school background, I decided this was a good idea, and applied for a production internship. To my delight, I was called in for an interview and they gave me the internship. I was so ecstatic and thought I had received my lucky break. I was on the road to fashion superstardom! I would intern and they would love me and give me a job when I graduated and it would all be roses.
However, I quickly learned that the fashion industry was not as glamorous as it seems from the outside.
When I got back home after my first year at college, I compiled a list of designers I would want to work for. I cold-called all the companies and found out where to fax my resume in hopes of obtaining an internship. (This was the summer of 2001, and the fashion industry was a bit behind in terms of e-mail.) I quickly realized that many of the companies I wanted to work for were based in either Paris or Milan (i.e. Prada, Christian Dior), which meant I wouldn't be able to get a studio/design internship with them.
However, I was most intent on interning at Marc Jacobs, who was probably my favorite designer at the time. (Currently, my favorite designer is Nicolas Ghesquiere over at Balenciaga.) When I called the office, the receptionist kindly informed me that they got tons of applications for design interns but not many for production interns, who did pretty much the same thing as the design interns.
Since I didn't have a design school background, I decided this was a good idea, and applied for a production internship. To my delight, I was called in for an interview and they gave me the internship. I was so ecstatic and thought I had received my lucky break. I was on the road to fashion superstardom! I would intern and they would love me and give me a job when I graduated and it would all be roses.
However, I quickly learned that the fashion industry was not as glamorous as it seems from the outside.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
A Disclaimer Of Sorts
Before I continue posting about my experiences in fashion, I wanted to say a couple of things.
I was inspired to write about my experiences because when you read about famous and successful designers, you rarely hear much detail about the ascent into fashion stardom. Or, for that matter, success in any field. Hardships are glossed over and it often seems like things happened to the person overnight. People don't like to talk too much about the failures and hardships experienced on the road to success. Kind of like how you rarely see a famous artist's bad paintings.
Although I wouldn't call myself successful, so far I have managed to achieve a few things that other aspiring designers would be interested in knowing how I achieved. In reading many different designers' biographies, one thing that's certain is that there's no one way to become a "successful" designer. There is something of a "standard" route of going to design school and interning for other designers before launching one's own line or being hired to design for a well established line. But the interesting but also somewhat frustrating thing about fashion is that following this route doesn't necessarily guarantee success, and many successful designers have not followed it at all.
I write only about the route I have taken. This does not mean I think it would work for everyone, but I have always found it interesting and valuable to learn about how others achieved the same goals I pursue.
I was inspired to write about my experiences because when you read about famous and successful designers, you rarely hear much detail about the ascent into fashion stardom. Or, for that matter, success in any field. Hardships are glossed over and it often seems like things happened to the person overnight. People don't like to talk too much about the failures and hardships experienced on the road to success. Kind of like how you rarely see a famous artist's bad paintings.
Although I wouldn't call myself successful, so far I have managed to achieve a few things that other aspiring designers would be interested in knowing how I achieved. In reading many different designers' biographies, one thing that's certain is that there's no one way to become a "successful" designer. There is something of a "standard" route of going to design school and interning for other designers before launching one's own line or being hired to design for a well established line. But the interesting but also somewhat frustrating thing about fashion is that following this route doesn't necessarily guarantee success, and many successful designers have not followed it at all.
I write only about the route I have taken. This does not mean I think it would work for everyone, but I have always found it interesting and valuable to learn about how others achieved the same goals I pursue.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Girlfriend by Bow Wow & Omarion
I can't stand a lot of the pop songs I hear on the radio these days ("Low" by Flo-rida and the new Rihanna songs come to mind instantly) but I have a habit where once in a while I'll get obsessed with a pop song and play it incessantly until I overload and can't listen to it any more. This happens with not-so-poppy songs as well. It used to drive my college roommate nuts. ;-)
For a while, the song I was obsessed with was "That Girl" by the pop group NLT (which stands for Not Like Them, which is a poor choice for a name since they are EXACTLY like all other male pop groups before them). I became obsessed with it when my friend Kyoko showed me the video. In the video, the group crashes a high school dance in the gym. This isn't any ordinary gym, though. It's a gym whose floor opens up into a pool at the push of a button. The group and other kids, including, "that girl," jump in and the boys do a cool dance in the water. I LOVED the pool scene. I'm not sure why. Here's the video:
(I just realized the director is the same one I worked with during the Mastercard Priceless Experience internship)
Despite Kyoko's assertion that he is the "second ugliest" of the group, I fell in love with Kevin, who sings second, and was also the pizza boy on an episode of the Office.
Anyway, a while ago while I was at the gym I was watching the Tyra Banks show. Bow Wow and Omarion were on the show, promoting "Face Off" and they were so adorable. I became obsessed with their single, "Girlfriend." I've been listening to it recently, but one thing about the song always gets to me. There's this lyric:
"And her body's built like a stripper"
I get that strippers generally have nice bodies, but I'm not sure I would be excited if a cute guy came up to me and was like, "Hey, you've got a body like a stripper." It made me wonder:
1) Would other girls take that as a compliment?
2) Do these guys write the lyrics themselves? They're so cheesy...
Here's the video:
Yes, it's wildly inferior to the NLT video.
Yes, the song is terrible. But it's catchy, and sometimes that's all you need for a hit...
For a while, the song I was obsessed with was "That Girl" by the pop group NLT (which stands for Not Like Them, which is a poor choice for a name since they are EXACTLY like all other male pop groups before them). I became obsessed with it when my friend Kyoko showed me the video. In the video, the group crashes a high school dance in the gym. This isn't any ordinary gym, though. It's a gym whose floor opens up into a pool at the push of a button. The group and other kids, including, "that girl," jump in and the boys do a cool dance in the water. I LOVED the pool scene. I'm not sure why. Here's the video:
(I just realized the director is the same one I worked with during the Mastercard Priceless Experience internship)
Despite Kyoko's assertion that he is the "second ugliest" of the group, I fell in love with Kevin, who sings second, and was also the pizza boy on an episode of the Office.
Anyway, a while ago while I was at the gym I was watching the Tyra Banks show. Bow Wow and Omarion were on the show, promoting "Face Off" and they were so adorable. I became obsessed with their single, "Girlfriend." I've been listening to it recently, but one thing about the song always gets to me. There's this lyric:
"And her body's built like a stripper"
I get that strippers generally have nice bodies, but I'm not sure I would be excited if a cute guy came up to me and was like, "Hey, you've got a body like a stripper." It made me wonder:
1) Would other girls take that as a compliment?
2) Do these guys write the lyrics themselves? They're so cheesy...
Here's the video:
Yes, it's wildly inferior to the NLT video.
Yes, the song is terrible. But it's catchy, and sometimes that's all you need for a hit...
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Small Fish in a Big Pond
The main reason I opted for a traditional liberal arts education over a design school education was because in my research on the fashion industry in high school, I learned that most of my favorite designers had failed on the business side of things despite being critical successes. Marc Jacobs, John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Isaac Mizrahi -- all had encountered financial problems at one point or another, usually more than once. Before passing up all other options, I wanted to make sure that 1) I definitely wanted to do fashion, even if it meant almost certain failure and 2) I tried to understand the business side of things and what I would be getting into. I also wanted to have a backup plan.
Once I entered college, though, I was a bit at a loss as to how I would figure this all out. Harvard prides itself in not being a technical school, so I couldn't study pure business or fashion. The closest "concentrations" (Harvard-speak for majors) were Economics and Visual and Environmental Studies (Harvard-speak for fine art). At first I thought I could maybe do a joint concentration with these two subjects but I ran into a couple of barries.
Firstly, the Economics department haughtily informed me that a joint concentration with VES would be next to impossible because it would be hard to find anyone in the VES department who could read a joint thesis (joint concentrations require joint theses), if I could even figure out how to do a joint thesis. Secondly, because of the small class sizes, it was very difficult to enter a foundation VES course without declaring VES as a concentration. I foolishly did not declare VES as a concentration, even though I could have always gone back and changed my concentration whereas once I didn't get into the VES course I applied to, that was that.
So my first semester I took classes that were largely uninspiring, although in retrospect, I'm glad I took the economics classes that I did while at school. Freshman year at Harvard was a humbling experience. Like many Harvard students, I went from being a big fish in a small pond to a small fish in a big pond. I learned that I had never really learned to study -- one doesn't absorb much information while chatting on AIM til the wee hours of the night. I joined the orchestra because it was something I had always done, and found myself loathing the conductor and rehearsals. Also, like many college freshmen, I didn't really know how to deal with all my newfound freedom.
Second semester was equally rough (I decided to take Orgo -- big mistake) but after a talk with one of my friends, I decided that this would be my last opportunity to give my love for art a fair shot. I took an introductory painting course and I loved it. By the end of the semester I knew that I wanted to be a VES concentrator. I also knew I had to figure out a way to break into the fashion industry. Once I got home in May, I started looking for internships in New York.
Once I entered college, though, I was a bit at a loss as to how I would figure this all out. Harvard prides itself in not being a technical school, so I couldn't study pure business or fashion. The closest "concentrations" (Harvard-speak for majors) were Economics and Visual and Environmental Studies (Harvard-speak for fine art). At first I thought I could maybe do a joint concentration with these two subjects but I ran into a couple of barries.
Firstly, the Economics department haughtily informed me that a joint concentration with VES would be next to impossible because it would be hard to find anyone in the VES department who could read a joint thesis (joint concentrations require joint theses), if I could even figure out how to do a joint thesis. Secondly, because of the small class sizes, it was very difficult to enter a foundation VES course without declaring VES as a concentration. I foolishly did not declare VES as a concentration, even though I could have always gone back and changed my concentration whereas once I didn't get into the VES course I applied to, that was that.
So my first semester I took classes that were largely uninspiring, although in retrospect, I'm glad I took the economics classes that I did while at school. Freshman year at Harvard was a humbling experience. Like many Harvard students, I went from being a big fish in a small pond to a small fish in a big pond. I learned that I had never really learned to study -- one doesn't absorb much information while chatting on AIM til the wee hours of the night. I joined the orchestra because it was something I had always done, and found myself loathing the conductor and rehearsals. Also, like many college freshmen, I didn't really know how to deal with all my newfound freedom.
Second semester was equally rough (I decided to take Orgo -- big mistake) but after a talk with one of my friends, I decided that this would be my last opportunity to give my love for art a fair shot. I took an introductory painting course and I loved it. By the end of the semester I knew that I wanted to be a VES concentrator. I also knew I had to figure out a way to break into the fashion industry. Once I got home in May, I started looking for internships in New York.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Doctor or Designer?
In French class in high school, there was one exercise where we went around the room saying what we wanted to do for a living. I remember responding either a doctor or a fashion designer.
My dad's a doctor and I liked science well enough, so it seemed like a viable possibility. The real reason I wanted to be a doctor though, was that I was hooked on the show ER and in love with George Clooney/Doug Ross. I had been a fan of Michael Crichton's books and enjoyed ER immensely.
However, I had never let go of the dream of being a designer. I would pore over copies of Vogue and doodle during class. My favorite designer at the time was Marc Jacobs. This was at least a decade ago, before Marc Jacobs became a household name.
While in high school, I took a class for high school students at Parsons. I ended up having to drop out though, because I didn't have enough time for it.
When senior year rolled around, it seemed silly to forfeit all the hard work I had done academically over the years to apply to design school, especially since I didn't have a portfolio. I did consider going to Brown so that I could cross-register at RISD, but I knew that if I was going to go to a "good" school, I wanted to go to the best. I applied early to Harvard and got lucky.
Years later, maybe during my senior year of college, I went to my House office and asked to see my file. I looked at my application. There wasn't much in the way of notes but I noticed that there were circles around where I had written "fashion designer" as intended career.
So, maybe fashion got me into Harvard. Fashion definitely found me there.
My dad's a doctor and I liked science well enough, so it seemed like a viable possibility. The real reason I wanted to be a doctor though, was that I was hooked on the show ER and in love with George Clooney/Doug Ross. I had been a fan of Michael Crichton's books and enjoyed ER immensely.
However, I had never let go of the dream of being a designer. I would pore over copies of Vogue and doodle during class. My favorite designer at the time was Marc Jacobs. This was at least a decade ago, before Marc Jacobs became a household name.
While in high school, I took a class for high school students at Parsons. I ended up having to drop out though, because I didn't have enough time for it.
When senior year rolled around, it seemed silly to forfeit all the hard work I had done academically over the years to apply to design school, especially since I didn't have a portfolio. I did consider going to Brown so that I could cross-register at RISD, but I knew that if I was going to go to a "good" school, I wanted to go to the best. I applied early to Harvard and got lucky.
Years later, maybe during my senior year of college, I went to my House office and asked to see my file. I looked at my application. There wasn't much in the way of notes but I noticed that there were circles around where I had written "fashion designer" as intended career.
So, maybe fashion got me into Harvard. Fashion definitely found me there.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Understanding the Parents
Before I proceed to vilify my parents somewhat, I must state that I know that their motivations were and are pure. They simply want what they think was best for me. The circumstances in which they grew up were completely different from the ones which I experienced.
They grew up in a South Korea that had been ravaged by the Korean War, struggling to rebuild itself after a crippling Japanese occupation. Each parent has stories to recount. Before my mother was born (she being the second youngest of seven), her parents had spent the early years of their marriage in Manchuria, where my grandfather managed to amass a small fortune. However, upon returning to Korea after World War II, he saw his fortune reduced to nothing because of the devaluation of the currency. He managed to find success in other business ventures, but even though they were relatively well-to-do, things like meat and eggs were considered luxuries to be eaten on rare occasions.
My dad's parents escaped to South Korea from the North soon after the Communists took over. The family was fairly affluent early in my father's childhood (my father was the second eldest of seven). However, my grandfather made a few bad investments which reduced the family to poverty. My father vividly remembers being evicted from his house as a child, and how he and his whole family were forced to leave their home in the middle of the night, carrying their blankets and other belongings on their heads. I remember him quietly and somberly telling me how one time he remembers his father dropped a bowl of rice on the floor, but since the family was so poor, he dusted it off and ate it, and gave my father a clean bowl. At a young age, my father started tutoring other students to help support his family.
My parents did not want this for me.
I know there are people who have experienced much worse, but these stories are meant to illustrate why my parents were so risk-averse when it came to a career choice. This is why my father became a doctor (as opposed to an astrophysicist, which is what he wanted to be) and why my mother chose to marry one. And why they wanted my brother and me to become a doctor as well. Their rationale was that there are always patients, and so a doctor would always have a means to make a living.
However, sometimes what parents think is best for their children isn't. Sometimes I wonder what sort of thing my children will resent me for -- will they want to pursue a more traditional path than me and will we be at odds because I want them to try something else? Or will it be because I make my four children start a rock band and they resent me for robbing them of their childhood?
Wait, what?
They grew up in a South Korea that had been ravaged by the Korean War, struggling to rebuild itself after a crippling Japanese occupation. Each parent has stories to recount. Before my mother was born (she being the second youngest of seven), her parents had spent the early years of their marriage in Manchuria, where my grandfather managed to amass a small fortune. However, upon returning to Korea after World War II, he saw his fortune reduced to nothing because of the devaluation of the currency. He managed to find success in other business ventures, but even though they were relatively well-to-do, things like meat and eggs were considered luxuries to be eaten on rare occasions.
My dad's parents escaped to South Korea from the North soon after the Communists took over. The family was fairly affluent early in my father's childhood (my father was the second eldest of seven). However, my grandfather made a few bad investments which reduced the family to poverty. My father vividly remembers being evicted from his house as a child, and how he and his whole family were forced to leave their home in the middle of the night, carrying their blankets and other belongings on their heads. I remember him quietly and somberly telling me how one time he remembers his father dropped a bowl of rice on the floor, but since the family was so poor, he dusted it off and ate it, and gave my father a clean bowl. At a young age, my father started tutoring other students to help support his family.
My parents did not want this for me.
I know there are people who have experienced much worse, but these stories are meant to illustrate why my parents were so risk-averse when it came to a career choice. This is why my father became a doctor (as opposed to an astrophysicist, which is what he wanted to be) and why my mother chose to marry one. And why they wanted my brother and me to become a doctor as well. Their rationale was that there are always patients, and so a doctor would always have a means to make a living.
However, sometimes what parents think is best for their children isn't. Sometimes I wonder what sort of thing my children will resent me for -- will they want to pursue a more traditional path than me and will we be at odds because I want them to try something else? Or will it be because I make my four children start a rock band and they resent me for robbing them of their childhood?
Wait, what?
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Artists are Poor
When I was a wee lass, I read a brief Picasso biography and had a conversation with my mom that went something like this:
Me: I want to be an artist.
Mom: No, artists are poor. You should be a doctor.
So from a young age, the thing I gravitated to most naturally was put to the side in favor of academic and extracurricular pursuits that would improve my chances of getting into a good college (When I was ten I decided I wanted to go to Yale, although I changed my mind junior year of high school).
My parents didn't discourage my interest in art but it was viewed merely as a hobby. I would take it as an elective during Korean school on Saturdays. Up through middle school it was a required elective and it was definitely my favorite class. I loved art class, and I would stay 'til the last possible minute to work on my pieces. A couple of times I took a few art classes outside of school but it was hard to fit into my already busy schedule and seemed more like a luxury than a necessity.
In high school I had to go out of my way to put art class in my schedule since there were set classes I had to take if I wanted to stay on the AP/Honors track. I remember hesitating somewhat about taking art because it would technically lower my GPA (since it wasn't an honors class).
I couldn't take art until junior year when my schedule opened up for the half credit class, so I was in a class with freshmen, my brother's year. I remember vividly sitting next to this skinny little white kid who was really funny. He was Italian-American but fancied himself a black man, wearing big baggy jeans and gold chains. He would sing Biggie/Junior MAFIA songs. That was how I was first introduced to the song, "Juicy."
Me: I want to be an artist.
Mom: No, artists are poor. You should be a doctor.
So from a young age, the thing I gravitated to most naturally was put to the side in favor of academic and extracurricular pursuits that would improve my chances of getting into a good college (When I was ten I decided I wanted to go to Yale, although I changed my mind junior year of high school).
My parents didn't discourage my interest in art but it was viewed merely as a hobby. I would take it as an elective during Korean school on Saturdays. Up through middle school it was a required elective and it was definitely my favorite class. I loved art class, and I would stay 'til the last possible minute to work on my pieces. A couple of times I took a few art classes outside of school but it was hard to fit into my already busy schedule and seemed more like a luxury than a necessity.
In high school I had to go out of my way to put art class in my schedule since there were set classes I had to take if I wanted to stay on the AP/Honors track. I remember hesitating somewhat about taking art because it would technically lower my GPA (since it wasn't an honors class).
I couldn't take art until junior year when my schedule opened up for the half credit class, so I was in a class with freshmen, my brother's year. I remember vividly sitting next to this skinny little white kid who was really funny. He was Italian-American but fancied himself a black man, wearing big baggy jeans and gold chains. He would sing Biggie/Junior MAFIA songs. That was how I was first introduced to the song, "Juicy."
Friday, March 7, 2008
It All Started With Cinderella
Sometimes when people talk to me, they're surprised that I am pursuing a career in fashion. Perhaps it's because I went to Harvard, or perhaps it's because I often dress like a homeless person (especially according to my parents).
The truth is, I've wanted to "do" fashion since before I knew what fashion was.
My earliest memories of this is back when I was a young girl. There is a scene in Disney's Cinderella which captured the magic of fashion for me. It's that scene when she's locked up in her little tower, and the mice take these odds and ends and magically transform them into a beautiful dress. I also had a Disney Cinderella picture book, and I would pore over the pictures, and try to copy the images with my paper and crayons.
Some girls loved playing house and with Barbie. For some reason, I wasn't really into dolls, but I loved to draw. I would draw variations of Cinderella in her ballgown -- beautiful women in beautiful dresses. Of course, my dexterity as a child was lacking so the pictures weren't as great as I thought they were. My mom would put them up in our tiny apartment and when my aunt (her eldest sister) would come over, she would yell at her to take down those tacky pictures.
But something kept me drawing -- I think it's because whenever I drew a picture, I'd feel it wasn't good enough.
I would draw during class a lot, and give the drawings to my friends, who would be appalled when I would try to crumple them up and throw them away. I've made quite a few friends by giving them drawings of my women in pretty clothes.
There is a quote in Karl Lagerfeld's most recent interview:
"There is always disappointment in the work. But I always have the feeling there is a glass border I cannot cross. "
You know you love doing something if this is the way you feel about it -- this desire for (unattainable) perfection.
The truth is, I've wanted to "do" fashion since before I knew what fashion was.
My earliest memories of this is back when I was a young girl. There is a scene in Disney's Cinderella which captured the magic of fashion for me. It's that scene when she's locked up in her little tower, and the mice take these odds and ends and magically transform them into a beautiful dress. I also had a Disney Cinderella picture book, and I would pore over the pictures, and try to copy the images with my paper and crayons.
Some girls loved playing house and with Barbie. For some reason, I wasn't really into dolls, but I loved to draw. I would draw variations of Cinderella in her ballgown -- beautiful women in beautiful dresses. Of course, my dexterity as a child was lacking so the pictures weren't as great as I thought they were. My mom would put them up in our tiny apartment and when my aunt (her eldest sister) would come over, she would yell at her to take down those tacky pictures.
But something kept me drawing -- I think it's because whenever I drew a picture, I'd feel it wasn't good enough.
I would draw during class a lot, and give the drawings to my friends, who would be appalled when I would try to crumple them up and throw them away. I've made quite a few friends by giving them drawings of my women in pretty clothes.
There is a quote in Karl Lagerfeld's most recent interview:
"There is always disappointment in the work. But I always have the feeling there is a glass border I cannot cross. "
You know you love doing something if this is the way you feel about it -- this desire for (unattainable) perfection.
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