7 days

This time next week I'll be on a plane heading back to San Francisco, and will no longer be an American Redhead living in London- I am moving back to the states.

I am a little too overwhelmed with the practicalities of moving to spend time focusing on how I'm feeling about the move, but when I have a quiet moment between things I sometimes reflect on how differently I thought this London story would end.

If I'm completely honest, I hoped that at this point I'd be working on my final collection at Saint Martins and talking my way into fashion jobs. I figured the long distance relationship would have been more than I could handle and that I would be alone. I was sure I would be working toward *finally* getting that degree. I was pretty sure I knew who my friends would be at uni, and I was absolutely sure I'd be miserably lonely, focused on trying to become the next big thing.

The last thing I expected was to fail miserably time and time again, pick myself up and try harder than I've ever tried before, fail again (ad nauseum) until I decided to leave uni, and leave fashion. I never thought I'd find something I love and am good at, intern with designers, and talk my way into (hopefully) designing my first footwear collection for an amazing high end boutique store in London.

photo by Ben Hopper

I didn't expect to help organize one of the most fabulous costumed sex parties London has seen, or to meet some of the most amazing friends I've ever had. I surely didn't expect to not only maintain and significantly strengthen my relationship with my boyfriend, but to also find find myself dating an amazing girl as well. I hoped, but never actually believed, that I would end up growing more independent, capable, or able to handle whatever life throws at me. I've always thought of myself as a particularly weak person, and I think London has made me stronger in a lot of little ways.


As my left wrist now says in permanent black ink, "change" is something that will always define my life. This is just another rearranging of my situation, and it's certainly not a goodbye to London. No, I will be back as often as I can.

I do have a few regrets. I try to not dwell on things I might have done differently, or how I could have used my time better. I did what I did and I learned stuff. I am happy I came here, and proud of myself. I will miss people and places, but I go back to SF knowing I always have a home here in London. It will always be the place where I came into my own, on my own, for myself and no one else. It will always be a special place full of magical things and wonderful people to me.... yes, even when the weather is this shitty.

Photo by Jon Cartwright

I have much to do and many zzz's to catch up on, so that's all I'm going to say for now. If you want to see more stuff while I finish packing and curl up into bed, go browse my Tumblr.

G'nite.

First Ink

I have had a tattoo idea in my head for nearly five years. I have always known exactly what I wanted, but it never felt like the right time to get it. I asked a friend to type out the word I desired on her vintage typewriter, and I carried around the image in my wallet for years, knowing I wanted it to look a little worn and weathered.

When I moved to London I knew I would get my first ink here. But the tattoo had to mark a moment in my life, and my first year in the UK was rife with stress and unhappiness. I didnt want it to be a reminder of a horrible time, so I waited. I thought I might get it done when I moved into the flat and began life afresh, but again, my life was in flux, and I didn't want to mark that in my skin.

But I believe I am beginning an upward trend. Although I am sad to leave London, I am starting something new, and embracing some big changes in my future. I am once again feeling optimistic about life. I knew it was time.

And today was the day I got inked.

I was terrified. Not of the pain, but of not liking the outcome. Before we began my tattooist asked if I wanted the word to face me or face outward. The question took me by surprise- I had never considered having it face outward. This tattoo is for me, and me alone. That's why I went to have it done alone.

So why "change."? If there is word that defines me, it is "change". I feel that I am always striving to change for the better, and to not get stuck in a rut. In English it is also a command and a reminder that if I don't like the way things are, I have the power to change them. I also enjoy the irony that the first permanent marking on my body is about impermanence.

I was terrified this morning, but now I love it! I'm going to be very good to it, follow all the instructions my tattooist gave me, and in two weeks it will feel as though it's always been there.

Happy

I just got back to the dorms after seeing our new flat for the first time since we did the initial viewing. We both worried that it had somehow improved in our memories- that it had become bigger and brighter. But actually, we were right. It is big and bright and we cannot believe how happy we are to be moving tomorrow morning!

It isn't high spec, and it isn't anything fancy, but for two artists who want to have both a home and good place to work, it is perfect.

The Next Year

So let's just say that I decide to take a break from fashion design, and give myself a year to sort things out. I've been giving it some thought lately, and I've decided to start compiling a list of things which, if money was not an issue (though in reality of course it is), I would like to spend the next year doing.

First and foremost I want to TRAVEL. That is the one thing that never fails to come up in conversation with friends or family lately. I have an unbearable urge to run away and I think I should indulge it. I want to see the world, change my context, put myself in new situations and see if I can't narrow down a little of what I want out of life.

And while I am traveling I want to write. This blog is no example of eloquent literary scrawlings, but I CAN in fact write when I put my mind to it. I love writing. I love taking in the world and spitting it back out in a new way. But what would I write about? I am not well-traveled and so I cannot comment on traveling itself. I could write about fashion, but there are so many fashion blogs and fashion writers out there that it's almost moot to mention fashion at all these days. So what in the world would I write about? I am not going to write the next Eat Pray Love, although I would love to.... hm, I would love to.

Now traveling is great and all, but it is not cheap. The biggest hurdle with that is figuring out how to fund my exploring. Hmmmmm.


Second, I would like to start a design line. Nothing huge. Something small and very, very Me. I want to find my work being talked about on those design blogs that I read. I want to have small orders from little boutiques. I just want to love what I do and make beautiful things. In order to do this I need a studio space. Some time to myself. And a seamstress. I HATE sewing. And honestly I am not very good at it. I can design and cut patterns until I am blue in the face, but I need to hire a seamstress to see the work through. Laugh if you will, but I know my limits.

So, how do I find and fund a small studio space and a sample maker?

Third, photography. I want to invest in a good beginner-level digital SLR camera and start really indulging in my photography. I've found a real love for it over the last few months and want to develop a style. I think it would be useful in many many ways later in life.

And lastly, shoes. I am taking a footwear intensive next month and that will be my first taste of making shoes. I have a feeling that I will like it. A lot. In all modesty I would be AMAZING at shoe design. Shoes are the one thing I obsess about and have strong opinions about. If I know nothing else, I KNOW shoes. I would be the next Fluevog... only sexier. I want to start my own line of shoes and sell them.

And frankly, I know NOTHING about how to start that, so I won't even speculate about the steps involved.


So. How do I make these things happen?

The Truth of It

Last term my boyfriend and I tried to open our relationship to other people. It was my suggestion, and he agreed because we both hoped it might make the distance and loneliness a little softer. Long story short, it was a short-lived disaster that nearly ended the relationship. It became a source of heartache and incredible anger. It amplified the loneliness instead of softening it.

When we agreed to close the relationship, it was because we remembered that the drive behind this venture was love; was wanting to make sure the other person was happy and taken care of, even if it was someone else who was giving them that happiness for the time being. We opted to try an open relationship because we thought it would make loneliness of the long distance relationship easier to bear. And when it seemed that it was in fact making the loneliness even less tolerable, the answer became clear. Choosing to end the experiment was simple because we remembered why we began it in the first place.



So why am I in London?

I am in London because I wanted to be my own person. I am in London because I wanted to grow and change and evolve into the woman I want to be, instead of shuffling down the more comfortable path I was on. I came to London because I wanted to grow a spine. I wanted to stand on my own two feet. I wanted to make something of myself and come back to the US with an honest understanding of who I am and what I am made of. I wanted to have grounding in myself, trust in myself, and maybe a tiny bit of confidence, however small. I came to London because I needed something bigger, something more than San Francisco in order to do all of this. I needed to see what life was like without the safety net.

None of that has anything to do with the university that is going to kick me out.

I finally remembered that CSM was not my reason for coming to London. It was the means of getting me here.

I forgot that somewhere along the way. Like the open relationship experiment, I had to remember why I began this venture in the first place. I had to realize that this trip was never about becoming the next McQueen or Galliano. It was about becoming more of myself. The hope was that the challenges presented by CSM would facilitate that, but perhaps CSM is a small and insignificant test of my will when you really think about it.

There is so much more to fashion, to London, to England, to Europe, to the world, to my own story than CSM and the year I spent struggling to please people who could never be pleased. There is so much more to life than this. And I spent this weekend remembering that.

Looking back on this last year I can begin to see that Central St Martins was never the reason I came to London. It was the catalyst that allowed me to begin my own life. It was the carrot I dangled in front of my own nose so that I would continue walking ahead.

Of course with the carrot unfairly snatched away from me, I am hysterically running in circles in blind panic. "What do I do now? What do I do now? What do I do now? The carrot is gone, I have nothing to live for."

I am slowly beginning to see that I need to stop spinning and look at the race I am running. The carrot got me here, but "here" is what was truly important.

The truth of it all is that I came to London to learn. Not to learn to sew and not to learn how to make pretty sketchbooks. The truth of it is that I came to London to learn about life and who I am. And frankly CSM was keeping me from that. I moved half way around the planet to be here and face myself. To face my weaknesses and grow stronger. To face my insecurities and learn to stand solidly in the space I occupy in this world. To face my strengths and learn how to use them.

The decision to stay in Europe and seek out life despite CSM is an easy one to make when I remember the reasons I began this adventure in the first place. The truth of it is that I came here to face myself, change myself, and hopefully become myself.

Love + Distance + Confusion = Shitty Shitty Situations

The boy and I are both ridiculously busy and so I am not going to get to see him this term.

After term ends I need to stay in London for a while because I have to see what happens with moving on to 2nd year and my potential internship and all that stuff. I don't think the school will tell me about my position there until late June or early July, and I believe I have to be present at a meeting at that time.

Whatever the outcome of that meeting, I have to then sit down and decide what I'm going to do next. Here is where the situation gets shitty. If school does in fact want me gone, then I have to make my own way in the fashion world. At some point I would like to go back to San Francisco, but I think that when I am starting out it would be wise to stay in London where there are far more opportunities to do that.

But that means that I am now choosing my career over my boyfriend. And I can no longer point to school and say, "I have to stay here because of that." If I have to leave school then I must make the decision every single day to stay in London and not be with my boyfriend, because there won't be anything but my own choices keeping me away from him. And that's a shitty thing to have to deal with.

Every single time I have to decide something about my life in London, I am going to be having to decide between whatever my options are here, and my boyfriend. Good opportunities will feel like heartbreak. And how shitty would it be to feel that all the good things that happen to me are bad for my relationship?

My boyfriend thinks I should stay here and sort things out. But he is a much stronger person I am. He can't move here with me, and so I have to choose to be here alone but focused on my future, or with him in San Francisco. If I want to be in fashion and make my own way, I need to be somewhere where I can get opportunities. And there are far more of those available to me here in London.

On the other hand, maybe staying here is just plain stupid. Maybe it's just my ego talking. Maybe it's simply that I don't want to go home and admit defeat by CSM. Maybe I should just give this up and go back to SF. But if I did that, I probably wouldn't ever have the sort of chances I'd have here. And I don't know if I would ever forgive myself for giving up so fast.

Fuck, this is so confusing.

The Dean, Where I Am, Fear, Stress, and Uncertainty.

The meeting with the dean didn't go badly, but it didn't go well. He suggested I meet with Evil Tutor and himself to discuss my workload and how to manage it. He sympathized with my situation, even told me about a similar situation he had with a tutor he had in grad school. But he said the rules tie his hands and prevent him from helping me. He did offer to look for a loophole in the rules, though. He's been very friendly to me, and I really appreciate his candor. I just wish he could do something more to help me.

I spent this weekend trying to work on my retrieval project. I get a new project assigned tomorrow. And I still have to redo all the work in my portfolio and redo the portfolio itself. By the end of the month. It isn't possible, and I am a wreck. I am falling apart in every way, every day. I really need someone to help support me right now. I just need the monstrous load of work and stress to lessen.

So I emailed the Dean again, and I've included the email below. Names have been changed for obvious reasons. It is a very familiar email, and I did that in part because I don't give a shit anymore, and in part because he responds very well to honesty about a situation. I tried playing it professional at first, and realized that he will mirror my approach to a situation. I only share this email because I feel it expresses where I am emotionally about the potential of being kicked out/asked to repeat first year/etc...

" Dear "Dean",

I have been considering your offer to meet with "Evil Tutor" (henceforth ET) and me to sort out my workload. Although I worry that he will take it personally and it might affect my grades even more, I think perhaps it is a good idea to talk to him about how to manage my pile of homework. I have nothing to lose, right?

I mean... all I want from CSM is for them to take my money and give me the chance to TRY and learn something. The tutors can tell me I'm shit, they can laugh at my work, they can tell me over and over that my work is awful. I truly, honestly do not mind as long as they tell me why. I just need the chance to do what the rest of the succeeding students are doing- work on one project at a time.

I will take that sketchbook course that is offered over the summer. I will take any extra courses over the summer that will help me improve. I will do extra work over the summer to make up for the retrieval projects, if the school will only let me spread out the work. I would even suffer a blow to my ego and grovel, beg to move on to 2nd year if it would help. I have met some of the 2nd and 3rd year tutors and I connect with their teaching styles much better than I do with "ET"'s. I could do this. But if I had to repeat 1st year with him again.... I can promise you I would not finish, even if I COULD afford to repeat. He and I, despite getting along in person, do not mesh well in the tutor-student situation.

I don't know if I mentioned this to you yet, but I have ADHD- attention deficit hyperactive disorder. Focusing, laying out timetables, understanding time, planning... these things are unusually hard for me to do. I usually take a medication for this, but the medication I am on is not available in the UK, and so I am operating at a huge deficit. And despite that fact I'm only 2 points short of passing. That is an achievement. I only mention this to make sure you know that I am not a slacker, nor do I expect an easy ride. I just need a little help from the university, and the opportunity to have the time to delve into one project at a time, try new things, really FOCUS on one concept. I can get this, I know I can.

I belong here. I belong at CSM. I am sure of that. Ask any of my classmates, even the ones who don't like me or my work. They will tell you the same thing. That may sound cocky, but it is also true.

All I ask is that CSM continue to take my money, continue to insult my work, and let me move onto 2nd year. I ask that they let me spread my work out a little bit. I stumbled early on in the year and I have never been able to catch up. I'm not asking a lot. I am not asking them to let me off the hook, just dull the hook a little. Give me some more time.

If you think that talking to "ET", or the head of the university, or anyone will help, please tell me what to do. I spent this whole weekend trying to work on the retrieval project sketchbook and I'm finding that I am failing in all the same ways I have before. I am so stressed out I can't find a new way to approach it, you know? I am trying to focus, but the looming monster of another set of double projects, plus the portfolio, plus the work IN the portfolio is really setting me up for failure. In case balancing all that for someone with ADHD wasn't difficult enough, the stress and fear of not being able to move on to 2nd year is making creative thinking nearly impossible for me. Any artist understands that, and I am sure you do too.

I know you cannot bend the rules for me. Who can?


Thank you for yet again reading another inappropriately familiar rant from me,
-"Redhead"


I feel utterly destroyed these days. I am so down on myself and my design abilities I can barely get out of bed in the morning, and barely sleep at night. I am making myself ill with stress and contained fury at feeling powerless over my situation. I don't know what I want anymore. Do I want to stay? Do I want to just drop out? If I dropped out could I forgive myself? I want to stay and give it one last go, but the amount of work I have to do is almost impossible, especially when I am this stressed out.

I am so lost and confused, and have never felt more alone in my life.

I just want someone to help me.

Assumptions, part 2: On Boys

Boys have always been a bit tricky for me to be around. A psychiatrist would probably tell you that I grew up with no positive male role models and therefor have issues with the opposite sex. But if you ask me, I'd say that my issues with boys started in high school when I suddenly dropped 25lbs and began looking like a normal curvy girl.

To change from the fat girl quite suddenly into a 16 year old sex object is quite a mind fuck. For the first time men began to notice me and I quickly learned that I had a lot of power because of it. In response to this sudden outpouring of attention I became the world's biggest flirt. It was the only way I could both entice men and keep them at a safe emotional distance.

To this day I find it hard to speak to any guy without flirting. It is my default reaction to male attention, even the unwanted kind. In a way having a boyfriend has exacerbated this problem because I could flirt mercilessly and never feel the pressure to follow through. "I have a boyfriend," I could always say. My boyfriend knows I am a flirt and has no lame macho jealousy issues. If anything, he enjoys that I could make a few boys lust after the girl he gets to take home every night.

But everything is different in London. I don't have a boyfriend here to use as my excuse. I don't have someone to go stand next to who will kiss my neck and remind everyone that this one belongs to him. And so I have found that my social habits have been changing out of necessity.

First of all, I never go out. I am terrified of finding myself in an awkward situation with a guy and not knowing how to get out of it. That fear has lessened some. But I think my change in attitude really began when I met a friend whose boyfriend is such a great guy that I felt immediately at ease with him. I guess I never before realized that I could talk with a guy without our conversation ever having a flirtatious subtext. Inspired by this experience, I am trying very hard to understand how to separate flirting from talking when it comes to men. And I think I'm getting better at it.

Either that or I am just becoming very antisocial...

Flat

Inspired perhaps by one of my flatmates moving out in the near future, I have become obsessed with the idea of moving out of the student halls and into a real flat.

The layout of our dorm is very isolating, and not terribly condusive to working, I've found. I think that having to spend all the your time in one room makes it hard to get into the mindset of work, when the exact same space is also used for everything else.

I shouldn't be focusing on this right now, seeing as how I am panicking over my homework load. But I happened to walk past a rental agency on my way home from the gym today (I finally took a floor/mat pilates class this afternoon) and I stared at their listings in the window for probably ten minutes, aching and longing in my very bones. Hm, or maybe it was the pilates doing that...

Anyhow, I am tired of not having a real kitchen, or a living room, or a bed that isn't too small for me. I miss being able to have people over. And I hate that going home to me means spending time in one tiny little room. Oh god, and I miss having a bath tub! I miss baths! I want to find no more than two other friends to live with, and make a little home for myself in the East End. Soon. Sooner than later.

A Few Things of Note

It's funny that while I've survived the London cold, I arrived in SF only to come down with a nasty nasty cold. But I'm getting over it, slowly.

Tonight The Boy and I are going to decorate our little tiny Charlie Brown Christmas tree and wrap other people's presents. Right now, we're eating exotic cheese on crackers, sipping white wine, and playing games. Maybe we're nerds, but we're cute.

A few things about being home:

- my mother and I have reached a point in our relationship where we are much more honest and clear with one another, so I am not dreading family time anymore. This is HUGE.

- I have missed American brunch, which for The Boy and I involves waffles, mimosas, eggs, and lots and lots of coffee. Sundays used to be my favorite day of week. Since moving to the UK, they have become just another day to do homework. It's nice having a day to look forward to again (despite being sickly over brunch today).

- I cannot wait to see my friends and give them their presents! I miss my people. People who I have long-standing jokes, stories, and history with.

- I am getting a lot of comments from strangers since I cut my hair. I was asked if I was a European movie star the other day. When I laughed and said that I wasn't, the woman winked and said, "I won't tell, don't worry." Yesterday our waitress asked if she knew me, and spent a lot of time talking with us, commenting on my hair. Something a bout the bangs makes people want to talk to me.

- One awesome thing about being home is having a computer-genius boyfriend. My computer is now fixed. This is amazing, and I am thrilled! I don't have to restart it every five minutes anymore.

- It's fun to be pretentious here. I get to start sentences with phrases like, "well, in London...." or "you know, in Europe...." heeheehee.

- It's surprising to me how many Britishisms I have picked up in my three months in London. I didn't realize how carefully I've trained myself to use certain words until I found that I had to remind myself to use Americanisms here. I have to remind myself to say "thanks" instead of "cheers" sometimes. Or "bangs" instead of "fringe". Also "school" and not "uni". There are a few others too, but they are escaping me right now.
I think I have fallen into British habits because I spent so much time alone, observing and listening. It's like the other night, when I was walking around Soho with two of my friends from class and they thought we were supposed to make a right, but I told them it was a left. We argued for a minute, but I insisted it was a left, then a right, then another left. And guess who was right? One of my friends drunkenly pushed me and said, "I've lived here for years, and you've only been here a few months. How come you know where you're going better than I do?" And I realized that it's because I don't have the luxury of familiarity. In London I don't know where anything is, so I pay very close attention to where things are in case I need to find them again. And Soho is one of the areas that is so full of interesting streets, I have paid quite a bit of attention to every place I've ever walked past.


Ok, tree decorating time! I'll catch up with you all later.

What's a Girl Gotta Do To Get Some Instruction Around Here?

I knew that moving to a new country along was going to be hard. I knew that the fashion program at St. Martins was incredibly difficult. I knew that I would be lonely, that the weather would be crappy, that I would be a broke student who would have to choose between food and art supplies. But I've run into so many difficult things that I never could have anticipated. It's all of those things that add up when I'm not looking.

I had a complete meltdown the night before last. I swore I was going to leave school and move home. I believed myself as I said it, and I said it a lot. I said to to a classmate. I said it to my boyfriend. I said it to all my room mates, one by one, and then again as a group over dinner. I told them that CSM could go to hell, and that I had known from the moment I was accepted into this school that it was the wrong decision. I kept on saying it until I passed out curled up on my bed. I wanted to wake up back home and pretend this whole mess never happened, because I was so furious at my school and my tutors.

Before I continue, let me explain something that I just figured out myself. Here at St. Martins there is no equivalent to what an American school might call "a teacher". We don't have classes either, instead our schedule is project-based. On some days of the week, we have a tutor in to meet with us individually. Our tutors are the head of our program, and they are not there to teach us, but to offer guidance and critiques on the conceptual/design level. They also grade us. On certain days of the week we also have technicians in. Apparently technicians are either there to assist us with sewing/drafting/making difficult things, or to (get this...)do it for us, if it's too difficult. Yes, you read that right. Technicians are there to help us sew things that we don't know how to sew. Because CSM isn't training seamstresses, they are training designers... That's a mindfuck for me. (At my last school if they found out that another student, much less a hired professional was helping you do your homework, you failed the project.)

So we have Tutors and we have Technicians, but the gap in between that in my experience should be filled by a Teacher is left empty. Instead, St. Martins is all about making the students teach themselves through trial and error.

Ah, the dreaded trial and error...

There seems to be a certain artistic disposition that lends itself to creative experimenting. These are the kinds of people that couldn't think inside the box if they tried. They will try anything to get the look they want, no matter how strange or silly it may sound. These are often the people who make it in a business that is always looking for the next innovative thing. These are the sorts of people that end up at CSM.

I am not one of those people.

I am an idea person. I have no patience for the actual construction of a garment. I hate sewing (I have been known to fall into fits of rage while trying to sew) and I despise the problem-solving aspects of pattern drafting. I understand how these things work, and I am very good at helping others find solutions to the problems in their work. But when it comes to my own work, I have no patience for the process.

Maybe I'm just lazy...?

So to clarify, I am a person who designs, understands how to construct and make the design, but needs help making it, or have someone to make it for me. Because when I run into a problem I cannot solve I am not the kind of person to experiment over and over until I find the solution. When I hit a wall, I call in a specialist (read: a teacher) to help me break down the wall.

And this is where all the trouble started the day I nearly got into a fight with my tutor.

At our last meeting, my tutor had suggested that I try a brand new technique to make my design. Excited at the suggestion I immediately went out and found five different books at the library on the topic. Over the weekend I browsed the books, bought supplies, did a series of tests and experiments, and felt confident that I could make this crazy idea happen. All I needed was some help coming up with a way to work around one problem I couldn't solve.

I went into the classroom that day with some very specific questions. I wasn't entirely sure where to begin with this project. I asked the pattern drafting technician for some advice, and that is when the trouble began. Her answer was, "I don't know. I've never done this before."

I couldn't accept that solution so I reworded my question to be more specific. She told me that she had no idea and that I should go buy supplies to experiment with.

Frustrated but determined, I spent the next three hours running around the city blowing my food budget on supplies. When I came back to school and began working I was optimistic. But each technique I tried was failing and I wasn't sure how to proceed, and every time I asked someone for help I was given nothing but suggestions on ways to spend more money on things that may or may not work.

All I wanted was some god damn help from a teacher. I had done all the research and work to teach myself how to do something new, and now I wanted some educational support from the institution that I pay huge sums of money to. But no!

Through this ordeal what I discovered is that at CSM, they do not teach you anything. No, at CSM they assist you in discovering things on your own.

So I stormed out of the classroom feeling as though I had just moved halfway around the world to attend a school where they do not teach us anything. And now that I have finally made a pathetic excuse of a home for myself, I was going to have to pack up my whole life AGAIN and move back home to finish a degree at a pathetic technical school.

I was so furious and miserable that day. I needed to talk to someone who would understand where I was coming from- someone who wouldn't try to solve the problem for me, but sympathize about how much effort it takes to just LIVE sometimes when you've just moved to another country. I wanted someone to agree that the whole CSM system was shit and that I had left everything to come here for no good reason. I wanted someone to agree with me, and to come fly out here to help me move home. Or maybe I wanted someone to just fly out here to give me a hug and let me cry on their shoulder for a little while. I just needed a friend. But I don't know anyone in London well enough to show them this raw, exposed side of me.

I wanted to call my best friend back home, but it was the wee hours of the morning. I don't have an international calling plan on my new phone yet, and I haven't been able to talk to her since I moved. I didn't want the first conversation we had to involve waking her middle of the night to cry in her ear. So I texted my boyfriend, who listened to me bitch and cry and swear that I was moving home for hours, until he decided I'd indulged in enough of a pity party to need a verbal slap upside the head.

I wish I could say that he shook me out of it, but he didn't. Instead I curled up on my bed and hugged my knees, sobbing until I passed out. I woke up an hour later shaking from the cold and crawled under the quilt, feeling ashamed of myself and miserable.

Needless to say, not my best day.

But I did learn something about how I have to approach my education here. I realize now that if I am this stressed about a single project, I need to rethink my approach even if it means I fail again. I decided to scrap everything my tutor suggested and do something entirely different, whether or not he likes it.

As a result of this decision my mood has been much more upbeat. I am incredibly stressed for time as I am starting over on a project most people began a week before, but I feel better about what I am trying to do. I am experimenting with fabric and trying to teach myself some new things.

And as a sort of penance for being such an emotional mess the day before, I went into school and spent a lot of time helping many of my classmates with their patterns. As one of the only students in the class with any drafting experience, word has spread that I can offer some sort of advice. It made me feel better to know that although I am struggling to keep it together, I do know something about fashion.

More than that I realized that I love to teach. My classmates suggested that I look into being a class helper for first year students for pay. I would love to do that, if I could. It's so satisfying to work with someone and solve a problem. Although I do not know the conventional way to do things, CSM shares my opinion on pattern drafting: if it fits, and it looks the way you want it, it is correct and bugger the rules.

So teaching is good. But I've found that what I like best about it is working with another designer to make something. Which made me think that I would like to try my next project as a team project. I plan to find a partner to design with before informing our tutor that we are a design team for this round of the game. That sounds like a recipe for success, in my opinion.

So CSM and life in London is turning out to be a lot more difficult than I expected, in ways I couldn't have anticipated. It takes so much out of me just to stay afloat that I feel very brittle of late. But I am trying to stay optimistic. I've spoken with a counselor at school about my concerns, and she informed that almost every international student at CSM starts to feel this doubt and depression at the three to five month mark. She also assured me that it will get better.

It will get better.

I was worried that going home for the Christmas holiday would make coming back to London harder. But now I cannot wait to go home and I wish I could change my flight to go back next weekend instead of the 16th. I am hoping that being with my friends and boyfriend and family will recharge my batteries for my next round in the ring against CSM.

I just have to keep reminding myself that it will get better.

Structure, and A Change in Perspective

I am applying for a job at the CSM library. My job, if I get it, would only involve working for an hour each day, but it would do me some good having to be in the library each day. Not only will I be surrounded by all the pretty books, but it would provide me with some structure in an otherwise unstructured school environment. It would force me to go to school every day, which would in turn help me focus on working on my projects a lot more. And it would give me a little spending cash to help at the end of the month when I am super broke. So, let's hope I get a job!

Speaking of unstructured learning, I am writing to you from home right now, and it's Friday morning. See, I should be at school. Well, no I shouldn't, because today's tutorial would have been a waste of my time. I have more important projects to spend my time on. This week has been a series of tutorials on basic sewing. So basic in fact I could have taught the classes, and I am not by any means a talented seamstress. I have been incredibly bored these past few days. So instead of sewing a basic cuff on a basic sleeve all day long, I am working on my fashion show project.

I plan to hit my favorite coffee shop up Brick Lane and spend a few hours trying to focus all my energy into 100+ rough sketches of clothing ideas, one of which will end up being brought to life and shown in two small runway shows in four weeks.

Coming from a school where you had less than a week to make each garment, the idea of having four weeks to work on a single outfit is THRILLING. I have to make something amazing this time. Not only do I have to recover from a failing grade on my last project, but I need to show people that I am not The American Girl That Sucks At Fashion School. No, fuck other people- I need to show MYSELF that I am not that girl. I feel like that girl a lot these days.

I was e-catching up with a very dear friend of mine from San Francisco yesterday, and I mentioned that I failed my first project. He congratulated me. He said, "I wish our last school had failed me more. I turned in total shit sometimes, and they still passed me because they were afraid of giving real criticism. You used to bitch about the lack of honest grading all the time, remember?" I do remember. One of my biggest complaints about my last school was the lack of constructive criticism. What I turned in was always above average (because our average was so low) and so I almost never got any sort of feedback about how to improve my work.

In fact I have found in the past week that failing my last project has been freeing in ways I could never have anticipated. I am not a model student here, I am not a shining example of anything. I tried, and I failed. Suddenly I am not in a guilt-ridden panic about skipping sewing class. Suddenly I am not terrified of disappointing my teachers. Suddenly I find that school is no longer about grades and doing well by any traditional standards. School is now about Me, and What I Get From It.

Many of the major fashion designers to come out of CSM (Alexander McQueen, Galliano, Stella McCartney, Zac Posen, Gareth Pugh, Hussein Chalayan, etc) have stated in interviews that they didn't receive high marks at school. I've heard that some of the tutors downright despised their work. Yet these are innovative designers at the top of their field.

It's funny that a failing grade should grant me an entirely new perspective on school and my role as a student. School is no longer about getting impressive marks from my tutors or trying to be a shining golden student at the top of my class. I now see that my tutors are there to inform me, to assist me in making the things I see in my head come to life. I am not beholden to them or their opinions of me or my work. I am the one in control. This is my education, and it is their job to facilitate my learning. If they don't like my aesthetic, so what? I'm not here to please anyone but myself. So anyone who doesn't like it can go to hell.