Looking Back

Rereading my old posts this evening I have noticed a few things. First, I think it is safe to safe that I have had a really tough year. I wanted London to be an exciting adventure, and instead it has been an absolute trial. But the second thing I noticed is how I have changed so much since I moved here nine months ago.

In my reading I ran across this entry, entitled I Hope Nostalgia Makes This All Seem Better dated 18 November of last year. I talked about hoping that I would look back on that first term when I faced my fear of failing and think about it as a good ol' learning experience. Turns out that the learning experience I would look back on would be an entire year of consistent failing and fighting and picking myself up over and over again. I had no idea what was coming for me.

I had no idea that I would learn to accept failure and get over it quickly. I had no idea I was capable of being smacked down so many times and getting back up again. I had no idea what hard work really was in fact.

I had no idea that the hard work would not pay off. I had no idea that the school would be run by rule-enforcing monkeys who see in black and white. I had no idea that CSM would in fact turn out to be a fantastic school for students who already know exactly how to do what CSM wants. I had no idea that I would learn so much DESPITE CSM and not BECAUSE of it. The girl who wrote that entry would never have guesed that she would be so fed up with the bullshit at CSM that she would secretly be glad they were throwing here out so she could pursue other interests.

I had no idea that I would ever be able to get an internship. And NEVER would I have guessed that I would have the presence of mind to choose to stay in London and seek out opportunities instead of going back to the comfort of my boyfriend. The girl that wrote that on the 18th of November had no idea about anything.

And yet despite all of it, I still struggle with many of the same things I always have. The long distance relationship is still incredibly difficult for me. That has not gotten any easier- in fact it has gotten more difficult the longer I stay here. I still face the same hurdles when I get stressed out. I still struggle with feeling insignificant and untalented when faced with the talented people I study with. I am still prone to fits of utter hopelessness and despair when faced with an impossible situation, and I still find myself being unreasonably furious at The Boy when he isn't there to give me a hug and calm me down. I still find that although I am MUCH better at taking criticism, I do not have a sense of confidence within myself that will ever match the strength of complimentary words from others.

It if for all these reasons that I know I am not ready to leave Europe. I am not the person I want to be when I return home. I am far from it. But someday maybe I will get to look back on this year and find that nostalgia will allow me to see the value in the experience.

It wasn't a total waste.

A Random Day with Absolutely No Homework

In the unexpected heat yesterday, I found myself at a fascinating talk at the Architectural Association about the future of cities and architecture. I only caught the last three speakers, but it gave me lots of food for thought for my own design.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the talk was organized by the writer of one of my favorite blogs, BLDGBLOG. If you have any interest in architecture, urban spaces, or the history of cities, keep an eye out for the BLDGBLOG book that is being released in a few weeks in the UK. This man is utterly brilliant. I approached him at the end of the talk and said his work was fantastic. I think I might have creeped him out a little. Sorry!

I went to see my friend Warren Ellis speak, but I was most intrigued by the speaker right before him- Francois Roche (sorry Warren, you know I still care). The way he approaches the design of a new building makes each of his structures feel like a story is being written. His focus is always on the process of creation, the cycle of death and life. Good stuff! I will follow his work from now on, and you should too.

That would be me, far right.


At the end of the talk, which was being live streamed, I gave Warren a congratulatory hug. Apparently the live stream was still going and Warren immediately began getting emails asking who I was. Shortly thereafter I got about 30 new followers on Twitter. Funny, that. If only I was an artist with a body of work I could be using this publicity for!

Warren and I then proceeded to a nearby pub and, forgetting that neither of us had eaten since that morning, got each other very drunk very quickly. I stumbled home and he hopped on a train and I ended my day curled up in a warm bed after a sympathetic room mate made this drunken redhead pasta.

And now, back to the regularly scheduled program: homework homework homework.

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.

High Heels and a Short Short Skirt

Today I wore black high heeled boots, gray tights, and a very short black dress under an "old man" sweater. I live in a devout Muslim neighborhood, see. I got this look a lot today:

I think people thought I was a stripper all day. Also, the heels made me about 6'2", so that didn't help me blend into my surroundings, either....

Catching Up: Everything Else

In the last week and a half I have been in a minor car accident in a cab (yes, I am alright), invited to a high school reunion of sorts, got my sleek white G1 phone that I LOVE (which thankfully allows me to feel connected to the world again), bruised my right hand to the point of sporting a purple egg-shaped swollen thumb for a few days, given directions to IKEA delivery people, carried huge heavy boxes all the way to my dorm room before building all the furniture, and found out that my older brother is getting married on April 1st (no, it's not a joke).

On top of that I took my friends from out of town to see Roger Hiorn's Seizure, began wearing hats, learned that leather boots do not protect your feet from the rain, and have been in good with the gods that decide who gets a cold from the constant chill of London.

I currently have two plants that will undoubtedly die at my hands in the coming weeks, and a new set of red flannel sheets (thank you boyfriend!). I have FINALLY fixed the broken item that arrived in my moving boxes, and have unpacked the last box of stuff I've had sitting around for weeks in my dorm room. I am in the process of setting up a claim to get back all the VAT charges customs threw at me last month, and assisted our pattern drafting teacher last week with teaching the class (which was so much fun, I will go into more detail later!)

Obama won the election and I almost cried from happiness when I found out. For the first time in my adult life I don't feel the need to apologize for being an American. I see people on the train reading the paper with a huge picture of Obama on the front and I feel like telling them that I voted for him, that I was a part of that. It's a good feeling, and I am still thrilled every time I think about our next president!

So things are busy, things are good, and I have five weeks to make something amazing and beautiful before I fly home for the holidays. Whew! So much to do....

On Travel and the American Mindset Against It

On the walk home from the market yesterday my classmate and I compared notes. Being from Australia she has a very different sense of the world than I do. It got me thinking...

As a young person living on an isolated continent, there is an expectation in Australia that you will travel the world. This girl is only 23 and has been to so many places she can't even recall them all. She tells me that while she and a friend would be wandering the streets of Hong Kong or New Delhi, she would often run into other Australians doing the same thing.

In contrast I've grown up in a country that has an inflated sense of self. There is a deep rooted feeling engrained into us that America has it all, and has it the best... so why bother traveling, right?

It is incredibly expensive to travel within the US, much less outside of it. There are many roadblocks and issues to deal with when you leave the country. Just preparing to travel can be a very big chore. It's like they want to make you feel guilty for wanting something more than America. "I'm sorry, I really want to visit Burma, is that okay with you?" you're supposed to ask.

In America travel is seen as a luxury. People who travel often are "lucky" and living an exotic lifestyle. But in Australia, you're an idiot if you don't leave the island. How different the mindset must be to grow up feeling that it is natural and important to travel to unfamiliar places, instead of feeling that it's unusually decadent to fly coach to another country for a week.

I spent the walk home listening to my classmate, realizing I have missed out on a important part of life. And I promised myself that I would take steps to change that fact because I feel so ignorant of the goings on in the world around me. I suppose that is the result of growing up in a culture that encourages us to stay put, and be proud of it. America! Fuck yeah!

American Politics

And on a much more important topic than my own petty little complaints, this is great. Colin Powell endorses Obama:

Going With the Flow (of Drinks)

It began innocently enough as a trip to the supermarket to buy dinner fixings. But on the way it was suggested that we get a drink at a local pub and scope out the Friday night scene.

My favorite room mate and I found a not-too-busy pub in which we could have a pint (we seemed to favor anything ending in "berg" or "bourg") and observe the Brits in their natural, drunken state. Drink had, dirt shared, boys avoided, we began to head back home to buy groceries and cook dinner. But on the way we passed a little park next to the church that some satanist had designed and decided that we wanted to see this strange structure in the park (it made me feel the need to read From Hell again).

At the entrance of the darkened park a small group of young guys were taking a smoke break. As we passed one of them immediately said, "you two alright? Know your way around and all that?" His friendly tone was warmed by a charming Irish accent. We appreciated his concern, introduced ourselves, and spent a good half hour smoking with Irishmen in a darkened Satanist's church park on a Friday evening.

During our initial search for a good pub, my room mate and I had noted a funny little underground bar that used to be an underground toilet, we think. It looked a little dodgy though, and had avoided it. But turns out our new friends were taking a break from a birthday party being held at that very bar. So a few minutes later my room mate and I were underground, doing tequila shots with cute Irish boys and a very drunk birthday girl (whose name I never did get, oops).

You know you're in England when people comment on how your smile is nice because your teeth are even. Lucky for me that they are, because I smiled a lot that evening as I got progressively drunker and enjoyed the attentions of a number of very sweet boys, while dancing with girls I didn't even know.

Very drunk, and still without dinner, my room mate and I stumbled home around midnight to scavenge for food in the kitchen. I began to eat some yogurt, a piece of ham, and a toaster waffle while she sorted something out with another student in our building. While I was waiting for her I decided that I needed a glass of water to stop my head from falling off my neck. But my Brita filter was all the way in my bedroom. I slowly shuffled down the hall, grabbed the water filter off my desk, and that's when everything changed. See, I spotted my bed. And that tiny little uncomfortable mattress has never looked so good, so welcoming, so comfortable as it did in that moment. I downed the water and collapsed onto my messy unmade bed. Next thing I knew, my room mate was at my side giggling and pulling my boots off.

"Wait, no, I must have stinky feet..." I mumbled.

"I don't care, stupid," she said and pulled my boots off.

"Wait, I have food on the table. I nee-"

"I'll take care of it. Here, drink some water, get some sleep." She handed me a glass of water, kissed my cheek, threw my quilt over me and closed the door.

I mumbled "thank you," as she left, but I don't know if she heard me.


Best. Room mate. Ever.


And so ended my first Friday night drinking in London.


My head hurts...

If a Woodchuck Could Chuck Wood.....

Today on the tube I saw a girl eating a bag of crisps. Only they were shaped like chips. But they were clearly crunchy, and thusly could not be considered chips. The bag said French Fries on it, but they were made in England. So was she eating crispy chips, or chip-shaped crisps?

I Am Not One of You, Even Though I Am

Being an American in a foreign country seems to attract two types of people. One is the kind of person that is just as excited to meet new people from other parts of the world as I am. The other kind I seem to attract is other Americans.

I have heard that Americans are seen as this cliquish group that doesn't socialize well, and now I see why. I have been making a point of talking with people from all over the world- I mean, if you're not eager, or at least willing to do that, why come all the way here? What is up with the "you're American? I'm American, let's be best friends!" attitude?

I think that some people assume that because I dye my hair a certain way, I am a certain kind of person. But I am not that girl. I dress in a lot of weird ways and dye my hair red (and black, and blonde, and brown, and burgandy, and....). I listen to everything from Billie Holiday to Gary Numan to SiSe to The Beatles, and generally lean towards the indie kid scene more than anything else.

I might be an American in London, but I am not looking to meet Americans while I'm here. I can do that in America, thanks.

Pink Pound

I love the term "The Pink Pound".

Alright

Let's say you're at work and you cross paths with someone you know, but neither of you wants to stop and chat. You might ask, "how's it going?" or "how're you?" and they will most likely say, "fine!" and keep walking.

In England, it seems that if I pass someone and ask, "how're you?" they will stop and answer honestly, starting a conversation. It seems to me that the British equivalent of "how's it going?" is "alright?"

I walked into a store I've been in before and the cashier smiled and said, "alright, then?" I nodded and smiled. And I've heard it on the street many times when I've bumped into someone vaguely familiar from the dorm I'm in. "Alright?" they ask, and keep walking.

I am so used to saying hello and "how's it going?" when I meet people that this is going to take some getting used to. Until I feel comfortable saying "alright" I will just have to accept that I'll be the cause of some confusion, as I ask how people are and then walk away without stopping to listen to their answers.

On Living Elsewhere

"Ohmigod, I HATE how I don't know any of the brands here. Everything is different. It's SO annoying," someone said to me.

And this illustrates why some people will not make the most of this experience studying abroad. If small differences frustrate you, perhaps you shouldn't put yourself in the midst of a different culture for a number of years.

At first glance, living in English culture doesn't seem like that much of a stretch for an American. We speak the "same" language, and live in what appears to be very similar ways. But I have found that our two cultures are unexpectedly different. Being a fashion designer I think of it like shopping for fabric. From a distance, satin is satin is satin. But touch the satin, and you'll find the fibers in the fabrics are completely different.

In the week that I've lived here, I have already found that the differences between our cultures are many, and often subtle. But the words and lifestyle often seem deceptively similar, and it is easy to forget that I am living in an entirely different culture over here.

So I suppose there is a tiny bit of culture shock happening for my room mates and I. But unlike my room mate who likes to complain about it, I am having the best time with it! I am really enjoying this opportunity to observe Brits in their natural habitat and learn from these creatures that are so similar to my own species.

Before I left the states I was terribly nervous that I would appear to be one of those stupid, ignorant American tourists. But luckily I haven't found that to be much of a problem. In fact today I even gave directions to two English women. Go me!

When I woke up this morning it was beautiful and sunny. Inspired by this rare California-style heat, I decided to expand my knowledge of the local-ish neighborhood. I wandered down to Brick Lane and walked all the way up to Commercial Street where I meandered up and down the various streets and alleys in the area until I noticed shops were closing up. My afternoon revealed two local fabric stores (yeay!), a number of restaurants I absolutely must try, two of the most incredible vintage shops I've ever been to (and I have been to many), three contenders for the "Local Comfy Coffee Shop" title, and most importantly that I don't come across as an American who doesn't want to be here.