Swatches, girls and seersucker

What the hell is a swatch?

This was the first semi-academic thought that popped into my head as I sat in the third row of my first fashion design class Monday. According to Merriam-Webster, it’s simply, a sample of cloth or material.

I should’ve figured.

As lost as I might have been in that moment, not much could’ve taken the smile off my face as my wide eyes peered over the room full of chic-minded students sitting in their seats seemingly ready to listen to anything having to do with fabric, sewing or cutting.

But allow me to back up.

Before I even stepped foot in the room, I noticed something pleasantly strange about my peers: they were nearly all girls.

As a matter of fact, in two of my three fashion classes this semester, I counted 10 guys – one of which said he’d be dropping the course.

If I’m being honest, I can’t say I’m mad about these demographics.

The only unpleasant thing I noticed about my classes is I will only be learning to construct women’s clothing this semester, which isn’t even all bad, as I’d planned on learning how to do that anyway.

But I must say, I’ve spent most of my time visualizing fitted V-necks, slim distressed denim, clever gingham button-downs and tailored two-button blazers – all for men.

But I guess those ideas will have to wait.

My classes are in the Fine Arts, Memorial Hall and Woodburn Hall buildings, respectively.

Memorial Hall is where the magic happens, as the basement is where we meet to learn and to design our garments.

In that room, mannequins stand along the back walls, sewing machines are set at 24 different stations throughout the room, sketching paper drapes over a board in the front of the room and fashion rulers, pencils and various tools placed are at each of the stations.

It can be intimidating to the fashionably un-inclined, but for the next two years it’ll probably be my second home.

I must compliment students out there who actually put some minute thought into their back-to-school outfits – instead of trying to pretend they don’t care what they look like.
 
On Monday and Tuesday, I saw Louis Vuitton bags and shades, shawl cardigans, pashmina scarves, skinny jeans with heels, tank dresses and some of the fellas brought out their freshest sneakers.

I then noticed five people sporting seersucker pants, which is a good thing.

I even saw one young gentleman channeling his inner Thom Browne as he strolled by the Indiana Memorial Union in high-cropped gray trousers.

How bold and fashionable of him. He knew what he was doing.

Though, the most encouraging thing of my first experiences as fashion student came in my second day of classes when one of my professors said: “You are all designers, and I want you to think of yourselves as such.”

My eyes lit up and the smile on my face was, again, palpable. I sat back, thought about all the work I’m preparing myself to put forth and took it all in.

Ah, the sweet sound of designer. I could get used to this.