Creative Fashion Piece Done For Print Fashion Magazine – Min A. Lee

Story of a girl, story of a boy.

It’s a concrete jungle, a continual roll of nine to five, same people, same offices lining 23rd street and 6th avenue, and that epic flat iron building seen in every commercial across the United States… I was bored; bored of my pencil skirt, the same brown skirt from the department stores on 34th street, bored of my blazer and my plain, stiff cotton button-down blouse that felt like it was choking me, and looking at a sea of non-ending suits.  Damn this 8:55am rush of boredom, but…wait…wait! What is that I see weaving through the crowd ahead?

Spiked prints of high contrast, a butterfly with its elaborate wings, a form of art walking towards me, and confidence that pours forth that those going past seem to step off farther to the side.  Now, this was something to be desired, a step away from boredom—no, a leap, a giant leap away into a new stylistic world with no boundaries, no boring black pumps and no overly ironed workwear.

Dark hues? Yes, but with a structured perplexity done to attract eyes.  This is my chance to break way from my monotonous form, spread a pair of adorned wings, and catalyze my new SKINGRAFT.

Story of a boy.

I would frequent the same hipster bombarded coffee spot walking to work every morning.  By no means am I considered a hipster in any regard, so the question that flows to mind is “why?” Why would I continuously find my steps leading me in the direction of a place I would never stop?  Why would I purposely order this ridiculously slow-drip, artisanal brew even though I have about five minutes to get to my desk before the late points accumulate to a write-up?

For him.

For piercing blue eyes, and a quiet demeanor that would meet me every time from behind the counter.  From his mysterious aura to the outspoken way he dressed when he’d step out for a cigarette break after handing me my cup, and this silly infatuation that made me transition to a complete morning person.  He never asks me name, but I don’t mind.  In my shyness, it is enough to just have those too few minutes waiting for my drink every morning and wishing he wore a name tag.

(Interestingly, based on a friend from my old job!  She should stop being so shy and just ask the guy out!)