Fashion Plate: Chapter One
Nov. 1st, 2025 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_siobhanI am drinking my third glass of wine. I usually start earlier, but I've been running behind schedule all week, so here we are.
Maerchen1313 is doing an hour-long stream in the middle of her writing night and she is hilarious. Right now she's talking about writing a poem about sheep in her walls.
Sarah is not my favourite co-worker. We have nothing in common – which to be honest is true of all of my coworkers – but in her case she has taken that as a personal challenge. She has taken to sitting in my cubicle and trying to interest me in whatever is on her mind for what feels like hours. Meanwhile, I would much rather just be getting my work done so I can go home.
But she means well? I guess? So I don’t chase her away, as much as I would really like to.
On Friday, it was all about the people she follows on Tiktok
“And this girl – CatwalkSherpa – is absolutely the person to follow if you want to see what the hottest designers are showing this season.” She was flipping through the videos so fast I could barely see the clothes she was talking about. “But really the person to follow? The one that everybody follows? Is this girl. JenXc1te. She does everything – clothes, makeup, all of it. Look at her profile, she has millions of followers. Because she knows.”
She stopped scrolling and I looked at the screen. A pretty woman with perfect makeup and long carefully waved silver hair was holding up a tray of eye shadows and talking to the camera.
“I’ll send you some links,” she went on. She looked up from her phone and gave my face a careful once-over. “Your hair is a fantastic colour, but you need a better stylist. And I think those waves on your skin are interesting, but they aren’t really in fashion any more.”
We were veering into HR conversations territory and I was going to say so, but her last sentence caught my attention. “Waves on my skin?”
“Yeah, like in the corners of your eyes and under your chin.” She gestured, her finger not quite meeting my skin. “Like I guess you do that with some kind of crimping iron?”
“My wrinkles? Are you talking about my wrinkles Sarah?”
“Whatever you call them.” She gathered up her purse and hopped up from her seat on the corner of my desk. “Anyway, I’ll send you some links.”
I did not click on her fucking links.
<>
Tara has been one of my friends for close to 30 years. When we met she was still in University. She got married ten years ago to a man with young children and for a while we dropped out of each others orbits, but now that they are teenagers she has more free time and we try to get together for coffee once in a while to catch up.
“I’m not going to lie, I’m exhausted.” Tara looked exhausted. “Teenagers are hard, and it’s not because of the kids, they’re great. It’s all the social pressures. How do I navigate trying to give a boy his independence when his friends are talking him that Andrew Tate has a point of view that’s worth listening to? Or a girl who is looked at with pity because I won’t pay for whatever overpriced nonsense their favourite influerncer is peddling? Pity! Bullying was easier than this, I swear.”
“Professional influencer is the weirdest job to come out of the twenty-frist century, I swear.” I finished my coffee. “That woman at work I’m always complaining about was trying to push her favourite influencer on me.”
Tara gave me a wry smile. “Let me guess. JenXc1te?”
I laughed, startled. “Yes! Oh hell, she really is that popular?”
“She is the number one fashion influencer in the world right now. I am so sorry you had to learn about her.” Tara swallwed the last slug of her own coffee and started to gather her things. “Anyway, I have to hit the library before I head home. Feel like walking with me?”
“For sure.” I stood up and pulled on my hoodie.
“Anyway, I think you’re wrong about influencers, they’re just models who have gone self-promo, like musicians had to do. The weirdest job is AMSR artist.”
“AI prompt writer,” I suggested
Tara’s laugh floated behind her as we left the coffee shop. "OK, how about..."
Maerchen1313 is doing an hour-long stream in the middle of her writing night and she is hilarious. Right now she's talking about writing a poem about sheep in her walls.
Sarah is not my favourite co-worker. We have nothing in common – which to be honest is true of all of my coworkers – but in her case she has taken that as a personal challenge. She has taken to sitting in my cubicle and trying to interest me in whatever is on her mind for what feels like hours. Meanwhile, I would much rather just be getting my work done so I can go home.
But she means well? I guess? So I don’t chase her away, as much as I would really like to.
On Friday, it was all about the people she follows on Tiktok
“And this girl – CatwalkSherpa – is absolutely the person to follow if you want to see what the hottest designers are showing this season.” She was flipping through the videos so fast I could barely see the clothes she was talking about. “But really the person to follow? The one that everybody follows? Is this girl. JenXc1te. She does everything – clothes, makeup, all of it. Look at her profile, she has millions of followers. Because she knows.”
She stopped scrolling and I looked at the screen. A pretty woman with perfect makeup and long carefully waved silver hair was holding up a tray of eye shadows and talking to the camera.
“I’ll send you some links,” she went on. She looked up from her phone and gave my face a careful once-over. “Your hair is a fantastic colour, but you need a better stylist. And I think those waves on your skin are interesting, but they aren’t really in fashion any more.”
We were veering into HR conversations territory and I was going to say so, but her last sentence caught my attention. “Waves on my skin?”
“Yeah, like in the corners of your eyes and under your chin.” She gestured, her finger not quite meeting my skin. “Like I guess you do that with some kind of crimping iron?”
“My wrinkles? Are you talking about my wrinkles Sarah?”
“Whatever you call them.” She gathered up her purse and hopped up from her seat on the corner of my desk. “Anyway, I’ll send you some links.”
I did not click on her fucking links.
<>
Tara has been one of my friends for close to 30 years. When we met she was still in University. She got married ten years ago to a man with young children and for a while we dropped out of each others orbits, but now that they are teenagers she has more free time and we try to get together for coffee once in a while to catch up.
“I’m not going to lie, I’m exhausted.” Tara looked exhausted. “Teenagers are hard, and it’s not because of the kids, they’re great. It’s all the social pressures. How do I navigate trying to give a boy his independence when his friends are talking him that Andrew Tate has a point of view that’s worth listening to? Or a girl who is looked at with pity because I won’t pay for whatever overpriced nonsense their favourite influerncer is peddling? Pity! Bullying was easier than this, I swear.”
“Professional influencer is the weirdest job to come out of the twenty-frist century, I swear.” I finished my coffee. “That woman at work I’m always complaining about was trying to push her favourite influencer on me.”
Tara gave me a wry smile. “Let me guess. JenXc1te?”
I laughed, startled. “Yes! Oh hell, she really is that popular?”
“She is the number one fashion influencer in the world right now. I am so sorry you had to learn about her.” Tara swallwed the last slug of her own coffee and started to gather her things. “Anyway, I have to hit the library before I head home. Feel like walking with me?”
“For sure.” I stood up and pulled on my hoodie.
“Anyway, I think you’re wrong about influencers, they’re just models who have gone self-promo, like musicians had to do. The weirdest job is AMSR artist.”
“AI prompt writer,” I suggested
Tara’s laugh floated behind her as we left the coffee shop. "OK, how about..."