Facing reality

A week full of long hours and hard commutes has left me feeling a bit disillusioned by the industry.  I pick up a magazine, flick through to the stockist directory to see what brands have been featured, have a quick look at the main fashion, and get back to my excel spreadsheets.  Last night i was on the train and had the depressing thought that all fashion was, was a continuous struggle for product placement. The industry is fed by brands who compete for the same space in publications, in the hope that (as the chain of command leads up) the design team will be satisfied with the coverage attained; the demands are high and expectations even higher.  Perhaps i am stating nothing out of the ordinary, but i have never been a cynic, and so to find myself viewing the industry that i love so much in such a way is a metaphorical slap in the face.

I'd like to think that it isn't naivety that keeps me enamored with the magic of fashion.  The clothes, the stories and the images all keep me believing that creativity in the industry is still rife, and for all of us to be a part of this in our own small way is an honour.  However, the relationships between brands and their prs, advertisers and press all start to highlight that although fashion is magic, above all fashion is business.  It is a multi-billion pound industry and it is taken incredibly seriously.  You might have the most incredible collection, but without the right coverage, press or contacts a goldfish has more chance of climbing up the ladder of success.

I think it all comes down to the fact that in order to work in an industry such as this, one needs to strike that careful balance between seeing it as a passion and seeing it through the eyes of a cynic.  Some days you're chasing the dream, and others you're facing the politics.  At any given instant we are all either high-on-life or wallowing in our failures.  Either we're lucky in love or we're excruciatingly lonely.  Stifling hot or bitter cold, soaking wet or parched to the bone.