Chloe by Design: Making the Cut

by Margaret Gurevich

  “But you decided not to use them,” I say. “That’s what’s important.”

  Daphne shrugs. “I guess. I hate that I thought about it at all, though.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I say, patting Daphne’s arm. “This competition makes it really easy to doubt yourself.”

  Daphne sniffles. “You didn’t.”

  I take a deep breath. I really don’t want to get into all my self-doubt, especially in front of the cameras. But I’m not perfect, and I don’t need people thinking I am. “That’s not true,” I tell her. “I’ve doubted myself plenty. Especially at the beginning. I couldn’t figure out what I needed to do to make it to the top. I thought maybe my designs weren’t good enough and that my being here was a mistake.”

  Daphne looks surprised. “But you always seem so put together.”

  I laugh in disbelief. Put together? Me? I never thought I’d hear those words. “Can you put that in writing, please? I never feel that way.”

  “Everyone thinks so,” Daphne says. I must look nervous, because she quickly adds, “Not that we talk about you. Just, you know, after the past few wins, Derek, Shane, and I were saying you’re the one to beat.”

  I’m the big competition? I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. I guess I was so busy focusing on my own flaws that I didn’t take the time to realize everyone else is scared too. Daphne and I sit quietly for a few minutes. Suddenly, our phones buzz at the same time. That can only mean one thing — a new challenge.

  Daphne looks at her screen. “The judges want to see everyone downstairs in an hour.”

  “Fantastic,” I say. “Better go shower and make myself look presentable.”

  “Same here,” says Daphne. “And, hey, thanks for listening.”

  “Anytime,” I say. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to here. And you made the right choice.”

  “I’ll keep telling myself that,” says Daphne. “Even if I lose, at least I will have lost fairly, right?”

  I grin. “Right. But we won’t lose.”

  Daphne smiles ruefully. “That’s a nice thought, Chloe, but somebody has to.”

  An hour later, all the designers are back in the lobby. This time, the regular judges — Hunter, Missy, and Jasmine — are all there too.

  “By now I’m sure you’ve all head about what happened with Sam,” Missy says. “Because of that, Sam will no longer be with us.”

  I glance over at Shane to see how he’s holding up without his twin here. It’s hard to tell, though. The whole time Missy speaks, Shane stares at the floor.

  “I’d like to say this has never happened before, but honestly, I can’t,” Jasmine says. “We realize that this is a high-pressure competition, and sometimes that gets to people. You’re all young, and this is a learning experience. So let’s do this last leg right. Believe in yourselves. You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t believe in you.”

  “Unfortunately, Sam’s disqualification from the competition has forced us to alter our elimination schedule,” Hunter chimes in apologetically. “The good news is that means we’ll be giving you the rest of the week off so we can regroup and adjust the schedule. The bad news is there’s now only one challenge left before we’re down to the final three.”

  “That’s it?” Daphne cries. She looks a little frantic. “But why not have two challenges and eliminate one person in each?”

  Hunter looks sympathetic. “That was the plan, but in light of recent events, we decided it was a better idea to give you more time in the final task. We’ll have another challenge next week, after which two designers will be eliminated. The remaining three will go on to the final challenge and compete for the grand prize — an internship with a world-class designer. For the final challenge, you will be permitted to use one of your own items. We’ll air the results live the following week.”

  Around me, the remaining designers look worried. I don’t blame them. There are only five of us left — me, Nina, Daphne, Derek, and Shane — and this is a lot of information to take in at once. Instead of two more challenges to prove ourselves, we only have one. Hunter sounded like he wanted to take some of the pressure off, but all this has done is add more.

  I try to remember Liesel’s advice about staying positive and what Jake said about making a connection with the tasks. I’ve made it this far, I think. What’s one more challenge? I look at the camera guys and give them what I hope looks like a winning smile.

  Take that, pressure.

  Sunday night I dream of dresses. They come out of closets and drawers, one by one. I’m trapped in a sea of pastels, sequins, and lace as the dresses march in a parade all their own. A taffeta gown sails over my head and shiny crinoline joins it. Some have tacky sashes, others V-necks and open backs. They lead me to a room packed with party dresses. There’s no room to stand or sit, so I squeeze myself into a corner while the dresses dance.

  My sketchpad appears, and I make notes about the dresses, but suddenly Jasmine whisks it out of my hand. “The task starts now!” she says.

  My breathing quickens as I try to grab materials and scissors, but all the other designers are there too, and they get to them first.

  “Keep up the pace!” Hunter yells.

  Out of nowhere, Missy calls time and rings a bell.

  I jolt awake, sweaty with panic, still hearing the bell. I try to clear my head, but the bell rings and rings. Suddenly I realize where the noise is coming from — my phone. I reach for it, groggy and confused, and read the text. I have to be in the lobby in one hour to start the next challenge.

  With a groan, I pull the pillow over my head and try to collect my thoughts, but the parade of dresses keeps flashing behind my closed eyes.

  * * *

  When I get downstairs, it’s like my dress dream has come to life. In the lobby, I see rack after rack of party dresses and fancy suits. But they’re not fabulous by any means — they’re hideous. Most of them are styles I’ve only seen in ancient fashion magazines or eighties movies. I pinch myself to make sure I’m not still dreaming. Ouch! Definitely awake.

  “Welcome to your next challenge,” Jasmine says. “As you know, today’s task will determine who makes it to the final three. Because of the complexity of this assignment, you’ll be allowed to consult with your mentors. And you’ll have the whole day — a total of six hours — to complete your designs.”

  I get Liesel and a whole day to design and sew? I think. What could possibly be better than that?

  “To make things even more exciting,” Jasmine continues, “I’d like to introduce our guest judge for today’s challenge.” She turns to face a nearby door, and a short, redheaded woman steps out. “Please welcome Mallory Kane, the creator of TooDressy.com. For those of you not familiar with the site, it’s a rental-clothing business. The winner of this challenge will not only have his or her design added to the site — it will also be showcased as the formal piece of the month.”

  Daphne and I exchange excited looks. Holy cow! My best friend, Alex, and I are obsessed with that site. They have the most amazing designer pieces at, like, a fraction of the cost. To have my design be one of the choices? That would be unbelievable.

  Missy seems to sense our excitement. “There are definitely perks to this challenge, but it won’t be easy,” she says. “Take your time examining the items in front of you. Think about what you like and what you don’t.”

  The rest of the designers and I immediately make a beeline for the rack of dresses. Some are smooth and velvety while others are made of satin, silk, taffeta, and spandex. I try to take in all the colors — from the obnoxious ones covered in bling to the muted taupes.

  At least there’s stuff to work with, I think. With a few design tweaks, I could probably transform these into something wearable.

  After a few minutes, Hunter calls us back from the racks. “I hope you had some time to think o
f a vision for your design,” he begins, smiling slyly.

  Something about his smile tells me my confidence might have been premature.

  “Each of these ensembles has the potential to become something beautiful,” Hunter continues, “if you go on what you see, that is.”

  What else would I go on? I think. Ugh. I hate it when the judges are cryptic. I glance at over at Nina, Derek, Shane, and Daphne, but they look confused too.

  “For this challenge,” Jasmine says, taking the lead on the explanation, “you will have to remake one of the pieces on the rack into something that would be wearable and fashionable by today’s standards.”

  I can see everyone relax. That’s exactly what I was thinking. But then Jasmine, Hunter, and Missy walk up to the racks and start turning everything inside out.

  What are they doing? I wonder.

  “The hard part,” says Missy with a grin, “is that you will have to transform the dress or suit as seen from the inside out.”

  I put my head in my hands. Suddenly an entire day of designing and sewing doesn’t seem like enough time at all. What am I going to do with the seams? How will I get the fabric to look how I want? I think, feeling panicky.

  It’s not just me. Shane looks shell-shocked. Even usually confident and upbeat Derek seems a little thrown by the challenge. Suddenly my dreams of making it to the top three seem farther away than ever.

  For the first time, when the judges start the clock, the usual scramble for fabric and materials doesn’t happen. No one races to the racks. In fact, no one moves. We all just stare at the clothes in front of us, not sure how to begin.

  Does it even matter which dress I pick anymore? I think. The concept is so far beyond the fabric and style.

  “Hey,” says Liesel, moving to stand at my side. “What are you thinking?”

  “That this is impossible,” I mutter. I notice a cameraman moving closer and avert my gaze. The last thing I need is for my self-doubt to be broadcast on national television.

  Liesel looks at her watch. “I’ll give you five minutes of self-defeatist thoughts — then you have to plan. Deal?”

  I smile. “Deal.” Maybe that’s all I need, I think. To flush out the bad thoughts and then get to work.

  But somehow knowing I have permission to wallow makes it harder to do so. My mind starts drifting to the dresses and what I can do to transform them into something wearable. Do I want short or long? Crinkly or not? Tight or loose?

  Liesel hasn’t called time on my wallowing, but I’m over it. I decide to go for an in-between option and create an asymmetrical hemline. I head back to the rack of dresses and settle on a long one with puffy sleeves and a gold sash. It is about three sizes too big, but the bright emerald green color is so striking I can’t resist. Plus there are minimal seams to deal with, so I grab my sketchpad and start brainstorming.

  Liesel peers over my shoulder at my sketches and nods approvingly. “See, I knew you could do it. That looks great. It’s a really modern take on that dress.”

  Suddenly Hunter appears by my side. And he’s not alone — a camera crew is right there with him. “Can you talk us through your vision?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I say, trying to measure, talk to him, and ignore the cameras at the same time. I make marks by the bust, then put down my fabric pen. Turns out talking and measuring looks a lot easier on television than it is in reality. “My idea is to cut strips from the gold sash and use them to cover the seams.” From the corner of my eye, I see Nina stop what she’s doing to listen in. “I have some cool ideas for the hem and sleeves, too, but I’d like to keep those a surprise.”

  Hunter nods. “A little mystery is always good,” he agrees. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

  Nina frowns but puts on a happy face as soon as Hunter and the camera crew move in her direction. I don’t bother trying to eavesdrop on what she’s saying — I already have my design plan in place. Hearing her plans will just psych me out.

  I slip the dress over the top of my dress form and start pinning the waist and bust to take it in. I work along the existing side seams, then measure where the new hem will be. I’ll have to take off quite a bit of length to make the dress wearable, but the new hemline will be a modern twist on the dress, and the volume will help balance the tight waistline I’m envisioning.

  Once I’ve cut off the bottom half of the dress, as well as the puffy sleeves, I head over to the sewing machine and get to work taking the dress in. Soon I lose myself in the rhythmic hum of the sewing machine. I take my time, making sure my sewing is clean and precise. I don’t need something like that tripping me up at this stage in the competition.

  Once the dress is a more manageable size, I slip it back over my dress form. I still need to add a hidden side zipper, but I’ll do that once I’ve added the fabric strips to define the waist.

  Grabbing the gold sash that went with the original dress, I measure out strips of fabric several inches wide, making sure they’re long enough to wrap around the natural waist of my dress. When I have the strips ready, I brush hair out of my face and step back to get a better look at what I have so far.

  “Nice work,” says Liesel. “Want to break for lunch?”

  I look at my watch and am surprised to see I’ve been at it for three hours. I stretch my hands behind my back and shake out my legs, only now noticing how cramped they are from crouching. “In another hour?” I suggest. “I want to get the metallic strips started before I take a break.”

  Liesel smiles, and I can tell she’s proud of me. “You haven’t even asked for my help!” she says.

  “There’s still time,” I say. For now, I’m on a roll.

  * * *

  The rest of the time flies by. I’ve crisscrossed the gold strips at the natural waist of the dress, and they’re the perfect accent. The metallic fabric contrasts with the gorgeous emerald material on the rest of the dress, and I’ve sewn the strips on the bias to make them more flattering. Now they emphasize the waist perfectly and help disguise the exposed seams.

  I’ve also eliminated the poufy sleeves of the dress and altered the neckline. Nothing too severe — just an elegant boatneck. The higher neckline helps balance out the newly shortened, asymmetrical hem. The overall effect changes the dress from an eighties-themed monstrosity into a sleek, modern gown.

  But with only an hour left on the clock, my nerves start to set in. I still need to make some last-minute tweaks, like adding the hidden zipper to the side and fixing the hemline. It looks a little crooked right now, and I know that won’t fly with the judges.

  “What can I do to help?” Liesel asks.

  “Sew for me?” I say hopefully. But I know that’s the one thing Liesel can’t do. Advise? Yes. Explain? Sure. Do my project for me? A big fat no. “Just kidding,” I say. “What do you think it needs?”

  “I think you need to take the hem out and redo it over here,” Liesel says, voicing exactly what I was thinking.

  “The whole thing?” I say. I immediately feel panicky. “How am I going to finish everything if I have to redo the hem?”

  “You’re not undoing the entire thing,” Liesel says. “It’ll only require minimal sewing to fix it. Trust me.”

  I do. It’s why she’s gotten this far. I reach for the seam ripper that was in my basket, but it’s not there. “Where’d my seam ripper go?” I ask. “It was just here.”

  Liesel rummages through my scraps. “Are you sure?” she asks.

  “Yes.” I get on my hands and knees but don’t see it anywhere.

  “Forget it,” says Liesel. “Get another one.”

  “But it was just here,” I insist.

  Liesel ignores me and grabs another seam ripper. I try to push the missing seam ripper out of my head as I undo the stitching. Lining the hem up carefully to make sure it’s even and straight this time, I sew it back in
to place. “Done!”

  Just then, Nina turns toward me, and I notice a second seam ripper in the basket at her feet. “Why do you have two?” I ask.

  “Two what?” Nina replies innocently.

  “Seam rippers.” I look at the handles. Mine definitely had a blue handle, just like the extra one by Nina’s feet.

  Nina shrugs as the camera crew, sensing some growing tension, surrounds us. “I don’t know,” she says. “It must have rolled over here.”

  “Yeah, from my basket!” I can’t keep my voice down.

  “Don’t blame me if you can’t keep track of your stuff, Chloe,” Nina snaps, turning away.

  “Can’t keep track of my—” I want to lunge at her.

  “Forget it, Chloe,” says Liesel, gently tugging on my arm. “You don’t have much time left. Focus on your design.”

  I know Liesel is right, but it’s hard to focus when I’m so frustrated. And worst of all, the cameras are right there recording everything. It’s going to look like I totally lost my cool — I can only hope they don’t edit it to make me look too crazy.

  “Santa Cruz friendship torn apart by seam ripper!” I imagine the Design Diva commercials saying. Not that there ever was a friendship.

  With a final sigh, I turn away from the cameras to put the finishing touches on my dress. I refuse to let Nina’s underhanded tactics take this away from me.

  When the judges call time, I’m ready. The other contestants and I take our spots next to our mannequins for the judging process, and I try to focus on how pretty my dress turned out instead of worrying about my earlier freak-out.

  Surprisingly, Derek and Shane both opted to create menswear-inspired designs. Menswear isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I’m definitely impressed. It’s a totally different take on the challenge. I almost wish one of their designs could be chosen in addition to one of the dresses Nina, Daphne, and I created.