I’m sat in our little wooden showroom awaiting a customer.
This is a rush bespoke (I know!) order and this will be the first time to customer sees her outfit. This is the customer I wrote about earlier.
It’s 45 minutes before 10am. I’ve been in a terrible depressed mood since yesterday and this is the last 45 minutes of the torture.
I just want it to be over. Even if something really bad happens I want it to be over quickly.
Then, and only then can I maybe relax.
I go through the usual scenarios. What if it doesn’t fit? What if she hates it? What do I do if she screams, or cries or punches me in the face? What if …. she unclips her jaw, removes the top of her head to reveal a monster and gobbles me up alive?
My stomach is whirling, not in that excited way and I can feel my hands going numb. My whole body is rejecting the situation.
But in 45 minutes I’ll be opening the door, full of smiles and greetings. Showing her the outfit. She’ll try it on. It will either be right or will need some adjusting, we’ll have a chat and the lady will leave.
Bespoke, custom, couture whatever you want to call it will always be part of my work. There will always be times where I should say yes and I am going to have to get used to this routine. I’ve been doing it for three years and nothing bad has really happened except I’m 20,000 in debt.
Do I blame these orders? I’d be stupid to blame what has in reality taught me a lot about customer service and the nature of bespoke work. It’s nice transforming people to look good but it will never be your best work.
And for this they need to pay properly.
Chanel apparently charge $90,000+ for their couture service and I’m pretty sure they don’t let you dictate how the dress will look design wise. And they still make a loss on couture. I charge under £900.
But, if an inspiring person asked me to work on a dream project for them then of course I’d say yes. But career / portfolio / work must come first otherwise I’ll be dead with just some plus size tunics behind me.
Half an hour to go. I’m off the puke. Or at least try to.
indiedesignersurvival 