DD the fashion designer
DD, aged seven, wants to be an art teacher, a rock star or a fashion designer when she grows up. While I bear no responsibility for the art teacher idea, nor the rock star, I have to confess to having placed the idea of the fashion designer in her head myself.
Perhaps I’m living vicariously through her.
You see, despite having both an aunt and a grannie who were professional artists, I could never draw. It was so bad I was thrown out of art class aged just 12 for using a ruler when told to draw a telephone for art homework (the straight lines were important to me).
Apparently, art should not involve a ruler, but a free hand. The (young, blonde, married) teacher was so appalled she threw me into metalwork class where I fashioned an enamelled copper brooch of a pig’s bum with a curly tail and gave it to my mum for Mother’s Day (what a sense of humour the metalwork teacher had). The art teacher, meanwhile, went on to sleep with one of my classmates (male, handsome, at least).
I don’t think she liked girls.
Anyway, I could never draw. I was also always pretty rubbish at fashion. Having worn school uniform from age five to 18, I really struggled out in the real world. I only feel it’s in the last five years that I’ve found a sense of my sartorial self, so it staggers me when DD effortlessly puts together amazing outfits.
In fact, I love having her in the changing room when I’m shopping, because she makes or breaks an outfit in a second. “Mummy, that’s so not your colour,” she’ll say, rolling her eyes. Or, “Why are you trying on those trousers when you know that shape doesn’t suit you?” or “Mummy, it’s really not that ‘wow’.”
At the weekend, I found a couple of drawings she’d made of fashion outfits for fictional figures.
“Do you want to design some more outfits, and we’ll take them to the tailor and get them made up for you to wear?” I asked her in a fit of parental madness, and with a long, hot summer looming.
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “Really?” she said.
“Yes! And, if your friends like them, we could get more made and you could hold fashion shows and sell your clothes for charity,” I told her (madly) while DH looked on in what can only be described as shock.
“Yes! Yes! I’m going to design a whole collection,” she yelped, disappearing upstairs with her Maped Color Peps and a load of recycled paper.
What on earth have I done?