Confessions of a Beauty School Graduate, Part Six
And Why It's a Sham
At the tail-end of the sophomore semester, just before Charlie left on maternity leave, it was time for the academy's Fashion and Hair Show. The whole academy mingled together for the project; instructors rallied together and formed our groups for us. I hated mine. It was with two egotistical freshmen. One a pretty boy, whom all the girls loved but that Raya, Charlie, and myself suspected was gay; another was an idiotic girl whose name was Rica.
Models were provided for us, some from agencies, others just really tall friends or relatives of one the students. My group didn't even have models, nor did they have clothing, a solid theme, and no one wanted my input. By this time, I was still loosely involved in modeling. I could have provided both models and clothing, but they refused to have me do a thing. Finally, we got around to a theme, models, and somehow Miss Rico would provide clothes. They finally decided I should do makeup because I was good at it, even though I hated makeup. Also, people tend not to understand that just because you're good at doing your OWN makeup, that does not mean you are a good makeup artist with other people.
My model was snobby, late, and didn't want to be there once she arrived. My group's theme was "rock and roll," which was so typical and cliché that I couldn't wrap my head around it. I could, however, provide the look they were going for...so I thought. I gave my model a dark, shimmering smokey eye. Rica stopped me mid-makeup:
"That's too much."
"You guys wanted this look. I'm doing exactly what you asked for."
"It's way too much."
The model looks in the mirror, and even as fussy as she was, she liked it. "I think it's cool. Aren't you guys doing like, a rock theme anyway?"
Rica insisted, calling Pretty Boy over. He agreed with her, while the model and I insisted. Finally, I shoved my makeup in my bag, claiming Pretty Boy and Rica had been trying to keep me from having a task to begin with other than makeup, which they knew I didn't want.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you guys were jealous." They looked stunned as the words left my mouth. The fear of the truth was in their very expressions. Finally, I took it to the instructors, who played favoritism, and said I needed to listen to them. Myself, Pretty Boy, Rica, and an instructor named Kat were seated in the café. I was borderline OK until Pretty Boy shot up and cried, "This bitch—!" He had no idea who he was talking to. He learned rather quickly. I shot up baring my teeth like a lion, eyes focused as if on the verge of clawing him to death with my gaze. He attempted to apologize, stammering. His demeanor went from tough guy to mouse in seconds. Ignoring his plea, I turned to the instructor, she was motionless.
"You're going to allow him to call me a bitch? Is that how things run in this school?" All three were speechless, shaking my head, I looked back at Pretty Boy, saying, "YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF, ASSHOLE. I QUIT! I'LL FIND ANOTHER GROUP. GO FUCK YOURSELF!" Fuming, I looked back at the instructor again, shaking my head one last time, I stormed up from the table and walked out of the café.
Without anyone's permission, other than Raya and Charlie's, I joined their group. Our models were kind and funny, and all of us got along. I was free to do the makeup according to their theme, which was simply haute couture. Charlie's sister was a fashion designer who provided our wardrobe. We divided up the tasks so that everyone got to do a little of everything; all three of us took part in makeup, hair, and putting outfits together for our models. It was wonderful. The fashion show was my first taste of how things were run not only at the school, but in most of the industry as well. It was only the tip of iceberg. Unfortunately, in the future, I would have more cutthroat battles that would be harder to walk away from.