Everyone has people they
look up to. Mentors, muses, or people they aspire to be like. I, like many
other aspiring fashion journalists have a Twitter full of these. Aside from the
celebrity of the moment culture, nothing beats people you can relate to. Maybe
with un-realised dreams. Or a dreamer of the day, that can put pen to paper and
realise their thoughts and dreams so well that you feel like you’re walking on
the clouds of their imagination, where every step you take you fall deeper into
the recesses of their mind.
That’s kind of how I felt
about him. Not an actual friend, but a Twitter friend. Brought together by a
Tweet about Pirates of the Caribbean, we exchanged follows. The fact he was, at
the time, an employee of Conde Nast I have to say intrigued me more. I’d
regularly click onto his website link. Where his short story’s read like pages
dipped in what could only be described as pure enchantment, and the line
between imagination and reality was so blurred that you could do nothing but
get engulfed by his words.
Tweet’s about Martinis
with the ‘Elle girls’, and spending his lunch break dashing off across London
to share a slice of tiramisu with ‘ma petite amie’ only added to the allure. I
sent him an email once. I picked his brain about the industry and which path I
should take. He replied seemingly without hesitation, with a message packed
full of insight and knowledge. An expert in his craft at the tender age of 24,
he had accomplished what many could only dream of.
I did notice his Twitter
submission’s had become quiet. Quickly realizing that it was just after
Valentines Day, I imagined he’d whisked his ballerina girl off to some romantic
location worthy of a Linda Howard novel. He just seemed that type, you know. A
dreamer of the day, living out the words of T.E Lawrence and acting his dreams
with open eyes. I admired him. I wondered if our paths would ever cross, laden
with double ‘don’t I know you?’ stares. It’s such a shame that will never
happen. As on Valentines Day, the boy with the way with words, the dreamer of
the day had nothing left to say.
His decision to end his own life will echo in my
consciousness for years to come. A reminder that what looks perfect from the
outside could be riddled with imperfection and unhappiness within. Under those
layers of finely tuned paragraphs and interlocking adjectives sliding to the
next like butter on warm toast, there was an author so tangled, he could see no
other path for himself.
It made me realise that
this career I crave and work so hard for may not complete me like I assume it
would. I was forced to admit that as important as realizing my dream is, there
are a lot more boxes I need to tick. Take the blinkers off, sit back and smell
the flowers of today. As dramatic as this may sound, I would compare it to an
individual finding out that a religion they had followed their whole life was
flawed. That there is not always a cushioned pillow of constant contentment and
joy once you enter those gilded gates. Of course, I’m sure the level of elation
could scarcely be rivaled, but just like any profession, you have to tread
water. The swans of the fashion world, they are graceful and stern. Peacefully
gliding over the surface of the pond of life, while their pedicured feet,
masked by nature’s version of the waterproof trench are paddling profusely to
ensure their destination.
I’ve never cried over the death of someone
I’ve never met before this. A true testament to the
power of words I guess. And
I thank him for his.
Lucy
xx
