The Final Cut

She had been sent to the Garment District many times before, but never to this vendor. This was a new one and she knew what she was picking up was important. They were only hours away from the runway show and still had so much to do, things moving in every direction. That’s the way fashion was, and she quickly realized this at the very start of this internship.

They told her it wouldn’t be heavy like the life-size rolls of fabrics she’d had to drag through midtown, so she was grateful. Her boss always offered the company MetroCard, but she was happy she could walk the distance this time, avoiding the suffocating air of the summer subway. Countless trips back and forth to Mood Fabrics with arms filled had toughened her up, but she was grateful this would be a smaller package. What she was picking up was much lighter than that she’d been told, but the way they spoke made it seem far heavier.

When she got there, it was an overcrowded room filled floor-to-ceiling with fabrics, a maze of them that once you enter there’s no guarantee you’ll return. She quickly found her way to the only person she could see, a small man standing behind a counter barely visible, piled high with all the rolls and drapery spilled over.

He knew little English, but read her well once she told him the small women-owned fashion brand she worked for. It was the luxury business, after all, and everyone knew everyone. With a nod, he moseyed around the counter and disappeared behind the silk chiffons. It was only until after he resurfaced from the stacks of taffeta behind her that she breathed a sigh of relief he had not been swallowed by the sea of silks. He carried a Duane Reade bag, the exact one she had carried home herself many times to her Herald Square apartment after picking up some last-minute things. This was just a normal bag, she reminded herself. She tried to, at least.

It wasn’t until she politely paid, thanked the gentleman, and walked back out onto the street that she peered inside. Slowly untying the handles of the bag, what appeared was a neat roll of metallic stripes, all tucked together in an array of vivid colors. Shining red, deep marine blue, intense orchid, inky black, sparkling silver. She didn’t dare take it out of the bag into the light of day, where the colors would have shone like the sun dances on the ocean. No, she knew how rare a fabric like this was. It was metallic leather, a kind she had never seen before.

Her classes at fashion school studying textiles had taught her that this was a rare gem, not to be risked dropping by her clumsy hands onto the grotesque city sidewalk. No, she would guard this closely all the way down 6th Avenue back to the studio. She tied the bag up, tucked in her earbuds, and slowly picked up speed. She was on a mission now, as she felt she had gold in her hands.

Sweaty from the humid air, she was determined to get this back quickly and find out what it would be transformed into. What could the designers be doing with this? Surely they wouldn’t add it to any of the pieces, as the designs were already finalized and on their way to the show. But again this was fashion, and things change quickly. When she finally reached the cool gust of air conditioning in the lobby, she caught her breath for a second while waiting for the elevator. She only had until the ninth floor, now.

She walked past the frazzled receptionist, being sure to hand back the MetroCard, and turned the corner into the fabric room as a few people hustled around her. Most were downtown at the show already preparing models for the show. Circles poked out of the walls, the ends of fabric rolls from previous seasons all logged and tagged. There was her boss, waiting to see what she knew was in the bag. She handed it over, and her gasp was heard down the hallway.

She hustled about the small room, pulling open drawers from the large cutting table in the center. The tapes, the marking chalk, the pins all spilled out as she explained that there was a last-minute addition to the show. Each model walking the runway was to be wearing a metallic leather headband, and they had only a few minutes to figure out how to make that happen.

She knew from classes that leather was an unforgiving fabric, built from a strenuous and lengthy process, and the moment a needle or shear touched its surface it was officially marked and never again the same. This leather, however, had been specially treated to make it reflect light like a mirror, and would surely reveal anywhere it was touched. There were no mistakes here, and time was running low.

She rummaged through the drawer of scissors, on the hunt for the ones she knew had a small piece of tape left on their bright orange handle. They were the sharpest, and she moved past the pinking shears, knowing this had to be a clean cut. She found the pair of Fiskars and slowly moved towards the table where the measurements were already being marked for cutting.

There were a total of twelve models walking the runway, all needing their own headband. She carefully measured the fabric, just enough for each to get the perfect amount to adorn their crown as they walked their way down the runway. As she made placements down the back with the marking chalk, she was careful to note that they had no room for error. This rare and gorgeous metallic leather, the last-minute accessory of the show, was in their hands to be transformed.

With a steady hand, she did the honors, snipping slowly at each mark with her scissors until there were ten, eleven, twelve strips altogether. The final cut sent the end of the silver shimmering down onto the table like the flick of a fish’s tail. She quickly fastened a ribbon onto the ends to be tied into place by the hairdressers already hard at work backstage. As she finished tying off the twelfth one, she sighed an exhale of relief. She had done her part to keep the show going in the designer’s vision and she was ready to rush there with headbands in hand.

Downtown that day, she watched from behind the stage as all the models ran back and forth changing into outfits made of the fabrics she had grown so familiar with that year. The designs had taken months to bring to life, but these headbands had been born in just minutes. They stayed in place, tall atop the heads of the beautiful model’s coiffed hair, shimmering and shining in the spotlights. They wouldn’t be the last headbands or accessories she made, but they would always be the most special to her as they bobbed down the runway under the shining spotlights. They had been transformed with her hands from a small roll of fabric to something much more special. Those handmade headbands had made the final cut at her first runway show.