Studio 22 | Mary-Kate Olsen

Chapter Nine

February 24th 2022 - New York City - Studio 22

Anxiety isn't a feeling I have often. In fact, the last time I felt like this was when I got off the truck for the first time in Iraq. Though this was nothing like Iraq; there were no enemies, no guns, no bombs, no screams, and no injured civilians this was just an office. There was nothing to feel anxious about. This was an office, in a building, on 22nd street of New York City, it wasn't a war zone, yet I was terrified as I waited for the doors to open and the stick-thin bottle blonde assistants heels to click against the freshly polished floors and call "Sofia Sinclair" in the same high pitched voice she had called the others in.

Each person who had walked into the office held so much confidence. They were all younger than me, which I didn't realise would bother me so much, but I suddenly felt like I was too old for a position like this, for a drastic career change. They'd be looking for a fresh out-of-school intern who had fresh ideas and was in tune with all the latest trends. I wasn't like that. My style had been darkened by my experience. I didn't want to follow trends. I wanted to wear what I felt like wearing that day. I wasn't fresh out of school, in fact, I finished school over five years ago now. What if everything had changed since I attended? What if they have new techniques and ways of doing things and I have no clue what to do? What if I'm not good enough?

I feel my hands tighten around my portfolio, suddenly becoming so protective of it. I didn't want any of the others in the waiting area to see it.

Butterflies build up in my belly, pushing against the walls as they try to escape. It didn't feel like they were fluttering delicately, they were swarming in there, the sensation making me feel uneasy. I took a deep breath to try and lessen the feeling, but it didn't help. I could walk out now. Jazz was waiting across the street at the coffee shop for me. I could go there now and say they hated my work and leave before anyone gets a chance to see this.

"You're being ridiculous," I tell myself. So what if they don't like your work? I know I'm a decent designer, and I know what I'm doing. Some stupid team that works for a big company-led opinion doesn't matter. It's not going to change my hard work, it's not going to change my talent. As much as I told myself some random team of people's opinions didn't matter to me, deep down, I knew it did. I knew if they didn't give me the validation I wanted from this, I would be crushed, and right now, I don't think I had the strength to deal with that, it would be another setback. Another blow to my confidence, another disappointing thing I've done that will let down my parents.

Before now, my self-worth wasn't fed by opinions, it was fueled by my personal best times, strength, and speed. All factual things that I could see. I knew I could run fast and far. I knew I had the strength to lift a considerable amount for a person of my build. I succeeded in the military by moving up the ranks quicker than the rest of my team. It was the facts that gave me confidence in my job. Fashion wasn't like that at all. It was all based on people's opinions. One person could love it, another could hate it. There's no real way to measure your success which means a bad comment could hinder someone's self-worth despite having positive ones because there's no factual evidence to say your work is good. It's all about the opinion of others. It's completely subjective. And right now, the team sat in the office we're the only people's opinions that could build me up or completely crush me. I had to gain confidence back to get into this industry I loved so much when I was a teen.

I could hear the faint clicking of heels, the echo growing louder as the seconds passed, and then the blonde bottle assistant came into view from behind the glass walls. "Sofia Sinclair," she said in her unusually high-pitched tone. "This is it," I think to myself as I stand up. I gather my belongings and follow her down the hall and to the office.