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Apparently, nobody thought to warn us that pins, models, deadlines and tears all come in the same package.
Fashion school gave me the polite version of the industry. It was clean, structured and safe.
Your fabric arrived neatly folded, your mannequin never complained, and your assignments waited patiently for you to finish them.
Everything operated within the boundaries of a classroom, where life was expected to make sense, and creativity felt like a controlled science.
But real fashion is an entirely different universe. The moment you step outside the comfort of school, the clothes stop behaving, the machines develop personalities of their own, and your ideas come alive in ways you could never script.
There is nothing quite like the moment when a perfect design on paper transforms into a stubborn garment that refuses to sit the way you envisioned.
Those are the moments when fashion properly introduces itself to you, with no warnings and no manual.
One of my earliest experiences in the real world happened backstage at a fashion showcase.
I arrived confident and prepared, convinced that my weeks of work had built a bulletproof plan.
Then one of my models fainted. Not gently and gracefully but dramatically, like a scene from a movie.
And as I stood over her, fanning her frantically with my lookbook, I realised that fashion school had never prepared me for this type of plot twist.
No one teaches you how to revive a model in heels while praying that your beadwork survived the fall. That lesson comes from life, not a lecture.
Fashion also teaches you emotional resilience in a way no classroom ever can. It is one thing to present your work for a grade. It is another to show what feels like a piece of your soul to an audience that may not understand your vision.
The truth is that fashion criticism hits differently when it comes from someone whose approval could shape your future.
You learn to separate your identity from your creations. You learn to hold your sense of worth gently in your hands, even when no one connects with your work. That kind of strength is not taught in school. It is earned in the real world.
There is also the personal revelation that creativity cannot be forced. In fashion school, there is this silent expectation that inspiration must appear on time and behave well.
Outside of school, you learn that creativity needs rest and laughter and snacks and sometimes silence.
I discovered that I am most creative when I am honest with myself, not when I am pressuring myself to deliver brilliance on command. This was a lesson life whispered to me repeatedly until I finally accepted it.
Then it is essential. In the real world, your team becomes your lifeline. You quickly learn who you can depend on, who understands your vision, and who simply likes the idea of fashion without the work that comes with it.
A great tailor can save your entire collection. A reliable model can restore your sanity. The people around you can either anchor you or drain you, and authentic fashion makes that distinction very clear.
Looking back, I realise that while fashion school gave me technique, life gave me wisdom. Every moment backstage, every miscommunication, every last-minute disaster, every unexpected breakthrough shaped me in ways no classroom ever could.
I learned to manage chaos with grace, to find beauty in imperfection, and to see myself with a new level of honesty.
Fashion school taught me how to create garments; real life taught me how to create myself.
And in the end, I have discovered that the truth of fashion, with all its unpredictability and emotion, is far more beautiful than anything written in a textbook.