I wanted to start a fashion business in grade eleven because fashion has always been my passion, and I further developed this passion in secondary school.

There was a fashion design club in my secondary school, and I have been a member since grade eight. In the club, we talked about our love for fashion, sketched pieces, and designed some of them.

I was afraid of starting something new.  Dorthy, on the other hand, was ecstatic.

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous about this,” Dorthy said as we sat in her bedroom one Saturday afternoon. Her bedroom door was wide open, but her window was half open. “It’s going to be a new start!  And we get to meet boys.”  She whispered, ‘boys.’

I groaned.  “You know, not everything has to be about boys.”

She shrugged.  “I know.  But where’s the fun in that?”

I rolled my eyes but smiled.

“Don’t worry, my sweet Sarah-Jane.  There would be boys interested in you, too.”

I snorted.  “You know that’s just a lie.”

That was something that used to bother me:  that Dorthy was always the person who got guys’ attention, whereas I was deemed the “ugly” friend.  It felt like I wasn’t beautiful and “worthy” enough.  I’ve gotten better at that when I got into university, but some nights, it bothers me, and I go back into a spiral of thinking I was never enough.

I remember the first time Dorthy was approached by a group of guys when I was standing next to her.  That was the first time it happened, but it has happened multiple times since then.

“Hey,” a boy said as he approached Dorthy and me in the school’s cafeteria at lunch days after Dorthy and I talked in her bedroom.

Dorthy and I stood in line to get more food because we already finished what our parents had packed.

A group of boys followed behind the boy.

The boy stared at Dorthy with a smile and said, “I would like to take you out on a date.”

Dorthy accepted the date, and they went out on a date on Saturday.

After the date, Dorthy told me how it went.

“It was great!  We went bowling and ate pizza afterwards,” Dorthy said on the phone.

I was lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m happy to hear that!” I said, forcing a smile even though I knew Dorthy couldn’t see it.

We talked and talked about the date and how much they got to know each other.  Since they were only 13, their parents were there to chaperone the date, but don’t ask me how two 13-year-olds could have afforded to go bowling and have pizza afterwards.

I was genuinely happy for her.  It was just that I was jealous.  I was jealous that Dorthy was already getting asked out by boys, especially right in front of me as a group of boys watched.  I may still be abnormally hurt about the situation, but I try not to think about it now.

I never told Dorthy how I felt about it because I’ve always thought it wasn’t important.  I also thought I was being stupid for feeling like I was putting my self-worth in the hands of boys I don’t even know.  I also knew she would say something like, “You know that isn’t true,” and I know that’s not what I would want to hear, but I know that that’s just Dorthy trying to help me and make me feel better.  Another reason why I didn’t tell Dorthy this was because I didn’t want her to feel bad.  I think this subject is something I need to worry about myself.

I also hope Dorthy doesn’t read this post, but I digress.

In grade eight, we had to take a life skills class. We had a cooking, textiles, and woodworking rotation. I had the class during my first semester, and we did woodworking, cooking, and then textiles.

I despised woodworking and thought I wasn’t good at it, but I got a B- in that portion of the class.  I enjoyed the cooking portion of the class, though I discovered I didn’t particularly like cooking.  We also baked bread, though I found it odd we did baking in a cooking class.  For the textiles portion, I loved it.  We did two projects, one of which was a shorter project, and the second one was a longer project.  The shorter piece was a tie, which took us two weeks to complete, and the longer piece was pyjama pants, which took the remaining three weeks of the class to complete.  In the end, I got an A- in that portion of the class, losing points because a couple of strings were loose in both pieces.

I have always loved fashion, but it wasn’t until I was creating my own pieces in grade eight that I realized I loved creating pieces.

I decided to join the fashion design club in my second semester of high school and remained in it until I graduated from secondary school in grade twelve. By the time I left, I was the club’s president.

However, in grade eleven, I wanted to start a fashion business. I’ve greatly developed my skills and thought it would look good on my resume when applying to post-secondaries.

After consulting with my mom, I started my business with her help.

It was hard to start a business, mainly because of my age.  I don’t remember all the legal hoops we had to jump through, but I remember it was difficult.

The name was one of the easiest things in the entire business creation process.

Dorthy was the only person who called me “S.J.” every once in a while, and it was a nickname I’ve always loved, partially because it was Dorthy who was calling me it and partially because I enjoyed how she shortened my name while simultaneously calling me by my full hyphenated first name.  That said, I knew I wanted to incorporate my first name into the business because I didn’t want to get sick and tired of the name when I grew older.

It took me a week and a half to find that “Stitches” worked well with “S.J.,” so I chose that.  I also associated the name with how everything associated with the business was mine and as if it would belong in my closet.  Thus, “SJ’s Stitches” was born.

I feel like I should have had a better story about how I came to the name “SJ’s Stitches,” but I don’t, and I can’t do anything about that.

After I came up with the name and ran it past my mother to make sure it sounded good to someone else, I had to create a business plan.  Then, my mom did the legal happenings of the business.

I know it might sound odd to some people that someone as young as I was started a business and that my mother helped me with seemingly no questions asked, but let me tell you, I was hounded with questions when I told her I wanted to start a business.  She wanted to make sure it was something I was certain I wanted to start and maintain, so she made me create a business plan.

“I want to make sure you’re serious about this, Sarah-Jane,” my mom said as we sat on the sofa in the living room.  “And I want to make sure your business is successful.  I want to see you succeed, Sarah.”

Her voice was soft when she said, “Sarah,” like she wanted me to know she loved me and that what she said was only for my benefit.  However, that didn’t stop me from thinking she was trying to get in my way.  I thought she was trying to prolong the process for “no good reason.”

I desperately wanted to begin my business, and I thought that starting it right away would build it faster.

I was an interesting child, to say the least, but after sleeping on it, I realized my mom was right, and I did what she told me to do.

It took me two and a half weeks, maybe three weeks, to finish the business plan.

After I was done, I gave it to my mom, and it took her two and a half weeks to read it because she was busy at work.

When she was done reading, she came to me in my bedroom wanting to talk about it.

“Your business plan is very detailed and informative,” she told me as she sat beside my bed.  I was at my desk doing schoolwork.  It was a Thursday night, and I didn’t want to do any schoolwork during the weekend.  I smiled but was waiting for the “but” to come.

“Thanks,” I said, turning around to face her.

She had printed out my business plan and was holding all the papers.

“There are just some questions I have that I would recommend you to change.” She started to flip through the papers to find what she was talking about.

I took in a deep breath.

“There isn’t much to go through,” my mom said, not looking up at me, “So, stop worrying over there.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” I exclaimed.

She smiled.  “You didn’t have to.”

She flipped to another page.  “So, at the bottom of page seven, you said your only income would be making pieces.  Would you create one-of-a-kind pieces?  Would you create custom orders for people who request them?  And if you are, then what would you do with the leftover materials?  Would you turn them into different pieces?”

“I was thinking of just creating one-of-a-kind pieces,” I said.  “I’ll design whatever the piece is and make it, and then take photos of the pieces and post it on the website.”

My mom nodded.  “Then there’s the question of the website.  What platform would you be using, and if you have to pay for the website, how much do you have to pay for it?”

“Wait, I have it saved on my laptop,” I said, turning to my computer.  “I’ve done some research into it, and a lot of people who I follow use them.”

I brought up the website and showed it to my mother.

“It’s a self-hosted website, and, from what I’ve seen and read about, I get more liberty to do whatever I want to do with it compared to hosted websites.  I do have to pay for it, but I’m planning on paying for it for one year so that I’m saving my money.  And I have enough money to pay for the yearly plan.”

My mom looked through the website.

“They seem good,” she said when she was satisfied.  She handed my laptop back to me.

She flipped to another page of my business plan.

“You don’t have much about how you’re going to market your business,” my mother said after landing on the marketing page of my business plan. “You just have here that you’re going to be on social media.  What social media platforms are you going to be on?  You don’t want to be on too much and run yourself thin.”

“I was thinking about being on Pixell,” I said.  “It’s an image-based application.”

My mother nodded and flipped through the rest of my business plan.

After half a minute of silence, I turned back to my laptop on the desk, waiting for my mother to say something else.

She flipped another page and another before looking up at me with a smile.

“I think you’re ready to start your business, Sarah-Jane.”

I squealed, jumped out of my seat, and hugged my mom.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I exclaimed, squeezing her a bit.

My mom chuckled and hugged me back.

My mom then did the legal happenings of the business.  After she did that, I created the website and Pixell account.

After registering my business, I designed and created my first piece, which was a black tank top and shorts.  While I designed the piece, I posted about it on my Pixell account.  I wanted to gain followers while creating my first piece rather than after because I thought it would be easier in the long run, though growing a social media following is difficult regardless.

While I designed and posted my first piece, I did manage to get 50 followers, partially because I posted about my business on my personal account, which helped.

My first piece took almost half a year to sell, though.

I priced the tank top and shorts at 150 dollars.  Whenever I look back at the pictures I took of the pieces, I wonder if I should have priced them higher, such as at 200 or 250 dollars.  It took me around two or three weeks to finish designing the piece, but it took me a month to finish it if I were to include designing the piece itself.

I remember I thought I was charging so much for the piece.  I was also disappointed when it took six months for it to be sold.

While waiting for someone to purchase the piece, I created and documented my other fashion pieces. I knew I didn’t want to give up so soon.  I also knew that deep down, I had to be successful.  Deep down, I knew I wanted this to be something I do for the rest of my life, and I wasn’t about to let it die.

I didn’t tell Dorthy I started a business until it was registered and everything was settled.  I didn’t want to tell her because I didn’t want to jinx myself.  I didn’t want my entire business to fall through.

“Sarah-Jane Mariah Michaels!” Dorthy said when we were hanging out at my place on a Friday after school.

Dorthy sat on my bed, whereas I sat at my desk.  We both were doing homework, but, at that moment, it was our dedicated “yap” session, and we were facing each other.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier!” Dorthy exclaimed.

“I didn’t want to jinx myself,” I said.

“You never even told me you liked doing stuff like this.”

“Bro, I’m literally a part of the fashion design club.  And when we had to take the life skills class, I told you how much I enjoyed the textiles portion of the class.”

Dorthy was quiet.  She slightly tilted her head.  She frowned.  I turned back to face my laptop screen.

“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, Dorthy.  I didn’t tell anyone other than my mother because she was the one who was helping me with everything.”

The air felt different and thicker, and I didn’t like that.

“I don’t even know what you’re selling or the name of your business or anything.”  She sniffled and looked away.  “I don’t even know if I can afford to purchase it.”

“You know you don’t have to purchase anything.”

“But I want to.”

“They’re going to be rather expensive, though, and I don’t want my best friend to be spending her hard-earned money on something I can just give her for free.”

She looked back at me, and her eyes twinkled a bit.

“I can create an outfit for you, like a shirt and pants or something.”

“You’ll do that for me?”

I smiled.  “As long as you wear them.”

“Of course, I would do that.”

Dorthy smiled, and I knew she felt better.

On Monday, while we were in the school’s cafeteria during our lunch break, I asked Dorthy, “What do you want me to create?  A plain T-shirt and shorts or what?”

I remember I thought her eyes twinkled, and it felt like she was the happiest person in the world.

“Can you do a dark blue or purple–whichever colour would look best–long-sleeved shirt with a black skirt with built-in shorts?”

“Yeah!” I said, smiling.  “I’ll do some sketches and show them to you, and we can get started from there.”

Dorthy thanked me, and we continued to eat.

I think it took me around two months, maybe even three, to finish Dorthy’s outfit from start to finish.

“Can you come over today after school?” I asked Dorthy as we walked to our last-period class the day after I finished her outfit.  At that time, she didn’t know I finished, though.

I finished it on a Tuesday night and wanted to surprise her by showing her the piece in person.

I know, I know.  I could have just walked with it to school with me, but I didn’t want to.  I thought that would have killed an element of surprise and excitement.

“We can hang out and do school work,” I added.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling.

Dorthy and I walked through the downstairs hallway.  People were talking and laughing.

Last period, Dorthy and I had a class in the portables, and we had five and a half minutes to get there.

Dorthy added, “I’ll have to call my mom before we leave, though.”

We arrived closer and closer to the doors that led to the portables.

“Will your mom be home?” Dorthy asked.

We pushed the doors open, and a cold wind hit us, causing me to shiver a little.

I shook my head.  “No.  She’ll be working late tonight again.”

At the time, it felt like my mom always had to work, but I knew, as a single mom, she had to work twice as hard for her and me.  I also knew that she made time for me, so it felt like I shouldn’t have felt how I felt about feeling like she constantly had to work.

“Doesn’t it get lonely sometimes?” Dorthy asked.  “She’s hardly ever home.”

We walked down the gravel walkway that led to the portables.

I shrugged.  “I mean, sometimes.  But I’ve gotten used to it.  Plus, it’s fun being home alone a lot.  It makes it feel like I live all alone.”

“It must still suck, though,” Dorthy said as we stood in front of our classroom portables.

I shrugged again but said, “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you later.”

We both headed into our class.  Later, when we got to my house, I told Dorthy I had a surprise for her.

“It feels like it’s my birthday or something,” she said, smiling.

She sat crisscrossed on my bed as I stood near my opened closet, which was across from where she sat.

I smiled.

“Close your eyes, and I’ll tell you when to open them.”

We had been home for an hour and a half and only ate and talked.

Dorthy closed her eyes, still smiling.

The outfit I made for her was hung up amongst my other clothing, so I took them out and slightly approached her.

“Okay,” I said.  “You can open your eyes now.”

Dorthy opened her eyes and, for a few seconds, scanned the purple long-sleeved shirt and black skirt.

Her smile grew.

“Oh, they look so good, Sarah-Jane!”

I smiled and handed them to her.

“I’m going to try them on,” she said and got up.

She did try it on, and it perfectly fitted her. She wore that outfit until she outgrew it.

Throughout my secondary school experience, I managed to grow SJ’s Stitches into something bigger than I thought I would, which I’ve always been pleased about.

In grade twelve, though, it was more difficult to keep up with my business because I was also in my last year of high school and was busier than usual.

I didn’t want to get a bachelor’s degree because I didn’t want to, and I didn’t feel like I needed to pursue a four/five-year bachelor’s degree.  Since I already had experience in the fashion sector, I could have better used my time for something else.  That said, I knew I still wanted to further my education, which was why I decided to pursue an associate’s degree.

I applied to four different post-secondaries.  For two of them, I only had to send in my grades, whereas, for the other two, I had to submit my grades, portfolio, and intentions/where I saw myself in the fashion industry.

I also applied to two universities and two colleges, and I went to one of the colleges that required me to send in my grades and portfolio.  That college was also where I saw myself in the fashion industry.

The college I went to was also the first post-secondary school I heard back from, and it was the one I was most excited about because it seemed to provide more hands-on experience and more valuable information than the other schools.

In the end, I got accepted into three schools, and one school rejected me.

Then, on a Saturday towards the end of July, Dorthy and I were reminiscing about when we were in secondary school, even though we just finished.  We wanted to have a taste of what it would be like to be functioning adults in higher education.

Dorthy and I were going to different post-secondary schools.  She went to a university to do a bachelor’s degree in marketing and communications, whereas, as previously mentioned, I went to college to complete my associate’s in fashion design.  The university she went to was a four-hour drive away, so she lived on campus.  I was happy for her, but I was also disappointed I wouldn’t get to see her often, which was why we made it a point to hang out with each other more often after we graduated from secondary school.

“Don’t worry, S.J.,” Dorthy said after we squealed about getting accepted into our dream schools.  We were over at my place when we got the emails.  “This doesn’t mean it’s the end of our friendship.”

I sniffled.  “Then why does it feel like it?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” Dorthy said, smiling.

I laughed, then said, “I think you’re the dramatic one in this friendship.”

Dorthy laughed.  “I think you know that’s a lie.”

“Oh, whatever,” I said, unable to resist a smile.

Dorthy and I talked until the evening. She had to go home to eat dinner because she had to do something with her mom later that day, though I don’t remember what that “something” was.

“I should be offended right now,” I said, smiling as we stood near the front door.

“It’s a good thing I know you’re not.”  Dorthy smiled.  “We’ll see each other later, okay?”

“Of course we will.”

We hugged like it was going to be the last time we’d see each other, and she left.

Thirty minutes after she would have gotten home, I texted her and said, “I hope you got home safely.”  Five minutes later, she replied saying, “Yes.  Yes, I did.”

I hearted the message and turned off my phone before I went to my mom’s room to see what she was doing because, by that time, she had come home from work.

For the rest of the night, my mom and I spent time with each other, talking and eating, which was a pleasant way to end the day.

On that note, thank you for reading the second post of The Landline Collective, and I hope to see you soon.