The most exciting part of all WORN staff meetings is when it’s time to assign the book reviews. Everyone sits up a little straighter, eyes the most coveted titles, sizes up their competition; it’s an office full of fashion nerds and the promise of a thick, educational book on an obscure area of fashion is tempting to all of us. Yet every so often it happens that a book will be held up and no one will jump to claim it. “Anyone?” our editor-in-pants will prod. Sometimes she’ll flip through it. “It looks really good, you guys,” she’ll say, and everyone will look around the room to see if anyone dares accept the challenge. I never turn down a challenge and so at the last meeting, I took the plunge. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll give it a try.”
As soon as I put The Dictionary of Fashion History in my bag I was positive I had made a mistake: I mean, a dictionary? My assignment was to write six hundred words on a literal dictionary. Just a collection of pages with words in alphabetical order and dry descriptions of each. There are barely any pictures, the five year old in me whined. I flipped through it once, twice, hoping to be hit with some sort of inspiration but nothing came except a particularly stubborn bout of procrastination.