Finally Seen

By Hannah Stake

Many people have rhythms to their days. Some play the same song every morning, others do certain stretches to extend muscles that have been frozen for hours. I look in the mirror to memorize my outfit. 

Living in New York, you see all types of styles and fashions: that's my problem. 

I got into NYU due to my " fashion talent” which I don't actually possess. 

I take my seat there and wait for my professor to step in and describe what outfit I'm wearing today in her eyes. 

She enters, surveying my outfit. "Your red satin top with the embroidered gray skirt and those boots- I love it!" 

It's always red satin with her. Yesterday I was wearing a red satin bow, the day before red satin pants. 

In my next class, Professor Pascal was inspired to find me donning purple checked flats, a velvet skirt, white shirt and denim jacket.

People always see my outfit based on what their opinion of the perfect style is but never the real me. 

I make my way home but not without hearing, “Cute dress!” before I enter my apartment. I’m starving but haven’t made it to the store yet so I order in and hope that traffic isn’t bad. 

Later, I smell my delicious burger through the door before I even hear the knock, and I’m met with the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I’m so shocked by him I fall over.

"Are you ok?" 

I reply with a quick yes and leap up to retrieve my burger and the last shred of my dignity. 

A conversation starts and soon arises the question of where we attend school. Assuming my mask, I share that I attend NYU majoring in fashion,gesturing to my outfit, commenting “Obviously”. I wait, interested in hearing what he sees. But he looks at me like I’m crazy, shoves my meal into my hands, and then walks away.

"Wait! Why are you leaving?!" I call.

"I don’t appreciate being lied to,” He shoots back.

Offended, I retort,"Well, at least I’m not rude!" 

“Enjoy your burger.” He cockily replies. 

Why did he treat me like that? He’s just like the rest of them. I let him leave.

Yet, I can’t help but have his words in a loop inside my head, "I don’t appreciate being lied to" 

Lied to.

Then it hits me.

Realization covers the feeling of offense and replaces it with a need to chase after this man because he could be the person I've been waiting for. 

I scramble out onto the sidewalks of New York City and immediately am overwhelmed by the mass of people. I was Prince Charming, he was Cinderella, and there was no shoe.

Then I hear him.

Turning, I get his attention by yelling,"What am I wearing?"

Confused, he replies, "You're wearing a blue greasy T-shirt that's way too huge for you, no shoes, and I assume shorts under that shirt." 

I can’t believe it. 

I look down and there is the outfit I’d worked to memorize this morning. The blue shirt, covered in grease stains from numerous burgers lay there just as he’d described. No red satin, no plaid flats, just a plain T-shirt. I’m not a fashion icon. I’m me. 

He sees me for who I am. For the first time in my life. 

I never want it to stop.