Script of speech done in Effective Speaking class

Once upon a time, there lived a leggy young girl who attended a charter school in the small town of Kenai, Alaska. And it was at that school, in the fifth grade, where she discovered her love for fashion.

That girl was me!

And in fifth grade, my teacher Mrs. Hagen, had this big project where we each had to pick a deceased icon, do a research paper, and then portray said person in a wax museum, where the whole school would come and read about you.

Now, I had always been different, heck, I was born to be different. So while everyone else chose your typical historical figures: Cleopatra, Abraham Lincoln, Henry Ford, blah blah blah, I went ahead and chose to portray Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel.

Boy, I had to fight teeth and nail to do her because my teacher claimed “no one would know her” and “how has that figure shaped the world.”

Girl let me tell you!

So I was finally able to do her and that’s truly where my interest in fashion was born.

But for me, it wasn’t about fashion. It was about style. Fashion can be bought, style is eternal. Fashion says “me too” and style says “me only.” Anyone can be “in fashion.” All they have to do is follow the herd and abide by the rules of the season. With style, it’s personal. It comes from within.

So what better way to express my individuality than with style? After all, what you wear tells the world who you are. Every time you dress, you assert some aspect of yourself, and this allows you the chance to showcase a facet of yourself to the world. It’s instant language.

Well, originality and individuality didn’t really mesh with the school’s objective. I’m talking about a charter school here who had dress codes to ensure conformity and eliminate individuality. And because of that one presentation, I was singled out and an open target.

It was little stuff at first. I was warned by teachers not to wear a specific item again, I was occasionally sent to the clothes closet (dirty old donated clothes), my mom got calls whenever I was “out of uniform.”

Well, the more and more I got into trouble for asserting myself into my personal style, the more rebellious I became. When I was called into a teacher’s office to have my skirt measured (with a ruler) and told I couldn’t wear it anymore because it was “too short”, I would have one of my friends wear it the next day (and not get in trouble) and then approach the teacher and call them out on being singled out and prejudiced because of my height. I got in trouble for wearing lace once because it wasn’t “in dress code” and yet when I showed them the dress code paper, I proved to them there was no rule on there that said “no lace.” The next day, they added it on the no list. Then there was the legging incident. I wore leggings,

then leggings became banned. The next day, I showed up in something similar and when they approached me about it, I said. “I’m not wearing leggings. These are footless tights.”

And it was just petty banter. My mom wasn’t bothered, I wasn’t bothered, I was doing chill, all until the eighth grade, where I got the much feared teacher Mrs. Phillips.

She and I were like champagne and mashed potatoes. We did not go well together. And she was cruel about it. She would call me out in front of the class, she sent me to the principal’s office more times than I can count, until “the incident.”

So Mrs. Phillips noticed the pattern that I would call my mother after getting in trouble. Mrs. Phillips didn’t like that. When I called Mom, Mom would call principal, principal would approach both me and Mrs. Phillips, and Phillips preferred punishment on the down low, ‘cause it was so obvious she was hunting me out.

Anyhow, one day, I got in trouble for wearing something, and I remember specifically Phillips telling me I couldn’t call my mom.

Like heck I couldn’t!

So we’re in art class, with another teacher, and I ask to use his phone. He says yes, and my mom had just picked up and answered hello, when the bulbous shape of Phillips appeared in the doorway of the art room.

It was like something out of a nightmare. She sternly said “Put that phone down and come with me.” The class was aptly looking on, I was on the phone with my mom going “Elan? Elan?”, and I said bye and followed her out.

I was used to being talked down to and punished before, but this was the worst.

She took me into a classroom across the hall, closed the door, left the lights off, and then the berating began.

She said some awful things to me. She said she hates her job because of me, how I go out of my way to make her life a living hell, how I was an embarrassment to her and the class, how my style was insignificant and that if I could just follow the guidelines, she could maybe love her job. She said to my face I am the reason why she hates kids.

I was like fourteen, guys. And I was bawling. I stood there, tears pouring down my face, because I had never felt like such a target in my life. This was bullying, but from a teacher out of all people.

Was I intentionally going out of my way to break the rules? Could I have just sucked it up and worn those patch pocket less Land’s End khakis for the short time I had left?

I’ll never know. What I do know, is that all those teachers, all those naysayers, and especially Phillips, they helped shape me, and they helped reinforce my belief in personal style. It was all those times I was singled out, bullied, and talked down to that sustained my passion for wanting to be different. I look back now, and instead of hating them, I’m thanking them.

And sending them a graduation announcement that stated that I would be attending the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising? Priceless. I’m sure they all rolled their eyes and sighed “Of course.”

So what’s the moral of the story here?

Don’t attend a charter school in Alaska.

Nah, I’m just joking with you. My moral to share is that every little thing in life shapes you. Every heartbreak, every nasty word said your way, every time you’ve been rejected, denied, told no, it all shapes you as a being.

But it’s not the incidents, per say. It’s the attitude you take away from it. I could have put away those lace sweaters and footless tights after that horrific day, beaten down and embarrassed at trying to have a personal style, but instead, I took those incidents and decided to put them to good use.

It’s all about looking on the bright side of life. And the primary cause of unhappiness is never the situation but your thoughts about it.

And you all know that old adage- what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Well, I don’t really believe that. I believe that the things that try and kill you make you angry and sad, and that the strength comes from the good things in life- your family, your support, your friends, and the satisfaction of believing in yourself- your differences, your flaws, your purpose, your incredible self. Those, to me, are the things to hold onto when you’re broken.

And it’s about forgiveness. Mrs. Phillips, even though you hurt my feelings more times than I can remember, and made me cry so hard that one day, even though you did the “father, son holy spirit” on me when I wore a vintage couture suit for a monologue, I forgive you. Look at me now. I’m on my last day of my first year of college at a fashion school, so thank you.

You gave me the confidence to tell others that I respect myself, and love myself. And that was the most important lesson that I learned in your classroom.