Fashion is a lot like the army. You come in clueless and it spits you out reading Vogue and wearing Balmain. You think you can run the machine, but no, for a time, the machine runs you. It runs you until it spits you out some kind of way, sleek and in demand or haggard and craving your next fix of the latest and greatest. Fashion leaves you with who you're meant to be, a wretch or McQueen.
