Short Story 1

For my “The Body of Fashion” final, I was tasked with writing 3 separate character sketches/stories based on images from different time frames. The goal was to cover the clothing and fashion elements of the time period without being told what the time period was. Here is the first of the 3:

The story:

I awoke this morning with a sassy spirit and took a little while longer than usual to make sure my face was clean-shaven and mustache properly groomed. My summer tan was beginning to fade, but my confidence was still very present. It was a cold, intense autumn morning, so I grabbed my woolen trench coat with its modern, wide lapels and rounded bowler hat before heading out for the day. Irritation is the best word to describe how we all felt that morning, but I had no time to sit around in public and yell about it as I was on a mission to help my wife earn the right to vote. At the turn of the century, women still weren’t treated as equals to men, and this needed to change. I couldn’t stand being stuck among the crowd of anti-women’s rights individuals in the square, hoping their voices would hold more weight in the midst of this campaign. I was in a hurry to a city meeting this morning and decided to dress fashionably in casual, loose attire, simultaneously allowing me to walk faster. Some jazz music played from a nearby shop, and suddenly I felt compelled to move my feet. I took a step back, looked off into the distance, and started dancing. Now my outfit wasn’t exactly suitable for this activity, but did that stop me from expressing myself for a moment? Absolutely not. I threw my double-breasted woolen coat to the ground and tapped my black patent leather oxford shoes to the music. The older gentleman to my right said something derogatory, but I was too distracted to notice what he said. A few people started staring now, so I paused in my step. I turned directly to one man and he looked down. “Do you know why I am dancing?” I asked. An older man, dressed in a more Edwardian slack suit to his left, squinted his eyes. “I looked to the woman on his left, presumably his wife,” and said “because women will be able to vote very soon. With or without your help. And that’s cause for celebration.” From the corner of my eye, I noticed a smirk appear on his wife’s face, despite her standing there at a campaign against her own freedom. I grabbed my coat from its rounded edge, fastened by black necktie around my rounded edge collared shirt, adjusted my waistcoat over my black trousers, and kept walking. I was off to help women like herself, capable of being independent yet still expected to follow her husband, have greater freedom.