From the moment I decided to pursue a career in the fashion industry, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But nothing could have prepared me for the harsh reality I faced from day one. Whispers followed me wherever I went, and judgmental stares felt like daggers in my back.
The hardest part was my boss, who saw only my size, never my abilities. They doubted I deserved to be there, but I was determined to prove them wrong. I wasn’t just going to be another face in the crowd—I was going to show them what I was made of.
It was my first day at the job, and I could feel the nerves swirling in my stomach. My grip tightened around my bag as I walked through the doors of the sleek glass building.
My palms were sweaty, and my heart was pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it. The weight of the moment felt heavier than I’d expected. What if they didn’t accept me? What if I made a mistake? Would I prove them right?
I fumbled with my ID as I entered, and when I swiped it, the elevator chimed, but the doors didn’t open immediately. I could feel my anxiety rising. The numbers on the elevator panel slowly climbed, and I kept whispering to myself, “You’ve got this. You’ve got this.”
When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, I exhaled, trying to calm the jittery feeling in my chest. At the reception desk, a young woman sat with perfect hair and flawless makeup, looking as though she had just stepped off the cover of a magazine. I felt small next to her, but I forced myself to walk up and introduce myself.
“Hi, I’m—” I began.
Before I could even finish my sentence, she glanced at me and interrupted. “Oh, you’re the new cleaning lady. Let me show you around,” she said, standing up with a clipboard in hand.
I blinked in shock. “No, actually—”
“Follow me,” she cut me off, clearly not interested in hearing more. She marched ahead, ignoring my attempt to clarify. “You need to familiarize yourself with the cleaning supplies. The bathrooms are down the hall; check them regularly.”
I stood frozen for a moment. “I’m not—”
“You’ll also handle the trash,” she continued briskly, “Take it out at the end of the day—or sooner, if needed. Oh, and the break room is a mess; you’ll need to keep it clean.”
My face turned red with embarrassment. How could she mistake me for the cleaning lady? This wasn’t just a mistake—it felt like a punch in the gut. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”
Before I could finish my sentence, we turned a corner, and there he was—Aiden, the designer I had been hired to assist.
“Christy, where’s my assistant?” he snapped, his voice sharp with impatience. His eyes flicked to me, and his frown deepened. “I hate when people are late. And who is this?”
Christy smiled awkwardly, “This is our new cleaner.”
I stood taller and spoke up, my voice shaking but firm. “Actually, my name is Natalie, and I’m your new assistant.” I extended my hand, trying to recover from the misunderstanding.
“Oh,” Christy said, realizing her mistake, but Aiden didn’t seem impressed.
He scrutinized me coldly. “Did HR even see you before they hired you?” he asked, his tone dripping with doubt.
I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me, but I kept my head high. “Yes,” I answered firmly. “I’m a professional, and I’m confident I can contribute.”
Aiden didn’t even acknowledge my outstretched hand. “We’ll see,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away.
I stood frozen for a moment, my heart racing. But then he snapped over his shoulder, “Are you just going to stand there?”
I hurried to catch up, my mind racing with all the hurtful things I wanted to say. “Hmm,” Aiden muttered under his breath. “With that weight, I doubt you can keep up. Let’s hope she doesn’t damage the equipment.”
His words stung deep, but I kept my head down and my lips pressed together, pretending not to hear him. But inside, each word burned like fire.
The next two weeks felt like an endless nightmare. Every day, I hoped things would improve, but they didn’t. Instead, I overheard cruel remarks that cut me to the core.
“Why doesn’t she just lose weight?” one person whispered.
“How does someone like her work in fashion?” someone else murmured.
“She must not own a mirror,” I overheard another voice say.
Each comment made my already fragile confidence crumble a little more. I wanted to share my ideas and show everyone what I could bring to the table, but I was terrified. I convinced myself that no one would care about my input anyway.
Then, one afternoon, while I was organizing sketches for Aiden’s latest collection, I noticed something that struck me as deeply wrong. The sizes ranged from 2XS to L, but even the L was so small it looked more like a snug M.
“Why are these sizes so limited?” I asked, holding up a sample dress. The fabric was beautiful, but the sizing was restrictive and unrealistic.
“They’re not limited—they’re standard,” Aiden replied dismissively, not even looking up from his tablet.
“No, they’re not,” I countered, my voice firm. “Most women wouldn’t fit into this L. And we market our clothes as inclusive.”
“Sweetheart,” Aiden said with a condescending smirk, “just because you can’t fit doesn’t mean no one else can.”
His words made my face flush, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “My body is average. Who exactly are we designing for—models?”
“For beautiful women,” Aiden shot back, as though the answer were obvious.
“Beauty—” I began, but he raised his hand, cutting me off.
“You’re getting bold,” he said with a sneer.
I froze, feeling the weight of his glare. If I were truly bold, I would have stood my ground. But instead, I sighed, returning to my work and swallowing my frustration.
Later, I overheard a conversation between Aiden and someone from HR. His voice was sharp and full of anger.
“I can’t have her working here any longer,” he said. “She’s ruining the company’s image.”
“She’s skilled,” the HR representative replied, trying to defend me. “We haven’t found anyone with her expertise.”
“I don’t care,” Aiden snapped. “I can’t stand having that fat girl around.”
The words hit like a slap. My chest tightened, and my eyes filled with tears. But as I returned to my desk, something changed inside me. The sadness turned into anger, and anger became determination. If Aiden wouldn’t recognize my worth, I would make sure my work did.
The debut of the new collection was my chance to show everyone who I really was. I worked tirelessly, designing pieces that celebrated real, diverse beauty. When the time came for the runway show, I swapped Aiden’s designs with my own. My models were women of all shapes and sizes, each one representing beauty in her own way.
When the lights came on and the audience erupted into applause, I knew I had done something incredible. Aiden’s face turned red with rage, but I stood tall, proud of what I had achieved.
When the announcer called for the designer, I stepped forward confidently, my heart swelling with pride. The crowd cheered, and the smiles of my models made everything worth it.
In that moment, I knew I had proven my worth—not through words, but through action. I had broken barriers and redefined beauty, not just for myself, but for every woman who had ever felt overlooked or dismissed.
What do you think of the story? Do you agree with the message? Share your thoughts in the comments below!