Fandom High School

Today was a bit of a departure from what the students were probably used to -- and just as well, since it was a final exam, and all. Irene had met them all out by a portal, which had taken them to an actual upscale department store, rather than their usual simulation. It was, however, just as curiously devoid of other customers as usual. Irene did not like to share, and when one was as wealthy as she, one had the resources to ask the busiest store in London to shut their doors for an hour.

At least, in this dimension. It probably wouldn't fly in her own Harrods.

"Welcome to Harrods," Irene said warmly. "It's my very favorite place in the whole world, and this one's not mine, but close enough. In case you didn't pick up on it, this is a real store, and not a simulation. Your task today is simple: pick yourselves out an outfit, from head to toe, and tell me why you chose each piece, and what it says about your personal style. Your reward for defending your thesis, so to speak, is that I'll buy you your favorite piece from said outfit."

She crooked a smile at them. "Not the whole thing, mind -- even with my resources, I'd probably max out my cards doing that for all of you. But pick out a whole look, head to toe, and come find me, and you can take home your shoes or button-down or bangles, whatever you fancy. Bit of a thank you for putting up with me all term. You've all been lovely."

She made little shooing motions. "Now go dress yourselves, darlings."

"Y'know," Irene said as everyone filed into the Danger Shop -- today programmed to look, perhaps unsurprisingly, like the formalwear area of an upscale department store, "prom's one of those things that's really starting to catch on, where I'm from, but sadly isn't something I grew up with. We had formals, of course, but never...prom, like in American films."

She sighed heavily. Because her life was hard without prom, of course, even if she was in a position now to wear a ladies' tuxedo to work when she felt like it.

"In any case -- for some of you, this may be your very first formal event, or your very last for a long while. Some of you may not be old enough for prom, for which I apologize because you're still stuck playing dress-up with us today. Think of it as practice." She flashed a smile. "But in any case -- the term formal, when it comes to fashion, has some fairly strict rules. Ladies -- you're expected to wear a gown that reaches the floor, and gents, you're expected to be in a tux with a tie. Jewelry and accessories are at your discretion, though I implore you to wear matching or coordinating shoes, please, because it will look better."

She paused, looked down at what she was wearing, and added, "Of course, certain rules are meant to be broken, so don't feel compelled to stick to that too carefully. What I want you focusing on today is finding something that you feel comfortable wearing. Look for high-caliber fabrics and fit -- remember, you have to wear this bloody thing all night, and even if you think that strapping yourself into something held together by wishes looks sexy as hell, remember that even the very best tape doesn't always hold up on a warm dance floor."

She waved out towards the clothes. "Go try things on. Play. Experiment. Try different colors. If you're looking for a tux, remember that you want satin here," she gestured, "on your lapels, and running down the line of your trouser leg. And I must emphasize: if you wear a black trouser and put on a brown shoe, I might well cry. It will do you no favors, personal style or no. Just please don't. Oh! And if you absolutely fall in love with anything you see, come find me. I've programmed in actual things you can order online, so we can have it rushed here by Saturday if you meet your soulmate."

"Sometimes, there are things more important than fashion," Irene greeted them today. She was as put-together as ever -- perhaps even more so, as today she'd picked out a pair of Escada leather pants and a tall pair of leather boots to go with them.

The better to protect herself from whatever was out there, of course.

"Sometimes your safety is more important," Irene elaborated, looking...probably the most sincere and serious that she had the whole semester. "So. I would really like it if none of you went outside, or tried to deal with -- whatever this is," she said, her voice stern. "But I know most of you won't listen to that. So, we'll explore other options. If you insist on being a moron and risking your safety for more than, say, a jog from one's apartment to one's job -- speaking from experience -- then wear something protective. Practical shoes. Trousers you can move in."

"Or," Irene added, striding over to a storage closet, "one of these, or these, or best yet, these. Now...free period. Go back to the dorms, or go to the library if that's your sort of thing. But don't go outside unless you have to, please? I'd like to see you all back here next week."

And she'd be sprinting home in her (low-heeled!) boots just as soon as they were all out, yes. The better to be safe -- and the better to regret her lack of phone.

If she'd bought it, she'd be long gone by now, after all.

When students made their way to the Danger Shop today, they'd find that it had been transformed into a lush, green, sunshiney park -- complete with a few tennis courts, a track, and a playground -- though without any adorable rugrats running around, of course. Irene was ambitious, but only so patient. The woman herself, of course, was standing over by an array of cabanas similar to those that had been on the beach that day a few weeks ago, wearing a pair of Norma Kamali yoga leggings and a Michi jacket, along with sunglasses and trainers.

"Looking good is not all sitting around and being fed grapes by boys in togas, though I'm sure that's probably what loads of people think I do all day," Irene greeted them with a wave. "Sometimes people do like to go outside, and just now, the first nips of spring are in the air and I'd bet more than a few of you are ready to stretch your legs. It's still icky out in the real world, though, so I thought I might give us a sunnier one to play in just now. Now, exercising, whether outdoors or in, doesn't have to mean putting on your very oldest t-shirt and your brother's ratty running shorts. More to the point -- even if you don't especially care about looking good when you exercise, you really ought to ensure that your outfit fits the activity."

She gestured down to herself, sending her ponytail (treasure the moment, kids -- you'll never see her hair in one ever again) bouncing. "I do yoga, so I wear form-fitting clothing when I exercise so that I'm not worried about getting tangled in layers. Runners often also wear tighter clothing so they don't have to worry about the excess fabric weighing them down or reducing their speed. But if I were to run over there and play tennis, I might be looking for something different in my clothes to complement my activity. Take a little while to poke around in the cabanas and try some things on, then come on out and feel free to go play."

She paused, then held up a finger. "Oh, one last thing -- without embarrassing you lot too badly, I do want to touch on the question of underthings, just briefly. Whether you're concerned about upstairs or downstairs being protected while you play, it's imperative that you wear something supportive. Ladies, poke around the sports bras. Gents, there're cups available if you're so inclined. But please do keep that sort of thing in mind -- less a style thing, more a safety concern."

Today, students were instructed to meet in the Danger Shop, where they'd find that Irene had programmed a beautiful, sunny, relaxing beach -- complete with cabanas.

(There had been a moment where she had nearly programmed beds into the cabanas, but Irene wasn't quite that poor an example.)

"I apologize for my absence last week," she greeted them, waving. Despite the theme of today's lesson, Irene had wisely opted to cover up more than she might have -- it didn't seem an apt time to go parading about in a swimsuit in front of her students, somehow. (They'd get enough of that on spring break, next week, anyway -- and hopefully this...whatever it was that was in the air would have dissipated by then.) "And I apologize even more, because this week we're covering swim and vacation wear, in light of the trip. I could postpone it, but wouldn't that be silly?"

It would be at least as silly as trying on swimwear during an island-wide hormone surge, sure.

"In any case, each of the cabanas is outfitted with all sorts of swimsuits and coverups, for both sexes -- as well as shoes and accessories. Go wild, try things on -- that's why they have curtains, by the way -- and then feel free to come out and...sun yourselves for the rest of the hour. Play in the ocean. If you feel the need to leave and dispense of any excess energy, please do feel free -- you won't be penalized."

If any of their teachers were going to understand, after all....

Students were instructed today to meet in their regular classroom, where they'd find Irene dressed in an understated black dress and plain black pumps. Of course, if they were looking carefully (or really, not even that carefully), they might notice her scarf, earrings and watch. Perhaps that was a clue!

Perhaps, also, the school uniforms that Irene had laid out -- don't ask where or how she'd gotten ahold of the uniforms that had been imposed on students a few years ago, but she'd found enough to go around -- would also serve as a clue. Perhaps also the jewelry and accessories she'd laid out on the table beside them would also serve as a clue!

Maybe Irene didn't even need to talk today, what with all these clues.

"Sometimes," she said, with a smile in greeting, "we don't get to choose our clothing. Sometimes clothing is thrust upon us. You might not have to wear these now, but at one time, people here did. And what's more, while you might not ever have to wear a school uniform in your adult life, you might be saddled with another, even less-flattering garment. A police officer's blues, perhaps. Or a sales uniform. Or -- " She gave an exxagerated little shudder. "Scrubs. Now, you might not always be able to dress it up as much as you'd like, but when we can't control our clothing, we must control our accessories. I'd like all of you to change into these sad, drab garments -- use the screens," she added, gesturing vaguely lest anyone think they were meant to strip down in the middle of class, "and then add some accessories that you think would manage to still convey your style, in spite of someone else's fashion wants being imposed upon you."

She clapped her hands together lightly, adding, "You can't modify the uniforms in any way -- from what I hear, that was a good way to get detention, even if I'd applaud you for it. You can only add things to it."

Irene was doing something unprecedented today. Something she had not yet dared to do. Something she could not believe she was doing. Granted, it fit with the class topic she'd chosen for today, because sometimes one had to acquiesce to the will of teenagers, but...still. This was nearly beyond the pale.

Irene...was wearing pants. And not just any pants: jeans. Three hundred dollar jeans, yes, that she'd paired with cashmere and Louboutins, but still. Why didn't she just wear a garbage bag while she was at it? She hadn't even bothered to put her hair up, since she was taking a casual day.

"Good morning," she said crisply, waving. This week, they were meeting in the Danger Shop again, though their climate was hardly so extreme -- Irene had programmed it to be the gigantic denim showroom of a department store (though she'd not programmed it beyond the whole 'look at jeans!' thing, so no one need venture off to look at blenders or something.) "Last week was a good test in pairing practicality with style. This week, I want to tackle a basic article of clothing, and see what you do there. Nearly everyone wears jeans -- even me." She winked conspiratorially and added, "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

She quickly passed out a couple of handouts on the typical women's and men's fits they'd find available -- though they were of course welcome to dip into either gender's offerings if students were more comfortable with that. She wasn't going to judge. Men's trousers looked wildly more comfy than women's, most of the time. "What I want you to do today is to find yourself a pair of jeans that you could realistically see yourself wearing every day, and explain to the class what you like about them. You're welcome to try loads of things on, for fun, but by the end of class, tell me what you like about the pair you picked out -- do they fit well? Do you like the wash, or the cut? Are they warm? Are they stiff for you to break in, or already loose enough that you could do the splits?" She winced, and added, "That's a sign you probably need to go down a size, by the way."

She waved them off. "Set to it! And have fun out there, darlings."

"Good morning," Irene chirped from her perch on her desk at the front of the room, "and welcome to How to Develop a Personal Style. My name's Irene Adler, if you didn't know already -- I'm not a professor, so don't call me that, but anything else is fine. 'Hey you' works in a pinch, even, but you only get one of those per term. I want to commend all of you on taking your first step to defining your own fashion sense, if you haven't accomplished that yet. So many of us go through life aimlessly buying things because they're in a color or fabric we like, or because they appeal to the senses in some way, without thinking about how the item might incorporate into our wardrobe." She tsked, shaking her head. "Impulse buying is the closet's enemy, and my greatest vice, personally."

"But!" She clapped her hands together briskly. "That is precisely the sort of thing we're going to cover in this class -- how to build what we call a capsule wardrobe, how to define what you want out of it, and what it means to have style."

She didn't feel the need to explain her credentials, especially since she didn't really have any official ones. Irene rather thought her Roland Mouret and Jimmy Choos spoke for themselves, anyway.

"So, since it's the first day, let's continue in the grand tradition of first days, and do the introduction thing. I want your name, why you're here, and how you'd describe your current style in a single word. And yes," she added, smiling, "I want you to introduce yourself even if we've already met. Can't hurt, right?" She pointed at random. "You first, darling."