The Devil Wears Prada

Article written by Kelly Choy

I simply adored fashion ever since I was merely a toddler. I remember sewing intricate designs on my dolls’ dresses and countlessly dressing and undressing them to try new clothing combinations. As I grew older, I began to experiment on myself instead of on my dolls. I would be described as both girly and gothic, and sometimes I would dress conservatively but oftentimes I would flaunt my skin. I loved to mix and match pieces, and I knew that fashion was my passion.

This was why as soon as I graduated from college, I pursued a career in the fashion industry. I decided to apply for my favorite global fashion chain brand, and surprisingly, I was accepted as a fashion consultant! I would get to work with their designers and dress their mannequins; it seemed like my childhood dream was finally coming true.

However, the moment I stepped into their factory, my dreams were shattered. I expected the factory to look like the ones depicted on television; a factory that was well-kept and uncluttered. On the contrary, the building I just stepped into looked like it had been through the Cold War. Paint was peeling off the walls, the premises reeked of the foul odor of chemicals, and pieces of garments cluttered the floor. I expected the factory to be decent, at least, but this was underwhelming.

My spirits dropped as I was given a tour of their factory. Excess fabric from the clothes were simply thrown away. The amount of excess fabric that were piled in multiple barrels could be sold for a hefty amount of money to help the poor, but instead they were thrown into a dump site at the end of the day. Fumes from the chemicals used to soften or shape the garments were being excreted out of the factory through dozens of pipes connected to the machineries. Additionally, the workers seemed tired and overbearing; the work environment was not even a tad bit welcoming.

The instructor who was leading me through the factory ushered me into a room cramped with short workers. Why did they place all these short workers in this room? I thought. It hit me. They’re all children. Approximately five dozen children were cramped in the small windowless room. The children had bags under their eyes, and their hands had calluses from all the stitching and sewing. The instructor then quickly explained that the children were here to merely help out with the production of garments, and were being fed and treated properly.

My stomach dropped at her lie. These children were obviously malnourished and mistreated. Not a single one of them looked like he enjoyed what he was doing, and the room reeked of sweat and misery. It further dawned on me that these children weren’t even getting paid, much less the recognition they deserve for their hard work.

I wanted to quit my job right then and there, but I didn’t want to leave the company without doing something for both the children and our environment. Therefore, I decided to feign ignorance in what was happening in the factory. I realized that my higher-ups were wary of me during my first few weeks in the company. Maybe they thought I would tell the authorities of the illegal happenings in the company. Whatever their reason may be, I felt like I was constantly being watched and pressured into doing what was better for the company, and not for the consumers.

After a few weeks, I started to gain their trust. I turned a blind eye to their maltreatment and law breaking, but unbeknownst to them, I had a plan up my sleeve. I decided to document all the illegal activities in the factory. I secretly filmed their relocation of the excess garments, the pipes belching out toxic fumes into the atmosphere, the children being forced to work endlessly in the factory, and the work environment in the factory. I documented all of these for about a week, which I believed was long enough to gather enough evidence to incriminate the company.

I posted these to my social media accounts, where they all blew up and received tons of support from the public. The effect was immediate, and within the next day, the factory was suddenly raided and the accusations in my post were confirmed. The excess materials in the dump site were disposed of properly, the pipes and machinery were shut down to prevent the toxic fumes from polluting our atmosphere, and the children were sent off to orphanages to be given a home.

I, along with hundreds of employees from other companies, retired from my job. However, instead of finding work in another industry, I decided to advocate for ethical fashion and human rights. Alongside the police, I now work as an undercover inspector.

I slid my résumé across the table and shook her hand with a vicelike grip.

“You’re hired! We look forward to working with you in our global fashion company.”