Once, when I was 24 and I had absolutely had it, had it, had it with the Man and Capitalism and the Mall, I decided I needed to make my own clothes. Fueled by nothing other than an art school girl’s sheer cojones, I figured it couldn’t be too hard to make a dress. Who needed designer labels anyway? Who would want to be branded by the machine of hegemony, homogeneity, and normalcy? Huh? Who? So, with ego in hand, I set out to make a dress with no skills other than being an abstract painter and the fact that I had taken home-ec in 7th grade. Needless to say, it didn’t go very well.