http://www.saic.edu/admissions/ug_admiss/apply/index.html#process

I’m not from ny I’m from chicago and I go to a military school. They only offer 1 art class no other kinds no clubs nothing.

For your application, you might need to take a class on fashion designs or something. Look around your neighborhood or internet. Fashion designs are a must. Also, it would be excellent if you know how to sew. Start working on some masterpieces to show.

Duration : 4 min 37 sec

Technorati Tags: caught on tape

This all-day event of lectures and panel discussions, presented in conjunction with the exhibition “Superheroes: Fashion and Fantasy,” brings together leading international scholars, critics, and designers to discuss the world of costumes and comics. Themes include the appropriation of the uniform, the adaptation of superhero costumes for the screen, the creation of modern mythologies, and the role of the superhero as metaphor in contemporary society.

Artists Panel
Alex Ross, comic artist; Stanford Carpenter, istant professor, Visual and Critical Studies, School of the Art Institute of Chicago; and John Cassaday, artist and writer, Astonishing X-Men and Planetary

Duration : 0:9:39

Technorati Tags: Art, comics, costume, fashion, metmuseum, metropolitan, mma, mma_education, mma_exhibition, mma_lectures, mma_programs, museum, of, superheroes

Do I need to take 2 years of a language?

My school is very small,(student body=around 400), because of this there are not much of any electives. Are there any general elective classes that I could take that would stand out or help my chances to get in an art college?

I’m going on my 4th year of art, in the highest class. Im also in Newspaper, but other then that Im taking the general classes for graduation.

Is there any more I can do or am I just stressing over nothing?!

Im looking into the A.I of Chicago, Academy of Art University and Fashion Institute of Technology. Those are my top three choices and I’m going into fashion design.

I’m actually wondering the same thing. But I did do some research and I’m pretty sure language is not necessarily required to get into art college, but it will definitely look good on your transcript.

AP’s and honors will always be a plus too, so be sure to take some if you’re really worried

And about Acadamy of Art, they have a 100% acceptance rate at the moment, so I wouldn’t worry too hard about getting in there (:

The ones I didn't get said they chose someone with more experience, though the job ads said no experience required and they were entry level that didn't even require a degree.

So, I don't know what's going wrong. I've done 3 mock interviews at school with teachers and employers and they went very well according to the feedback that I got but…they must have lied. So I'm looking for help outside of the school. Any suggestions? I'm in Chicago and looking to go into the field of fashion merchandising.

Ok, well I went through these companies I'm about to mention and I really really hate them because of everything they stand for. I don't like the fact that they are middlemen. Im referring to the temp agencies. I dont like them because you go there and interview with them and they hire you, then they send you out to another company to work. So they are company A and they send you to a different company, so let's call that company B. Company B might pay you $20.00/hr if you were to go directly to them and get hired, but because you go through the temp agency (Company A), Company A takes their cut out for finding you and you only get paid $12.00/hr. That's why I dont like them and I wouldn't go through them again. But in your specific situation, I would really consider going through them because they interview people all day long and they know what to look for because they have to send you out to company B where you will get interviewed a second time. They don't want to send people who aren't prepared. So I would really recommend you go through them and apply for some temp jobs (many of them are temp to perm so if your looking for a permanent job until you finish school, this could be a good option). If you go there and apply for temp jobs and just be honest with them there about how you want to improve your interview skills, they will actually help you with that because they don't want to send you out to Company B unless you are prepared and will make them look good during the interview. Look on careerbuilder for these places or just look in yellowpages.com for an office near you, they are everywhere. Manpower, OfficeTeam, Robert Half, and Volt. (Volt and Robert Half might not be in your area, but those other 2 are, and Robert Half Company actually owns OfficeTeam). Check them out. The people there are usually down to earth and easy to talk to and get help with. They offer free training for all kinds of things such as improving social skills on the job, computer programs, and things like that. They train for free because they want you to get better jobs through them so they can make more money by being the middleman.

Art Center College of Design, Pasadena, CA
PrattMWP, Utica, NY
Columbus College of Art & Design, Columbus, OH
The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, IL
Rochester Institute of Technology, Rochester, NY
San Francisco Art Institute, San Francisco, CA
James Madison University, Harrisonburg, VA
Parson-Paris School of Art & Design, Paris
Kansas City Art Institute, Kansas City, MO
School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MA
Maryland Institute College of Art, Baltimore, MD
Lyme Academy College of Fine Arts, Old Lyme, CT
The Cleveland Institute of Art, Cleveland, OH
Corcoran College of Art + Design, Washington, DC
Parsons The New School for Design, New York, NY
Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, Philadelphia, PA
Cooper Union School of Art, New York, NY
FIDM/The Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising, Los Angeles, CA
Delaware College of Art & Design, Wilmington, DE
Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, NY
Ringling College of Art and Design, Sarasota, FL
The University of the Arts, Philadelphia, PA
Art Academy of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, OH
School of Visual Arts, New York, NY
New Hampshire Institute of Art, Manchester, NH
Memphis College of Art, Memphis, TN
College for Creative Studies, Detroit, MI
VCUarts, Richmond, VA

Graphic Design and Film are usually two separate majors, often in completely different departments/colleges in a university. I don’t have expertise in film but I teach graphic design.

The following are schools I take seriously. There may be others from the list you gave, but I’m not familiar with them — especially west coast. These are excellent schools for graphic design — not in any particular order.

Rochester Institute of Technology, Rochester, NY
Kansas City Art Institute, Kansas City, MO
Maryland Institute College of Art, Baltimore, MD
Ringling College of Art and Design, Sarasota, FL
The University of the Arts, Philadelphia, PA
VCUarts, Richmond, VA

Design is a great career but it is very competitive, so a good education is critical. Enjoy the portfolio day. Good luck!

This all-day event of lectures and panel discussions, presented in conjunction with the exhibition “Superheroes: Fashion and Fantasy,” brings together leading international scholars, critics, and designers to discuss the world of costumes and comics. Themes include the appropriation of the uniform, the adaptation of superhero costumes for the screen, the creation of modern mythologies, and the role of the superhero as metaphor in contemporary society.

Artists Panel
Alex Ross, comic artist; Stanford Carpenter, istant professor, Visual and Critical Studies, School of the Art Institute of Chicago; and John Cassaday, artist and writer, Astonishing X-Men and Planetary

Duration : 0:8:47

Technorati Tags: Art, comics, costume, fashion, metmuseum, metropolitan, mma, mma_education, mma_exhibition, mma_lectures, mma_programs, museum, of, superheroes

Blood Feather
I remember…wind licking at our faces, the Californian sun shining intensely. I was just 10 years old… it was on this day my happy life came to an abrupt halt. My dad, Peter, suggested that we should go to the beach, together. My mother and I were playing in the sand, as she built a sandcastle we would sit and watch the water eat it away. We glanced down the beach; the sun seemed to be painting a picture for our eyes to feast on. “Dolphin! Dolphin!” We gazed up to see my little brother Charlie splashing in the waves. My mother managed a frown and raised an eyebrow. My mother ran over gracefully, but quickly, and snatched him up out of the water. Looking disappointed Charlie glanced over at dad. “What’s the matter?” He said lowering his sun glasses. “I saw a dolphin!” “It wasn’t a dolphin, Peter,” mother said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Honey,” he said getting up from his seat “why don’t you let him dream a little?” Father’s hair swirled about him madly, looking like a chocolate colored tumble weed. He strided over to Charles and put him easily back in the water. Charlie continued his pursuit toward a hermit crab, going farther out. “There see?” father said. And upon saying this he gazed up at Charles, his eyes shining. Then he noticed a shadow, moving about menacingly a few feet from Charles. Instinctively father dove into the water, picked Charles up, and hurled him toward the shore. The shadow sped vigorously toward father. And in less than a second something had him. The aqua water was suddenly a dark crimson where father was standing. Swimming in a panicky fashion, he tried to head to shore. My mother could do nothing but sit at the waters edge and watch in despair. “Hurry!” She yelled angrily at him. Father was weak from swimming, “He’s got me now,” he said exhaustedly still panicking. “No please don’t leave me!” mother shouted. Her eyes were brimming over with tears and she stared at him intensely, lovingly. Father’s face grew hard and reddened; as he looked at her he inhaled and punched the shark’s nose with all his strength. The shark sped away, there were others, but for now the coast was clear. His eyes grew tired and he fainted, head slamming against the water as he fell. Mother ran to him and dragged him on shore. The sand was now crimson as well; some coral must have scraped his back on the way in. My brother and I stared at our bloody mess of a Father, too young to understand. Knowing what mother would want of me, I convinced my brother to go shell hunting with me. Mother threw a thanking glance in my direction. I nodded my head and went on. I stopped at a nearby pile of shells, letting my brother sift through them. He seemed worried but didn’t speak. I looked back and an ambulance was parked on the sand. They put father on the stretcher and zoomed away. Mother gently picked up his sunglasses and placed them on her head. She stroked Charles’s bleach blonde hair and picked him up. She cradled him and I watched in amazement as he drifted to sleep. She looked up at me, her soft golden hair resting on her shoulders.
“Is father okay?” I asked in a low voice.
“I – I don’t know.” She said in a whisper, trying to fight tears.
Mother coolly walked to where our car was parked. A cute little yellow Pontiac, which reminded me of a big banana. She placed Charles in the backseat, looking at him thoughtfully. I stared out the window at palm trees flying past us. I stared blankly at the road and calmly asked where we were going.
“Home for now.”
“What about father?”
“The paramedic team said that the hospital would call when he’s ready to come home.” “I don’t want to visit; it may be too much on Charles.”
Mother focused her rear view mirror toward Charles. He sighed and was holding his arm in a strange position.
“Mother,” I said pausing to turn toward her “I think his arm is hurt.”
“No. He’s fine. He’s probably in the “sucking the thumb” position.”
This was a good excuse since he was only four. Her cell phone started ringing franticly, it startled my brother. Mother slowly lifted it up to answer.
“Hello?” she said shakily.
“Oh really, already?”
“Okay then we’ll be there shortly” she gulped after she answered the phone and said nothing about what they had told her.
Rain started pouring down on us as we drove steadily to the hospital making the mood even more depressing. A tall coral shaped white building appeared from the haze as we moved closer. We parked the car near the front. As the engine died mother warned us not to stare and not to be scared she tried to smile encouragingly but it didn’t work that well. I opened the door and stuck my foot out I realized the parking lot was flooded with at least ten inches of water. My legs were short and the water swallowed my foot and touched the top of my shorts. Mother scooped Charles up and we proceeded to the front door. We had no umbrella, and so as we stepped inside the huge sliding doors people stared. I looked up at mother. The rain hadn’t affected her height but her hair was a brunet color and seemed to be covered with hairspray, not flowing about anymore. She didn’t look at the people who stared, but gracefully walked to the elevator. I struggled to keep up. Mother punched in some buttons and up we went my, stomach descending farther down. Then the elevator stopped with a jerk and we stepped out. My stomach was protesting but I moved forward. The halls were long and had many doors on either side. Some pictures that looked like they belonged in a beach hotel lined the walls. Mother stopped and knocked on one of the doors peering into a high window. A nurse opened the door and beckoned us in. Father lay there, eyes closed, unmoving. A white blanket covered him to his waist. He looked fine. The nurse was telling mother about his surgery and how well he was doing. Then tears started rolling down her tan face and we left. In the car mother gained some of her strength again and sniffing she said,
“Father…may be a little different from now on,” she paused to stick the key in the ignition. From the back seat Charles squirmed and sat up.
“What do you mean?” he asked with sleepy eyes.
Mother sighed and preceded, “His leg. His leg is gone.”
The car was silent, and we drove home. I must have fallen asleep, I felt mother take me in her arms moving gingerly and sit me down on the bed. My eyes opened and I saw her sitting with me.
“Are you awake Grace?” she asked not looking at me.
“Yeah,” I said not actually sure of what I had said.
“Father won’t be home for a while.”
“Where is he? Is he okay?” I asked anxiously.
“Shhh!”
She quietly tucked me in again.

I woke to the sound of yelling. It was coming from mother and father’s room.
“This is all your fault!” she rambled on.
She must have been on the phone with dad.
“Charles… he could’ve been killed!” she sighed heavily and plopped down on the bed.
I was quite surprised Charles didn’t get up and poke his head out of his bedroom door. I got up and opened my door slowly, inch by inch. As it squealed in protest I squinted my eyes, hoping it wasn’t too loud. Once it was open I carefully walked down the hall. Our family pictures stared at me and my bare feet made sticky noises on our wooden floors as I passed them. A faint light coming from the door made a line going up the pale yellow wall. I peered through the crack of the door. Mother was sitting on the bed and some light was coming from the window. She was sobbing. I decided I would give her some time alone, so I went back to bed.
* * *
I woke up, what seemed like, seven years later. Those years rushed past me… only hazy nightmares I couldn’t see. I was now seventeen and had finally gotten a decent car to drive to school. It was a robin’s eggshell blue Volkswagen convertible. Dad moved to California and mom, Charles, and I moved to Chicago. I missed the sunny days of my past life, but in Chicago that couldn’t be helped. It was always cloudy there. Mom had driven us away immediately after the night at our house and into the clouds of Chicago Illinois. My new school was an old school, what was left of it anyways. It was just a big boring brick building. I doubted my looks would help me get any friends. I was tall, sort of, and blonde. My skin was tan, thanks to the sun, I was super skinny too. I looked like a living rail. My first day was horrid. People made fun of my arms, which were skinny too. I rolled my eyes at them when I heard them talking about me. My last class was band, people stared at me and when Coach Luke, the teacher, introduced me… it made things even worse. When I stood I almost fell, my knees collapsing under me. I luckily landed in my chair, sighing with relief when I landed. I didn’t pull my flute out and play, but instead read my book, Coach didn’t seem to notice… or mind. I got interested when coach left the room and the girls beside me began to talk.
“Oh my gosh did you see how hot he was!” the brunet said beaming.
“Whatever. You’re so obsessed with him, he’s new. Give him a break.” The strawberry blonde rolled her eyes and looked at the clock on the wall.
“Have you noticed what a cute couple they make?” the brunet ignored the other’s comment.
I heard someone giggling at the back of the room. I laid my book on the ground and turned to see who it was. A muscular boy was hugging this girl. I stared at him; my heart skipped beats and fell to the bottom of nowhere. He was tall and pale, his lips reminded me of the crimson color of a rose. His skin along with his lips looked like the same texture of a flowers petal, soft, delicate, and fragile. The girl was a medium height and had dirty blonde hair that was very long. She too, was pale. He paused hugging her a minute to glance up, his eyes met mine, and he looked intently at me scanning me all over. He looked away, though, as soon as he got the chance. They looked at the door with a concerned expression and quickly but gracefully found their seats. Their movements blew my mind. I was sure if a deer was in the room it wouldn’t have noticed their movement. He was beaming straight ahead, at nothing in particular, and his perfect white smile seemed to bore a hole through me. I looked away so I wouldn’t go blind by his radiance. The brunet nudged me in the shoulder.
“He’s looking at you.” She said through her teeth.
I was petrified; sure his smile would bore through me this time. Coach walked through the door and looked down at his wrist watch.
“Five, four, three two…” he counted down.
The loud bell coming from a speaker on the wall startled me and I jumped. I could hear him laughing at me. I ignored it.
“Bye! See you tomorrow!” Coach boomed across the room. Coach was buff, I was sure he must’ve been a football player. I turned around to look for him but he and the girl were gone, in fact, every one was gone. How long had I been just sitting there listening to his silk like husky laughter flow over me? I hopped up and headed to the parking lot. My mind went blank as I thought of him. I found myself sitting there staring out the windshield of my convertible. I put the key in the ignition and the purr of the diesel motor awakened me. The sky was cloudy and set numbers of grey shadows onto the front of our house. Our house was only a one story, which was convenient enough. It was Californian style with a terracotta roof and tan stucco textured paint. There were some small palm trees in the flower bed. It didn’t remind me of California, only because it was too cloudy. I parked my bug in our curved driveway and stepped out. Mom, who of course wasn’t home yet, was busied with the chore of picking Charles up from school. I walked inside, sat my keys on the table, and picked up a snack. I turned on the TV and nearly tripped over the coffee table when I saw the commercial, my snack went flying of course. It was an advertisement for pools, but that didn’t matter, it was the fact the guy who was modeling for it looked exactly like him. My heart skipped beats, but then I thought of that girl he was hugging.
“If he already has a girlfriend why was he staring at me?” I thought aloud. “Oh well, who needs a stupid boyfriend anyway.”
I was still obsessed with him, no matter how hard I tried to resist… I failed. There was just something about him. I heard some bumping noises and looked over to see mother and Charles walking in the door. I was sprawled out all over the floor, an obvious scene for an accident. She gathered the evidence I might be hurt and rushed over to help.
“What happened?” she sounded shocked.
“Ummm… I tripped.” I fibbed quickly, leaving out the part about the commercial, it sounded convincing enough.
“Well honey, you are seventeen, I expected I could leave you at home alone.” her tone was expecting, disappointed.
“No really I.” I was interrupted when Charles broke in.
“You should be more careful. I’ve seen a drunk person with better balance.” He said mockingly.
I ignored him and got some ice for my leg. I must have landed half on the coffee table half on the carpet. It was nearly ten when I caught myself, again, staring into space… on my bed this time. I clicked off my lamp and tried to sleep. I felt utterly stupid; I just couldn’t resist thinking about him. I tried to remind myself he had a girlfriend, but I couldn’t shake him off. On my way to school the next morning I didn’t seem to think about him much, not until a black car that reminded me of his Porsche Cayman passed by. I smacked my forehead and nearly ran off the road. The car behind me blew their horn. I did finally arrive at school, a little on the irritated side. I didn’t see his Porsche in the parking lot though, and so I hung my head and moped my way to my first class. School passed and he wasn’t there, I found myself thinking of and looking for him.
“How did school go today?” Mom asked when I got home later than usual.
“Okay.” My mouth said but my mind said not okay.
I went to bed with an empty stomach shoving my brother aside as I went. I wasn’t hungry, for food at least, but I was hungry, for him. In the morning I found myself engulfing three pop tarts. On the way to school I veered off the road again, and as the other day, the car behind me honked. I was going crazy. I needed socialization… but with whom could I talk with. No one. I’d left all my friends behind in California. For the first few days, I only needed the memory of him. But today my socialization level was low, and my brain urged me to talk to someone, anyone. Say something. In my English class I exploded to the girl next to me. Mr.Birk shushed me and I, in answer, shushed him. Not a good idea. I was given a note to take to the principle, Mr.Birks pointed to the door and I proceeded, glaring at him as I shut the door.
“Grace Whitman to the principal for defiance.” The note said in red ink that infuriated me.
I ripped it up instantly and threw it into the large garbage can next to the wall. As I headed to the bathroom I scowled at the boy that watched me rip the note up. I grumbled as I opened the door of the bathroom and proceeded to the next stall. I flipped the lid down and sat, balled up, on the toilet. I contented my mind with reading the graffiti on the walls. The most common verse written on the wall was Philip is mine or I love Philip. The bell rang and I willingly left to go to band.
“Stupid, ugly, bald, English teacher.” I thought of Mr.Birks face when I said this to myself.
The look of defeat filled the wrinkles on his aged face. I smiled victoriously to this thought and headed to band.
“Don’t forget to take your instruments home and practice for the auditions tomorrow.” Coach Luke said as the bell rang.
I grabbed an audition paper and my flute as I headed for the door. When I got home I pulled out my flute, to distract my mind from him, and practiced. I wasn’t half bad, I wasn’t sure if I’d win the responsibility of the solo or not, not like I wanted it any way, but I was sure I wouldn’t get embarrassed either. When mom and Charles walked through the door I put my flute away automatically. Aware that Charles would want to play it and break it. He did rush over but I turned to put it away before he could speak. I did eat supper tonight, reminded of the horrible hunger that pained me this morning. We ate in silence and after dinner I went to bed. I couldn’t sleep. So I cut my computer on and closed my door. I was thinking of him again. I got on Google and typed in myspace. I got on the site and reviewed all the pictures until I failed in my search and fell asleep in my chair. When I woke in the morning my neck hurt. I ignored it and looked over at the clock.
“Oh!” I realized I was late and rushed out the door.
I ran back in seconds later to grab my flute and paper.
I pushed the petal to the floor today; I didn’t even have time to veer off the road today, much less time to think of him. I rushed to math, my first class, and as I set foot in the door the bell rang. I hopped into my seat and shortly after a large stately figure appeared before me. It stretched out its hand to tap on my desk and I looked up, gulping. Mrs. Heather, the slim blond sweet faced teacher, waited in front of me. She slipped a tardy pass to me. I dropped my head as I felt the other student’s eyes watching me, and slunk to the office. When I felt that Mrs. Heather had looked away I walked instinctively to the bathroom, again. She wouldn’t know. The other pupils wouldn’t either. Why should I care? Well, whatever. All other classes zoomed past leaving band as the last memorable survivor. I thought of him again, staring off into space.
“Next… Ahem…next! Mrs. Whitman?” coach Luke boomed.
I looked up sleepily. I stepped forward to play. I wasn’t scared, only because I didn’t know these students. As I sat in the isolated awaiting seat I looked around the room, and then I froze. He stood out from them all. I stopped breathing as his eyes investigating me. I started noticing my hands turning from red to blue. I breathed again when I heard his girlfriend laugh, assuring me time hadn’t stopped. I was trembling. Coach made a signal with his hands, pushing me on. I played. My breath was shuddering like a leaf about to fall. When I finished all the students were staring at me unbelievingly.
“You…Congratulations Grace. I believe you earned the solo.” Coach said in a whisper.
Everyone’s eyes widened and then, they all smiled and applauded. I blushed faintly pink and then a dark red when he stood. Time stopped again. But then time continued. As he, like the others, applauded. I inhaled, grateful for a break, then ran to put my flute away when the bell rang. When I turned around I nearly screamed. There he stood, towering over me. He put his hand over my mouth, and again I inhaled sighing afterwards. What felt like an hour later he put his hand away, stepping back.
“You…You were incredible.” He said with widened hazelnut colored eyes.
“Oh…” I couldn’t continue for a moment, paralyzed by his eyes and face, “Really I didn’t mean too be good. I was actually scared.” I said modestly.
“Scared? Of what?” he asked, his breath giving me chills.
“Oh nothing really.” I said tearing myself from his thoughtful gaze.
“Hmmm. Okay.” He said frowning, shattering the perfection of his face.
He turned and winked, beaming at me on his way out. I just stood there, on the verge of fainting. I should’ve chased him. But I was too weak.
“That was great, Grace.” Coach said, walking over to pat my shoulder. I walked cheerfully to my car.
“I made a friend today, a nameless friend.” I thought shakily on the way home. I couldn’t stop smiling, and mom and Charles noticed.
“School good today huh?” Mom asked at dinner, smiling.
“Uh…yeah I made my first friend.” I said, fumbling on the word friend.
“Good.” She said.
Charles rolled his eyes. I rolled mine back and hauled off to bed. I fell asleep and woke up smiling.
“Stupid boy.” I thought, laughing at my remark.
I went to the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. I didn’t usually put on make up. I had natural beauty mom called it. I hated popular people. They just had to put it on. What ever. When I arrived at school he was in all my classes. Why didn’t I see him yesterday? I shrugged off the thought and went to my next class, Science. The tall, black wiry haired teacher, Mr. James nearly put me to sleep with his lectures. He was staring from the lab table across from mine at me. No one sat next to me on the vacant stool. I imagined him sitting next to me and felt better, completed. I was just too timid to ask him his name. Time flew by when I wasn’t looking at him anyway. On my way home I smiled as I thought of him again. Then frowned to know he was my only friend and I didn’t know his name. When I got home I watched TV sitting impatiently as I waited for that commercial to come on. It never did. Mom didn’t come home the usual time tonight. She was occupied with a meeting that she took Charles to. I laughed to think of how bored Charles would get. Torturing my brother was hilarious, especially if I wasn’t doing it. An hour later when the commercial still hadn’t come on, I wrote a note and put it on the counter. Grabbing a piece of pizza from the fridge on the way.
“Dear mom,” the note read, “Gone bike riding. Be home soon, love Grace.”
I marched out the door grabbing my keys of the table. I pulled my bike out from under the shed and rode down our street a ways. I took a small dirt path that led to nowhere and thought of him on my way. I pedaled on and on not sure where I turned or went, just kept going and going. I wasn’t sure how far I’d gone when I reached a small stream. I looked at it for a minute, then turned and went home. Mother looked worried and confused when I walked in. But I just marched to my room and went to bed.

This is a great story (very detailed), only it'll be better if you wrote more of what happened! I <3 your writing, this story is pretty interesting. Can you send me the rest of the story if you're continuing it? Thnx, and have fun writing!

P.S I suggest you to write more about Grace's father, after all, the beginning of the story mentioned him a lot of times, so you can't just create a character and totally forget about it ! Continue writing this story, it might turn out fabulous!

any suggestions for schools that offer both of these major ?????????

You might have trouble finding that combination in Chicago, since fashion design is usually taught at art schools or schools with a career focus, and developmental psychology would be a university program.