Chapter 219
Chapter 219
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 219
Chapter Title: Children's Fashion Guidelines
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Anything goes.
One crucial aspect of creation is listening to as many opinions as possible.
Especially when you're not just selling products to customers, but intangible values like design and trends—you have to keep your ears wide open.
That's exactly why, by tuning in and chatting eagerly with customers, I was able to pull out the women's sailor uniforms a bit earlier than planned, scoring a small win.
Beyond that, plenty of decent ideas came up that I hadn't tried because they felt too busy or cluttered to me.
"An apron feels too much like servant wear. Couldn't you make it feel more like a dress?"
"No reason we couldn't. If we extend the back like this and broaden the bodice coverage... it comes out looking like this."
"Ah, that's much better."
For those turned off by the apron vibe, I'd recommend a jumper skirt.
"Don't you have anything else for boys? He's three now—old enough to start running around."
"Of course we do. If you're after pants, I'd suggest these ones that don't slip down easily."
"Hm... a bit rugged, but not impossible to dress up."
"Exactly."
For folks dissatisfied with sailor suits, I'd suggest overalls too, gradually expanding the variety of kids' clothes bit by bit.
What surprised me here was that jumper skirts and overalls originated as workwear.
They were born from laborers ditching cumbersome aprons and layering on disposable coveralls over their clothes.
Overalls in particular hadn't spread widely here, but you could spot them now and then among miners or fishermen.
Whether in my past life or this one, both styles evoked grueling labor far more than sophistication—definitely not noble attire.
So for nobles, they should feel even more plebeian than a maid's apron, something unfamiliar and awkward they'd rarely encounter.
Yet surprisingly, plenty preferred jumper skirts and overalls.
If it were just a specific class phenomenon, I'd get it, but it cropped up evenly across regions and titles, which made it all the more intriguing.
I couldn't help chuckling, reminded of that red-hatted plumber smashing bricks everywhere, so I asked a noble who hated aprons why.
"If they look exactly like the maids always around them, it feels a bit off, you know? But you never run into commoner laborers as a kid, right?"
It was a reminder of how diverse people's thoughts and tastes can be.
Thanks to that, I could introduce all sorts of things without twisting myself into knots first—nothing bad about it...
Unfortunately, diverse thoughts and tastes also mean extremes on the other end can pop up.
If there are doting dads or henpecked husbands head over heels for their daughters or wives, naturally there are those utterly enchanted by their own reflection too, right?
And among them, some with tastes straying from the norm.
"Who's going to wear it?"
"Me."
"Exactly as drawn, no changes?"
"That's right."
If not, there'd be no way a noblewoman forty ranks ahead of me in line would insist on wearing the exact dress sketched for a child.
"......"
Pursuing fashion outside the mainstream isn't wrong.
In my past life, we'd joke about "fashion terrorists," but as long as you dress appropriately for formal events or ceremonies, who cares what you wear daily?
That's probably why Seoul Subway Line 1 feels like a demon realm.
But even that has its limits.
I'd seen all sorts of garish outfits in my past life, so I wouldn't bat an eye at someone strutting around shamelessly—but others might.
And it's not just them wearing it and eating the backlash; suddenly it's "Who made that monstrosity...?" and the sparks fly my way too.
I could talk down the doting dads or loving husbands with some flexibility.
But self-proclaimed fashion leaders—true terrorists—are beyond persuasion.
It's not "that looks kinda good?"—it's "I love it!" No room for reason.
They just dismiss anyone trying to convince them as fools and barrel ahead with their vision.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do it."
So I gave up on persuasion cleanly and drew the line.
"...Hmph. I came because you were supposedly famous in the Imperial Capital, but it's all hype."
She seemed a tad annoyed, but after I bowed slightly in apology, she grumbled curtly and rose from her seat.
Cutting it off this neatly should deter others from similar commissions.
Or at least, it had to.
Otherwise, the stress was pulling at my scalp so hard it was beyond speechlessness—my pores might clog up next.
No baldness in our family or Mother's side, but if I'm the first, it'd be a real disgrace to the house...
_
"Haa..."
I'd politely sent off that bold fashion pioneer, thinking it'd curb these terrorists a bit, but I was dead wrong.
"By any chance, that blue dress for adults..."
"No, sorry—it's only for children, so please try elsewhere."
Even after clearly saying no, they kept trickling in one by one.
If this were my past life with niche communities, I'd face review-bombing like "This shop mangles orders terribly." But here, no such thing—the rumor that I don't make kids' clothes for adults spread agonizingly slowly.
I try not to think about past-life infrastructure much, but man, I still crave the internet after 18 years.
These clueless aunties keep showing up because communication sucks.
A star-bombing review to keep them away would be bliss...
One or two, I'd humor with some time, but a steady stream? Major headache.
So after agonizing, I made guidelines.
Couldn't waste time on nonsense when I could serve more customers or work.
Alice or Dorothy dresses: strictly 8 and under.
Panny Lady's coat: women only.
Herbert Young Lord's dress: elementary low grades.
For older teens in sailor uniforms, recommend them for picnics if not yet adults.
With these simple rules declared—no kids' clothes otherwise—the unreasonable ones tapered off bit by bit.
Of course, the Tailors' Guild started wailing about a sudden influx of weirdos, but hey, I sent them potential customers.
They can suck it up.
"Ahh, shoulda done this sooner."
If I'd known it'd trend this hard, I'd have neatly categorized everything upfront...
Still, better late than never.
Now consultations stole less of my time, boosting productivity.
Less stress meant my near-wasting-away figure bounced back.
And no more headaches from unreasonable requests we couldn't handle.
Can't hog all the off-season work or we'd catch flak, so I'll vacuum up commissions till July, then flood the Guild.
I'll prep for the October peak, other tailors feast on my scraps, and everyone's happy—perfect ending.
Wonder what next after the kids' boom?
Time to drop a big one.
Make another Elizabeth dress?
"Hmm..."
Well, May's not fully gone yet.
Plenty of time to think.
_
Having sorted the chaotic kids' clothes with firm guidelines and telling weirdos to buzz off, as I geared up for June and summer, a special guest dropped by after ages.
"Young Master, what mess did you stir up this time without us knowing?"
"What? Nothing! Oh, crap..."
The division chief, whom I'd only glimpsed in passing, showed up at the atelier bright and early.
Standing rigidly with an awkward smile, she triggered my PTSD so bad I nearly told Charles to whip the carriage around.
But rack my brain as I might, I'd done zilch wrong this time.
Chopped anything borderline, only shipped stuff stamped legit by Heretic Inquisitors—no way they were here for me.
"Welcome, Your Excellency Howard Count. How have you been?"
"Chief Sophia, long time... yeah, long time no see. What brings you here?"
Conquering my fear, I stepped down and greeted her warmly.
"Rumors of adults prancing in outrageous dresses lately..."
"Not me this time—stake my title on it. You think after two strikes, I'd go for three?"
Dress, adult, rumor—my freakout hit foam-at-mouth levels as I shook my head wildly denying it.
"We're not here suspecting Your Excellency of anything—rest easy. Just need to clarify a few things; too many discrepancies with what we know."
"Ah... ask away, then."
"Thank you."
She bowed lightly and pulled out a notepad and pen from her bosom.
"First: those in scandalous outfits claim Your Excellency influenced them. You didn't advise them on anything, right?"
"Haven't even shared patterns with the Tailors' Guild, our collaborators."
"I see. And they were originally designed for children?"
"Yes."
"Any slip-ups mentioning that to customers or others?"
"As if. Why invite prison or Inquisition again? No thanks."
"Hmm..."
Scribbling my answers, she furrowed her brow and pursed her lips.
"Then why are these people strutting around in leg-baring, ribbon-clogged outfits?"
"Beats me... their call, I guess?"
"Heh..."
She sighed in exasperation and pocketed her notepad.
Whoever they are, they achieved that horrific dream I couldn't...
It stung, bittersweet.
If only born 200 years later.
Wouldn't even get police scrutiny...