At school the next day, I secretly poured my luncheon soup into a bottle and brought it home. Then I talked the cook into serving it to Mother at dinner. The plan worked perfectly. She swallowed one spoonful and sputtered, “The cook must have gone mad!” Quickly I told what I had done, and Mother stated firmly that she would take up the matter of lunches at school the next day!
In the years that followed I often remembered the lesson Father taught me. I knew where I wanted to go in life. I wanted to be a fashion designer. And on the way to my first small success I found the road blocked. What could I do? Accept the roadblock5 and fail?Or use imagination and wits to find another road to my goal?
I had come to Paris, the center of the world of fashion, with my sketches6. But none of the famous fashion designers seemed interested in buying them. Then one day I met a friend who was wearing a very beautiful sweater. It was plain in color, but it had a lovely and unusual stitch.
“Did you knit that sweater?” I asked her.
“No,” she answered. “It was done by a woman here in Paris.”
“What an interesting stitch!” I continued.
My friend had an explanation. “The woman her name is Mrs. Vidian—told me she learned the stitch in Armenia, her native country.”
Suddenly I pictured a daring design knitted into such a sweater. Then an even more daring idea came to me. Why not open my own house of fashion? Why not design, make and sell clothes from the house of Schiaparelli! I would do it, and I would begin with a sweater.