Hemmed In

You’ve all heard the descriptions of different types of men. There are boob men, leg men, bum men, some that love tiny waists, pretty feet, even different hair lengths. Me, well, I was truly attracted to hems. It didn’t matter if they were on long, short, or mid leg skirts. It didn’t matter if they were on shorts. I didn’t consider hems on jeans or slacks as true hems worthy of my attention unless they were on those very wide legs.

The one thing about this fixation was that I wasn’t worried about the age of the woman, I could gaze at a tiny princess with her mother or appreciate the hem on her grandmother’s dress. It was the way they moved, the way they hid other things but gave delights in their own right.

The variation of hems was almost too much to contemplate, from the thinnest lace to the heaviest denim, even tassels. It didn’t matter, every hem had its own personality, usually unknown to the wearer. Those that did understand wore skirts with hems that flipped or swung in a most entrancing way. I always had to be careful to stop staring and think calm thoughts.

I had been entranced by hems since I was very young, and the hems I saw during that time were usually at the same level as my eyes. As I grew, my gaze was always looking at the hems. As a teenager, I found it hard to look a girl in the eye but tried my best to be friendly. A couple even told me that I was different, for not staring at their breasts.

I did quite well at school, but not good enough for university. By that time, I had expanded my knowledge of hems with the material that the hem was made from, seeing that the material and the design changed the way a hem moved. With that sort of knowledge, I was a sure thing when I applied for a job at the local mill.

This mill made various fabrics, from the finest satin to the heaviest denim. They even had a section that made synthetic fabrics. I was in seventh heaven, the edges of the materials being an endless hem to my eyes. By the time I was in my twenties, I had been working in every section and wondered if I would be promoted. Oddly, this didn’t happen in the way I expected.

What did happen was that I was shifted to the sales department to take over from a retiring sales representative. I was sad to be away from the endless stream of hems on the machines, but brightened up when I learned what my new job would entail. I would be spending most of every workday on the road visiting clothing manufacturers who used our fabrics to make products to sell to dress shops.

This had me in a van, the back filled with rolls of all the fabrics we made. The old representative took me around, introducing me to all his customers. I had been given a diary and filled it with all the places we called on, along with the names of the customers we spoke to. He also told me that part of my job would be calling on places we didn’t sell to, to try and get them on our books. He said that some of those were places where he didn’t get along with the main buyers, and that a new face may be able to get a foot in the door.

Of course, he did say that there may be a few who would not be happy with a youngster calling on them and that I would have to use my knowledge of the fabrics to win their trust. After we had given him a party I was on my own. It took a while, but the fact that I had worked in every area of the mill was my passport to being listened to. I heard their complaints and described the limitations of the process that didn’t let them have exactly what they wanted. In some cases, I could offer a different material that did what they wanted.

One thing I could talk about was the way the fabrics moved and what they could do to make outfits that had life. After six months, I was being asked to look at the fashions they had made with my ideas and told how grateful they were for my input. It was because of this that my sales went up. It was also because of this that places we didn’t sell to would ring me and ask if I could pop in to talk to them.

Over the next year, I stopped being just a salesman that called regularly to become a consultant. I was told that is the true description of a company representative. As my sales grew, so did my income. I went from a van to a company car with some examples in a folder. I also went from a looker at hems, to an expert on how to make skirts that had personality.

I also went from a shy single to a married man. My wife was the daughter of one of our biggest customers. She had entranced me from the moment we met. With her, I started to appreciate the other attractions that women have. I didn’t become a boob or leg man but did factor them into my thinking. The other thing that my wife brought to my attention was her long hair, and the way it moved as she did. Hair almost had the same movements as some hems, and I loved to lay in bed as she prepared to join me, brushing her hair every night.

By the time I was in my thirties I had resigned from the mill, training up a totally moronic youngster to take my place. My wife and I ran the clothing manufacturer, having taken over from her mother. Business was good and we expanded the factory. We developed our own line in skirts for pretty girls who wanted to flaunt it. We investigated other suppliers from around the world and slipped some new ideas into our products. We asked for different material weaves that would make a skirt have a life of its own.

When I thought that there wasn’t anything left to do, my wife decided that we would move into high fashion. We opened up a shop in the big city, and we called it Hems Alive. My wife and I designed our first collection, outfits that made the model look like she was dancing when she was standing still and look like she was flowing when she walked the catwalk.

At our first showing in the big fashion week, I was pulled up on the stage by my wife as the audience stood to applaud us. I had gone from just looking at hems, to be hemmed in by a bevy of beautiful girls wearing hems that we had turned into outfits every woman wanted.

Marianne Gregory © 2024