Rarity let out a long sigh as she sat down in her working chair, working by the soft light of her desktop lamp. It had been another long day of work in her boutique, mostly doing fittings and alterations for her customers, constantly trying to please a pony who didn't know exactly what they wanted. At the end of the day, three ponies had walked away satisfied with her work. Two had claimed that they would have to come back again for more changes. Only one of her clients, a stallion from Canterlot, had been somepony from outside of town. He'd taken his suit's jacket with the calm, clean demeanor that Rarity had always admired in Canterlot ponies. He had seemed neither pleased nor disappointed with the work, and had told her that her work was "of similar quality to the tailors of several other ponies I've seen!"
So, if that's right, then my best efforts are simply "on par" for Canterlot society... She let out a low moan and brought her sewing machine to a stop, rising from her chair and stepping away. It felt good to turn her back to the machine that seemed to be eating up her life just as easily as it gobbled down spools of thread. Turning her back to her work, however, seemed to leave her only able to stare in one direction: the door. It would have been easy for her to simply walk out the door and throw herself onto her bed, letting the sweet embrace of sleep overtake her, but she still hadn't eaten.
"I can't believe it's so dark outside... What time is it?" She refused to keep a clock in her workshop, knowing that she would start counting out her work in minutes, rather than completed projects. She'd made this mistake near the beginning of her career, and the work had seemed at least three times as difficult and ten times as monotonous. When she'd finally moved the clock to another room, she found herself finally able to become lost in her work, and what was once a tedious task that needed to simply be finished and set aside became the most important part of her work: the details. She would often become lost in the details of her work, making sure that the stitching was even, that any slight deviation from the pattern was accounted for and planned through accordingly. She would never admit it, but while Twilight's Obsessive Compulsive Disorder could become problematic at times, hers would often manifest itself much more strongly when she worked. Listening to her stomach practically tie itself into knots, she finally relented and agreed to eat while she was taking her break.
Promising herself that she would come back if she truly walked away from the dress in mid-production, Rarity quietly and gently walked out into the hallway and down the stairs. Glancing up at the clock as she silently moved into the kitchen, Rarity was shocked at the position that the hands had taken.
"Two-thirty-six?" She whispered under her breath, refusing to believe her own eyes. Shaking her head, she walked to the refrigerator. "I simply must go to bed at three... Or maybe four, depending on this dress." Pulling open the steel doors, she glanced at the sustenance inside, trying to decide what would best suit her purpose. Rarity would never stoop to eating fast food, of course, but she had several meals already prepared just in case she happened not to eat because of her work. Selecting a container, she grabbed the meal with her magic, along with a chilled bottle of apple juice. It was hardly a meal, but she wouldn't be picky at half-past two in the morning. Popping open the plastic lid, she smiled at the meal inside: a double-decker daisy sandwich, sliced into two halves and accented with several toothpicks featuring frilled tops (courtesy of Pinkie Pie, who often was willing to give her the extras after putting together a "party platter"). On the side was a less-than-meager helping of breaded stuffing, in need of only a simple reheating. Taking a plate from the cupboard and placing the sandwich halves in the center, she levitated the rest of the container into her microwave. She hated the device, of course, seeing as cooking over a stove was the far more classy way to prepare a meal, but she couldn't question the convenience of the appliance, and it had helped reduce Sweetie Belle's burnt meals by a substantial amount with its simplicity. While the delicious side was warming, she turned her attention to the sandwich.
"It's good to see that I was more than generous with the daisies, I'm absolutely famished!" As she was about to take the first bite, she stopped and giggled quietly to herself. "More than generous! Oh, Rarity, you are a clever dear!" Picking up the first half again, Rarity took a large bite, feeling the gratification of the delicious taste in her mouth. She paid careful mind to where the toothpicks holding the sandwich together were located, of course, not wanting to receive a nasty surprise in the semi-darkness. Invariably, however, her mind would turn back towards her work, and the pony's remark had struck a chord with her.
"My best efforts... Only on par?" She whispered after a satisfying swallow. "I don't understand... What else could I do? Every stitch of the embroidery, every miniscule gemstone on the cuffs, every one of them was of the highest quality I could produce! I know that I've only been growing better with practice, but this is my talent! My destiny! Eventually, I'm going to reach my peak, finish developing my own style... What else could I do from there?" As the first bite of food seemed to disappear into her stomach, the organ seemed to remember fully what it was that it had been missing, and ached longingly for more. Taking another bite, Rarity came to a disturbing revelation. One that made her heart sink and grow cold in her chest.
Is it... that my "style" is what has been holding me back? I've studied the designs of some of Equestria's greatest designers, paid minute attention to what made each of them unique... Perhaps it's my own intrinsic qualities that ponies don't like? She swallowed and took another bite, growing anxious at she became more and more certain in her mind. Styles pass and cycle out of popularity, but as my father seems to so eagerly display, some fashions simply never become popular... Could mine be one of them? If that's true, then how could I ever be successful? A designer could be parted with their style as easily as a singer could their voice or an author with their vocabulary! These things cannot simply be swapped around and replaced with a newer, better model! If this was true, then it would be impossible for me to-
Thankfully, the microwave chose to finish at this moment, allowing the disastrous train of thought to come to a screeching halt at the ear-splitting whine of the machine's buzzer. Suddenly released, Rarity shook her head, banishing the dizzying conception. Silencing the appliance and praying that she hadn't woken up Sweetie Belle, Rarity removed the stuffing and pulled a small fork from a drawer near her sink. Normally a thought like this would have been reason enough for her to summon her "swooning couch" and lay back, proclaiming it to be the "worst. possible. THING!" but few ponies knew her well enough to know that, in her private moments, Rarity would rarely do such a thing. She tended to keep her overly dramatic reactions at bay when she was alone. It was only around other ponies that she tended to lose control of herself, and she had never known why. She'd often accused herself of putting up a facade in front of others, refusing to acknowledge her true self in front of her friends, but had lost the argument with the fact that she simply couldn't bring herself to act any other way.
The blow to her spirits seemed not to heal, even as her stomach was appeased, and the heavy chill in her heart stayed with her as she traveled back upstairs, taking care to remain as silent as possible. If Sweetie were to wake up this early in the morning, I would NEVER get to sleep! Looking back up at the clock, she realized that it had taken her almost fifteen minutes to eat, and that she would need to cut her work short soon.
Letting out a long sigh, she pushed open the door to her workshop. Immediately there to welcome her back was the sewing machine, still in mid-stroke, as she had left it. Perhaps it was her lack of sleep or her own depression, but the machine seemed to be eagerly trying to pull her back in, ready to consume more of her precious time on the good, green earth. For the first time in ages, Rarity felt repulsed by the idea of sitting down to sew. It surprised her as she unconsciously flicked off the light above the desk, leaving everything as it was, and backed out of the door, shutting it in her own face. She knew that she wouldn't be able to work, not with this feeling of hopelessness lodged in her heart. Walking to her bedroom, she threw herself upon her bed, relishing in the feeling of finally taking her own weight off her hooves and laying down.
You'll be just as able to sleep as you are to finish that dress... Her own voice nagged in her mind. You need to determine what it is that's bothering you so badly!
"Well, I think that we all know what it is..." She muttered in reply. "It's because I'm going nowhere! I've been working in Ponyville for what, ten years, now? Granted, they've been ten successful years, I've been able to keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach, and even been able to pander to my own refined tastes! But..."
But you feel like you haven't made progress. Certainly, your designs have gotten better and your skills have become more refined, but how many ponies of notable repute come to your store? How many of the high-class ponies you strive so desperately to impress have actually WANTED your designs? Sapphire Shores did, but she didn't want just YOUR design, did she? She had her own ideas, her own plans! Your single outfit wasn't enough for her...
When she couldn't think of a reply, Rarity took a moment to question the fact that, rather than simply talking to herself, as she often did when she was working, she actually seemed to be under an attack from her own critiquing voice. It made sense, in the long run. Whenever a dress fell short of her design, she would immediately examine every stitch, every bolt of fabric, to try and determine what had gone wrong and what was needed to fix it. She was falling woefully short of her expectations for herself, almost to the point where she would have taken a dress of equal fault and simply chosen to start over in its creation.
"Well, what would I do? Start again from scratch? Try to change the way I work, the way I think?" She stared up into the darkness of her bed's canopy, listening to her own whispered voice. "If my style is simply not as beautiful as I think it is, what would I do?"
Well, you could keep yourself trapped in this boutique for the rest of your life, making clothes in Ponyville as a simple small-town designer... It seems as if that's simply as far as your talent can bring you! But you always promised yourself-
"That I was destined for bigger, better things, I know..." She rolled over onto her side, withering under her own critiquing eye. "My talent is only worth as much as I can do with it. My efforts are only worth as far forward as they can take me! But those popular designers... how are they so much different from me? I mean, either they design absolutely amazing pieces, or they simply create things so absolutely absurd, the only way that they can claim them to be any kind of art is that they're 'avant-garde' or some other nonsense! There isn't anything that I can do to try and bring myself to the level of the first, and I refuse to sink to the level of the second!"
A healthy, beautiful, capable unicorn like you could find a job under any kind of trade that she wanted...
"But I don't want to work anywhere else! I want to sew, it's what I love!" She hissed into the darkness.
And this discouragement you're feeling? If you LOVE sewing, then where is that coming from?
Rarity thought long and hard about the question. "It's coming from... myself. I've been judging myself on what I see other ponies doing, on the success that the most famous have! In fact, some of them don't even work in the same field I do! Sapphire Shores is a singer, she needs to focus on her keeping her fans entertained more than her own fashions! And Photo Finish, who brushed me aside so easily... is a photographer! She knows nothing of the beauty of a dress, she works with the full ensemble of model, pose, dress, lighting-"
And judging yourself off those ponies that you think are so fabulously talented would be like asking Twilight to judge herself off of Celestia or Rainbow Dash off of Spitfire. They've had YEARS, even DECADES more practice than you, and practically choose what becomes popular and what doesn't! Whether you believe it or not, Rarity, you just haven't given yourself-
Rarity's thought was interrupted by a long yawn.
"Enough time... Fame will come as you climb the social ladder, my dear. You have plenty of friends who adore you and an entire town in which your reputation is unparalleled! If you keep working, you're going to go far, because your talent is only limited by the amount of time that you put into it!" She started to rise from the bed, ready to work again, but another yawn immediately thrust her back down again, the warmth and softness of her down covers quickly working their typical magic on her tired body.
"For now, let's get some sleep. I get the feeling I'm going to be very inspired tomorrow."
With a record-breaking yawn, Rarity gently pulled her covers over herself and let her eyes slowly slide shut under her sleep mask. Just as she was about to drift away into a deep sleep, one final thought crossed her mind.
Being able to look at yourself with a critical view is good... But you need to be able to follow it through completely. Remembering how you might skew your own opinion of yourself is every bit as important as remembering to keep your playing field level...
If you're going to say bad things about yourself, remember that you can always determine why they're wrong!
