Character design and visual storytelling
The character design in I Was A Fashion School Serial Killer is a striking blend of high fashion aesthetics and psychological unease. Each character is rendered with a distinct visual identity that reflects their inner world, from the protagonist’s razor-sharp cheekbones and avant-garde wardrobe to the supporting cast’s more subdued, yet equally telling, fashion choices. The art style leans into exaggerated proportions and stylised expressions, which amplifies the emotional intensity of each scene and gives the story a surreal, almost dreamlike quality.
Visual storytelling plays a crucial role in establishing the tone and atmosphere. The use of colour is particularly effective—muted palettes dominate the more introspective moments, while bold, saturated hues explode during scenes of violence or emotional climax. This contrast not only heightens the drama but also mirrors the duality of the protagonist’s life: the polished surface of fashion school versus the dark undercurrent of obsession and violence.
Panel composition is dynamic and often experimental, with layouts that break traditional grids to reflect the characters’ psychological states. Close-ups are used liberally to capture subtle shifts in expression, while wide shots showcase the elaborate fashion designs that are central to the story’s setting. The attention to detail in clothing textures, accessories, and even posture speaks volumes about each character’s personality and social standing within the cutthroat world of fashion.
In particular, the protagonist’s evolving wardrobe serves as a visual metaphor for their descent into obsession. Early outfits are structured and pristine, but as the narrative progresses, their style becomes more chaotic and fragmented, echoing their unraveling mental state. This visual evolution is subtle but powerful, rewarding attentive readers with a deeper understanding of character development through design alone.
Themes of identity and obsession
At its core, I Was A Fashion School Serial Killer is a meditation on identity—how it’s constructed, performed, and ultimately distorted under pressure. The protagonist’s dual life as both a fashion student and a killer is not just a plot device, but a lens through which the story interrogates the masks we wear to navigate social expectations. In the hyper-competitive environment of fashion school, where self-expression is currency, the line between authenticity and performance becomes dangerously blurred. The protagonist’s obsession with perfection, both in design and in persona, reflects a deeper anxiety about self-worth and belonging.
Obsession manifests in multiple forms throughout the narrative, not only in the protagonist’s compulsive need to control their image but also in their relationships with others. Friendships and rivalries are tinged with envy, admiration, and fear, creating a volatile emotional landscape. The story doesn’t shy away from showing how obsession can be both seductive and corrosive—fueling ambition while simultaneously eroding empathy. This duality is especially potent in scenes where admiration for a peer’s talent quickly curdles into resentment, hinting at the psychological toll of constant comparison and competition.
Gender and identity also play a significant role, particularly in how characters navigate the expectations placed upon them by the fashion world. There’s a recurring tension between self-expression and conformity, with several characters struggling to reconcile their personal identities with the industry’s rigid standards. The protagonist’s own gender presentation is fluid and deliberately ambiguous, challenging traditional binaries and adding another layer to their internal conflict. This ambiguity is not just aesthetic—it’s a narrative device that underscores the instability of identity itself.
Throughout the story, mirrors, reflections, and photographs are used as recurring motifs to explore the theme of self-perception. These visual cues often appear in moments of crisis or transformation, suggesting that identity is not fixed but constantly in flux. The protagonist’s obsession with how they are seen—by peers, mentors, and themselves—drives much of the tension, culminating in acts of violence that feel less like outbursts and more like desperate attempts to assert control over a fractured sense of self.
Ultimately, the themes of identity and obsession are intricately woven into the fabric of the narrative, elevating what could have been a straightforward thriller into a psychologically rich exploration of what it means to be seen, to be envied, and to be consumed by the very image you’ve created.
Pacing and narrative structure
The pacing of I Was A Fashion School Serial Killer is deliberately uneven, mirroring the protagonist’s psychological descent and the chaotic undercurrents of the fashion world it portrays. Rather than adhering to a traditional three-act structure, the narrative unfolds in jagged, almost episodic bursts—moments of eerie calm punctuated by sudden, jarring violence or emotional upheaval. This rhythm keeps readers off-balance, echoing the instability of the central character and the volatile environment they inhabit.
Early chapters take their time establishing the setting and social dynamics of the fashion school, allowing tension to simmer beneath the surface. Dialogue-heavy scenes are interspersed with silent panels that linger on facial expressions, body language, or the intricate details of a garment, creating a slow-burn effect that rewards patient reading. These quieter moments are not filler—they build atmosphere and deepen characterisation, making the eventual eruptions of violence feel all the more shocking and intimate.
As the story progresses, the narrative becomes increasingly fragmented, reflecting the protagonist’s deteriorating mental state. Flashbacks, dream sequences, and hallucinations are woven into the present-day storyline without clear demarcation, blurring the line between reality and delusion. This non-linear approach demands active engagement from the reader, but it also enhances the psychological depth of the story, placing us directly inside the protagonist’s fractured perspective.
Cliffhangers are used sparingly but effectively, often at the end of emotionally charged scenes rather than action-heavy ones. This choice reinforces the idea that the real stakes of the story lie not in physical danger, but in emotional exposure and identity collapse. The tension is internal as much as external, and the pacing reflects this by prioritising character development over plot mechanics.
Structurally, the narrative leans into repetition as a storytelling device. Certain visual motifs and phrases recur throughout the chapters—mirrors, scissors, the phrase “cut to fit”—creating a sense of thematic cohesion even as the plot spirals into darker territory. These repetitions serve as psychological anchors, grounding the reader in a story that is otherwise fluid and unpredictable.
In terms of chapter length and layout, there’s a noticeable shift as the story intensifies. Early chapters are more uniform and balanced, while later ones become increasingly erratic, with abrupt scene changes and disjointed pacing that reflect the protagonist’s unraveling grip on reality. This structural evolution is subtle but effective, reinforcing the emotional arc without needing to spell it out.
The pacing and narrative structure of the comic are not designed for comfort or clarity—they’re crafted to unsettle, to provoke, and to immerse the reader in a world where beauty and brutality coexist in every stitch and silhouette.
Character design and visual storytelling
From the very first panel, I Was A Fashion School Serial Killer delivers a visual language that’s as sharp as a pair of tailor’s shears. The character design is deliberately stylised—think exaggerated silhouettes, razor-sharp cheekbones, and a wardrobe that screams haute couture with a sinister twist. Each character is dressed not just to impress, but to express, with fashion choices that reflect their inner psyche as much as their social standing within the cutthroat world of fashion academia.
The protagonist’s look is particularly striking—structured blazers with asymmetrical cuts, monochrome palettes punctuated by blood-red accents, and accessories that double as weapons. It’s a visual metaphor for the duality of her world: beauty and brutality stitched together with precision. Her style evolves subtly across the pages, mirroring her descent into obsession and control, with each outfit becoming more severe, more sculptural, more dangerous.
Supporting characters are no less considered. The rival student flaunts a maximalist aesthetic—clashing prints, oversized jewellery, and a chaotic energy that contrasts with the protagonist’s calculated minimalism. Meanwhile, the faculty members are draped in academic robes reimagined through a fashion-forward lens—think exaggerated collars, rich textures, and avant-garde tailoring that nods to their authority and detachment.
The visual storytelling leans heavily on fashion as narrative. Fabric choices, colour theory, and silhouette shifts are used to signal emotional beats and power dynamics. A scene set during a critique session is rendered in stark black and white, with only the protagonist’s crimson gloves in colour—a chilling reminder of her hidden intentions. The use of negative space and panel composition further elevates the tension, with close-ups on stitching, zippers, and hemlines that feel almost forensic.
For Australian readers attuned to the intersection of fashion and art, this debut offers a compelling case study in how visual design can drive narrative. It’s not just about what the characters wear—it’s about how their fashion choices become an extension of their identity, ambition, and ultimately, their unraveling.
Themes of identity and obsession
At its core, I Was A Fashion School Serial Killer is a meditation on identity—how it’s constructed, performed, and ultimately unravelled under pressure. In the hyper-competitive world of elite fashion education, identity isn’t just personal; it’s a brand, a currency, and a weapon. The protagonist’s obsession with perfection and control is mirrored in her meticulous self-styling, where every garment is a calculated move in a psychological chess game. Her fashion choices become a second skin, one that conceals as much as it reveals.
Obsession threads through the narrative like a tightly pulled seam. It’s not just about the protagonist’s fixation on success or her rivals—it’s about the obsessive nature of fashion itself. The relentless pursuit of originality, the pressure to stand out while fitting in, and the emotional toll of constant self-curation are all explored with a dark, satirical edge. For readers in Australia’s fashion scene, where the industry often walks a fine line between inspiration and burnout, this portrayal hits close to home.
Themes of duality are stitched into every interaction. The protagonist’s public persona—polished, poised, and poised to win—is at odds with her internal chaos. Her descent into violence is framed not as a break from her identity, but as an extension of it. In this world, obsession isn’t a flaw; it’s a prerequisite. The narrative suggests that in fashion, as in life, the line between passion and pathology is razor-thin.
There’s also a compelling commentary on the performative nature of femininity. The female characters weaponise beauty, style, and social capital in a space that demands both vulnerability and armour. The protagonist’s transformation is not just psychological—it’s sartorial. Her increasingly severe looks reflect a shedding of softness, a rejection of traditional femininity in favour of something more angular, more dangerous. It’s a visual and thematic evolution that speaks to the pressures faced by women in creative industries, particularly in Australia’s fashion circles where innovation often comes with a personal cost.
Ultimately, the story uses fashion as a lens to explore how identity can be both empowering and imprisoning. It’s a cautionary tale wrapped in silk and blood, reminding us that in the pursuit of perfection, we can sometimes lose ourselves in the seams.