Take The September Issue, the documentary about Vogue US larger than life editor-in-chief Anna Wintour, and downgrade it by at least ten times. There you have me interning at the fashion desk of a gossip magazine in London.
I should feel like Andrea of The devil wears Prada, only with far less glamour. It was my third day today, yet I still walk in the newsroom unnoticed: a journalist asked me if I knew where I was going this morning - she must have thought I had gotten lost. My tasks are those tasks for which people usually get paid: emptying boxes, picking up the mail, moving clothes from one rail to another, filling dockets.
All this....not even to enter the fantastic world of fashion & beauty journalism because I frankly don't give a damn about that - what's a highlighter? What's the difference between a bangle and a bracelet? How do you call this piece of fabric that looks like a dress, but might as well be a shirt, a curtain, a sheet? - I keep asking my colleague. And at the same time I keep asking myself why such a smart girl would like to work in such a vain industry, writing about silly things, spending so much time and effort doing something that means so little, after all.
And we are sitting on plastic boxes in a tiny cupboard, because they don't have spare chairs to give us. Obviously, when our boss tells us that more than half of the chairs are free because people are not there.
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