Confession of the Cupboard.

Rather anticlimactically in my previous blog I mentioned an awaiting email from my editor regarding an article ...the email was an out of office reply. I was soo excited to see that I had a reply I was like 'yes, this is my moment'; and guttingly it wasn't.

HOWEVER, come Friday when I had given up all hope on getting a response... I finally did. At work I received an email from Harriet one of the junior fashion editors and who looked after me at Style, saying that they really appreciated all the work I had done for them and that she read my article and...SHE LOVED IT! Success. Although unfortunately she doesn't have final say as to what goes in the magazine (I was too shit scared to email the editor in chief) she did say that if she could, over the next couple of months she would push for it to be run. The likelihood of this actually happening, is rather slim as let's face it who has their first article published in the Sunday Times?! As much as I would like to think I am the next Caitlin Moran (but with less skunk like hair and such an overt opinion on feminism) I am right at the bottom of the my Everest.

But I thought I would share with you my confessions from the cupboard, so that you can act like an editor and scold my work, whilst also getting a more honest opinion of life as a fashion intern not as shown in Chanel 4's The Intern - it doesn't happen like that! So here it is...Enjoy.

CONFESSIONS OF THE CUPBOARD.

The moment when Anne Hathaway discovers the illusive ‘Fashion Cupboard’ in The Devil Wears Prada is iconic and pivotal in her transformation from Beast to Belle, and my experience has struck a similar chord. With all the excitement building I was almost expecting doves to flutter gracefully and a choir of small children singing in angelic tones, as the door to all my fashion dreams was unlocked. And although there was a line of Manolos and Choos to greet me as expected, I was heartbroken to find the cupboard of dreams was…utter chaos.

My first instinct was to blink and look again – to try and forget that I had seen a more truthful fashion cupboard and despite blinking and wishing again, my defining Anne Hathaway moment had been shattered. Before I was able to clumsily clamber out of the cupboard and run from News International, hands thrown in the air, anger at my naivety took hold. The only tribute left to my Hathaway dream were silent sobs that a Chanel necklace was not in sight for me to place upon my shoulders and begin my personal transformation from utterly shabby to fabulously chic. Perhaps without wanting to admit it, when I opened my eyes to reality I was overwhelmed by the gems that were gleaming from the cupboard. I’m not talking about Harry Winston necklaces or DeBeer’s rings dripping with jewels but the real fashion and the real clothes that real women wear. In my own little fashion bubble I dream of being in Marchesa and Elie Saab and Zuhair Murad - transporting me to a fairytale world of lace and endless elegant possibilities, but that is not real life…the cupboard was.

 My mission was suddenly clear – learn and discover! My journey was to boldly go where interns have feared to tread, straight to returns. It was whilst undertaking this rather cumbersome task that my learning began and my organisational skills were supremely heightened. A task to some, organising J.Crew jumpers into colour coordination and Stella McCartney silk trousers into ascending piles of lust is typically the kind of organisation I am very good at. Believing that when I first started at Style I had a fairly adequate fashion knowledge I was quickly put to shame…who knew that Prada and Miu Miu were the same fashion house?! My proudest moment thus far at Style should be the knowledge in fashion that I have amassed and being treated to the inner workings of my favourite magazine; but the truth is that after 3 weeks I had cleared the floor to such an extent we were able to vacuum, oh yes.

A love hate relationship with the cupboard ensued, one that can only be likened to my feelings towards Taylor Swift. I love that she sings country (although we seem to be going through a very strong pop phase) but I hate that she went out with Jake Gyllenhaal (and I didn’t). My love for the cupboard is at times unyielding, those times are when I am carefully unwrapping Cavalli necklaces and pretending they are a present to myself, or being gobsmacked at how truly beautiful and well constructed an Acne leather jacket can be. My hate for the cupboard can be equally as barbaric when dockets go missing or when a box of wigs falls on me whilst searching for the world’s smallest Aspinal purse – it wasn’t chic and surprisingly a box of wigs is actually heavy enough for a small dent.

Now that I have left the cupboard, I miss it and all its teachings – I can only hope that one day it will welcome me back to further my learning.   

And I leave you with a pic of me and my pal Jasmine in our cupboard of shattered dreams. 

Fatty BB xxx

Absence (I am desperately hoping) Makes The Heart Grow Fonder.

I know, I know, I know...It is coming up to two months without a post. There really isn't an excuse except for that I have been as busy as any other working person and with regard to the weight loss front there really hasn't been a huge amount to report. But now I am back and both will be reconciled.

My internship at the Sunday Times is done and I learnt a lot. However unsurprisingly some of my premonitions about the fashion industry were distinctly accurate. They are all thin, they are all blonde, they are all beautiful, they all are ridiculously stylish and they all eat an avocado for lunch. For the overweight less than beautiful Indian, that will happily eat avocado if it is part of fajitas this was always going to be a tough industry to crack. I was anxious to say the least on my first day, I hadn't had an interview for the position (in essence so they hadn't seen how I didn't fit AT ALL) and so anxious doesn't really come close...I was petrified. My first day in truth was an utter shambles - I had woken up about 20 hours too early after panicing about what the hell to wear and it went down hill from there. First day of fashion mag school looked a lot like this...(see the false trembling smile?!..I know what a sad git.)

When I got to the hugely intimidating building it turned out that all of the fashion editors were out that day (as time went on I found that Mondays were the quietest of days at the office as a lot of people weren't fond of coming in) and so I was kindly looked after by the features intern Tash - who was an absolute gem. So there I was in my nice new outfit sitting on fashion monitor freezing my absolute tits off because during a snow storm News International see that it is fitting to have cold air blow on its employees. My day was cheered up by a trip to Pret (which very quickly lost its novelty) and whilst everyone else was scooping out the rest of their avocados in the office I was eagerly anticipating a falafel wrap. It was all going swimmingly I had my Lemon Aid in hand (you know you have them too much when you spell lemonade the way Pret does), until I looked down and realised I had splattered falafel wrap sauce all down my new pristine white shirt. I was reminded of the scene in Hitch when the poor lovable fat guy drops an entire sub down himself and subsequent gets himself in an absolute pickle. As much as I know you would find this scenario hideously enjoyable, in truth I just ran to the toilet and attempted to wash my shirt. Still not exactly ideal on your first day.

As the week went on (and gratefully things got a lot better) I think I took people by surprise, I almost took myself by surprise with how much I already knew about fashion and people started to look at me in a different way. The look that I often get when people find out I used to be good at sports - a look of shock and amaze with a hint of 'she has got to be shitting me' thrown in. Suddenly my opinion was valued and I was really part of the team, as much as I still was the girl that most certainly did not fit in, I was the girl that to some degree knew what she was talking about - and I happily took that.

By the end of my stint at Style my fashion life was in full flow, I was still the least stylish person in there. There was no competing with the fashion editors they wore their clothes with a confidence that can only come from being in that industry long enough to know you have made it. There was not even competition with the other interns they were all a size 6 and stunning and the looked like they belonged.  But on the rare occasion I was caught in a very similar outfit to another intern or even better one of the actual Style team I gave myself a little pat on the back for doing it for the fatties. By the end of it, I got to my surprise a glowing report from the junior editors, who even more to my surprise, were actually impressed by me and of course I managed to utilise my one talent in life and made some friends (being the most approachable and least intimidating person in the office has its positives).

So what to do now that it is over? Well, I was feeling brave when I was there and thought I have this opportunity I have to really take it  - so I wrote a short piece and sent it to the editors. That was about 20 minutes ago and whilst writing this I have an email sitting in my inbox from one of the editors, I feel like a school kid awaiting judgement from their favourite teacher and suddenly all my bravery and confidence is lost.

I have learnt from this experience that to be in the fashion industry you need a thick skin and one hell of a wardrobe - at present I am working on both. I realise this is a rather serious post back into my blogging life but never fear my pretties wait til you hear about the disaster that was my birthday you will be back to lolling at my disasters - because everyone aims to faceplant infront of a whole club on their birthday.

I have missed you,

Fatty BB xxx