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