An essay about fashion? Groundbreaking.

Yes, I used to work in fashion and have some stories to share. I came up with the idea to do a personal essay on a non nutrition related topic and many of you were on board with the idea when I asked.

Prologue - I can’t really fit my experience as a whole into one newsletter, so I think I am going to have to do this in parts like a series. Think Reesa Teesa’s “Who TF Did I Marry?” for those of you on TikTok. I will still be discussing nutrition and intersectionality with this newsletter of course, but I would also like to give a personal glimpse into my past experiences. This is a personal essay only and not a way to seek “revenge” or attack the industry or even the people. It wasn’t for me, and I have moved on, but I have found that, like any life experience, this one shaped who I am today, so I thought it would be fun to share. I won’t name names because I really don't want to be sued, but also, there are some good people who still work in the industry. But here we go with Part 1 of The Fashion Years.

I remember first watching The Devil Wears Prada many moons ago. Actually, backtrack, I remember reading the book while I was in the depths of my first fashion job and then a few years later seeing Anne Hathaway on screen, bringing my life to the screen. Did I just say my life? Yes, I did. I mean this in a joking way because, of course, the story was based on the author Lauren Weisberger’s time working at Vogue. However, the story was still so relatable that I felt I was the character Andy and that she was basically telling my story scene for scene, minus the boyfriend and the trip to Paris.

If I remember correctly (and I can’t, honestly), I believe I saw The Devil Wears Prada in theaters with my mom. The book was great for sure, but somehow, seeing Meryl Streep being a perfect eye-rolling, elitist villain made me realize I was looking at my reality. It was a great movie, funny and heartwarming (mostly because Andy realizes the situation and gets the fuck out), but it was also amazing how close to the truth it was. I mean, this is Hollywood and lots of liberties will always be taken (and some were), but not as many as you would think.

I graduated college with a Bachelor of Science in Fashion Merchandising or, as I like to call it, a BS degree in Fashion Merchandising. Get it? I did not have a job secured even with a couple of internships I did in college, so I thought, why not do a couple more internships that might actually be a gateway to a paying job? I have always loved writing, and my dream job (or so I thought) was writing about fashion for one of the big-name magazines. Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Glamour, and all the rest. I mean, when you’re into fashion and love writing, it just seems like a natural choice. While scouring for internship availabilities, I found an opening for interning in the “fashion closet” at one of the big names. Fashion closet? Yes, the fashion closet needed an intern, apparently. Writing was not part of the description, but a foot in the door is a foot in the door.

During my interview with the two fashion assistants, who were probably only a couple of years older than me, one of them told me they liked “smart people.” What the hell did this mean? “I hate when I have to repeat myself. I mean, if I ask you to do something, why are there a million questions? Just do it.” I remember sitting there staring blankly because what the fuck? But also, I really wanted the internship because I really wanted a fashion writing job, so I just laughed along with them. I don’t remember the rest of the questions, honestly, but I think it would be safe to assume they were all the same mean-ish girl energy.

Well, I got that non-paying internship, and I was well on my way, or so I thought. Overall, there were about 3 of us interns per assistant working in the closet. And when I say closet, I mean a large room filled to the brim with clothes from big-name designers. I quickly learned that my supervisor's assistant (Miss Why Are People Asking Me Questions) really did not like being asked questions. But there were other interns to answer everything, and if none of us knew, then we were screwed. The tasks were typical intern stuff: run to the coffee shop and get the whole floor coffee, and learn everyone’s preferences. Oh, and when I say the whole floor, I mean everyone except the interns, the people not being paid. Organize the mailroom to make sure all the staff received their fashion show and party invites and hand deliver them to everyone ASAP. One time, the mailroom was so unorganized from over the weekend that another intern and I had to take time to organize it first, but we were taking way too long apparently to hand-deliver the mail. One of the writers soon came storming in and demanded what was taking so long. Neither myself nor the other intern spoke right away because, “Hey, Captain Obvious, look around you, and you can answer that question yourself!” I did not dare say that out loud, but I mean, the room was a mess, and it was nearly impossible to find anything right away. Well, that writer (or maybe she was one of the graphic artists I can't remember) started going through all the mail and boxes with us, carefully pulling out all of hers and leaving behind everyone else’s. She swiftly left as she swiftly came and did not say a word upon her exit. My fellow intern and I looked at each other and cracked up because it was so audacious that it was comical.

The worst part of the internship for me personally were the fashion pickups. Remember the scene from The Devil Wears Prada when Andy is supposed to pick up clothes, and she asks what subway to take? Then, the character Emily almost has a heart attack at the idea of these beautiful clothes on the subway. Well, this is actually very close to reality. I will disclose, though, that this depended on the designer, no offense to anyone. Louis Vuitton or Gucci? You're taking a town car. American Apparel or Gap? Sorry, subway it is.

You might be reading this wondering, “It’s just a pickup, and you’re in a car (most times.) Why was this awful?” Did I mention that the assistants had your phone number and were calling it nonstop until you were back at the office? Did I mention that they were screaming at you to hurry up? Did I mention that sometimes they gave you the wrong address, and Smartphones weren’t invented yet (yes, I’m this old), and you had to figure out what they meant in their horrible handwriting? Remember how I also said the assistants didn’t like to be asked questions? Fun times indeed.

I remember once I had multiple garment bags of gowns, and I was in a town car heading back to the office. We were stuck in traffic because, well, this is New York City, and the assistant was calling me nonstop. “Where are you?” she asked heatedly. I told her we were about 20 blocks from the office and moving as fast as we could. “Can you just get out and run?” As I said, I was carrying multiple garment bags of gowns, and I’m talking expensive gowns with detailed beading and more intricacies that make them extremely heavy. And we were 20 blocks away. Run? No ma’am.

Well, let me just say it was not a welcome greeting when I returned to the office. The garment bags were grabbed by two assistants (they were heavy, so they really needed two people, but I digress) and whisked off to show the director (think a Miranda Priestly type) for edits. I was exhausted because this was toward the end of the day after a full day of running around. But after a few more hours of editing from the director, we were given the okay to go home. Oh, and I forgot to mention that the hours were 10 AM until 7 PM, but most of the time, we stayed way later because fashion sleeps for no one. And this was four times a week. I’ll reiterate that we were NOT paid or even reimbursed for lunch or commuting. One of the interns once received a phone call from her father when it was about 9 PM, and he was asking if she was on her way home. When she gave him the unfortunate news that we were running late, he said, “With all of these hours, you should just work in investment banking.” I mean, he wasn’t wrong, and the pay would be so much higher.

So this was my life for many months. I want to say that this led to some really great opportunities, but it did not. I wasn’t writing, nor was I learning about the editorial process and what it took to put together a magazine. I just worked with a few very mean-spirited folks who acted this way simply because they were also miserable, and we all know misery loves company and a punching bag in the form of an unpaid intern. After about four months (too long), I moved on to another internship at a bridal magazine. This seemed to be more intimate in terms of employee numbers, so I thought I would have better luck there.  

Honestly, it wasn’t too different from what I was doing at the big-name fashion magazine, except at this one, I did get to see more of the editorial process. I was there when the models were cast for the photo shoots and fitted, which was actually very cool. Even cooler were the fashion shoots. I loved it, but I definitely felt out of place with my introverted self. I barely spoke and tried to remain in the background as much as possible, and I’m sure I was seen as the “weird intern,” but I still loved it. This was also unpaid, of course, but the fashion shoots had catered lunch, which was amazing.

Overall, I spent about a year doing internships with the magazines, hoping it would lead me somewhere. Even though it didn’t, I learned so much about how to deal with different personalities, and that is something that no college class will teach you fully. Also, there was a cool feeling of flipping through the pages and seeing the clothes that I ran all over Manhattan to get and knowing that even though my name wasn’t mentioned, I had something to do with that photo shoot. I also learned that models are friendlier than you probably think, and the amazing people who work in the mailroom will always be your biggest allies when you are in a crunch if you are nice to them, which you should be anyway.

Well, this was just the beginning of my fashion experience because there was so much more when I really began working, aka getting paid money. Hope you enjoyed!