The Devil Wears White Gold
STORY BY Talia Aroshas
Published: July 14, 2013
Being the unfortunate fact that I signed a nondisclosure agreement before taking the job, I will keep this brief anecdote completely anonymous as to protect the identity of my former asinine employer. Please do not confuse this with a genuine care for her character--abhor her and wish to do her only the upmost of disrespects, whilst wish upon her a life of pain and suffering.
For two brief months I lived the life of Andy Sachs; you remember her, she was the “fat,” fictional character that Anne Hathaway brought to life in the poignant movie, The Devil Wears Prada. In my case, however, The Devil was a jeweler who not only wore Prada, I’m sure, but also gaudy jewelry, impossible expensive stones, and an aggressive attitude that had me quivering in my boots when she would walk into the room.
I took the job out of sheer curiosity, but also desperation; while in school I had interned in fashion stupidly thinking that that was where I wanted to be. And so when this job offered rolled along, I jumped on it. And not because it paid well, as a matter of fact, this job of pretentious prestige paid pure pennies, but simply because I knew it would give me a life long rolodex of sensational stories.
Each day I would come to the office at 10am, and each day I never knew what time I would leave; sometimes it was 7pm, most times it was 8:30pm, and a few times it was 4am. Seriously. My life had taken a back seat to hers as I put my freedom on hold in order to follow a career path I was certain I didn’t want. I was losing friends, I was losing patience, I was losing hope, I was losing weight, but the best thing I lost was an incredibly expensive piece of jewelry.
The news was obviously not well received, and when I returned to the office after my journey through the streets of New York trying to locate a miniscule stone upon the dirty sidewalks, the people who had never been very nice to me during my whole 2 month stay, berated me with their eyes and, seemingly, wished suffering upon my soul.
The boss lady was also pretty mad.
I kept my cool, however, knowing that I had not done anything wrong, and knowing that there was only one way this would end anyway. With my ass kicked out the door.
As it is I get fired a lot, I knew what was coming, I knew I wouldn’t die from it, and I knew it was for the best.
However, looking back now, I do wish I had asked for more credit from the hilarious card I wrote to the famous hip hop star I can’t specify, in my bosses name, for the portfolio I put together on my own for my bosses submission to some select society of designers, and the organization I did of her entire office.
What they say about working in the fashion industry is completely true; it is, in fact, filled with soulless creatures that were once upon a time mortal women, who now, instead of food, feed off the hopeful dreams of those less jaded than they.
If you really belong in the fashion world, then by all means, follow your dreams. But if you don’t, or if you’re not sure, take a job as I did, experience it to its’ full extent, and then pee on the bathroom floor on your way out.
I mean. What?
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