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fashion industry； and clearly one of the most prominent magazine
editors in the world。 The world！ The chance to work for her； to
watch her edit and meet with famous writers and models； to help her
achieve all she doeseach and every day； well； I shouldn’t need to
tell you that it’s a job a million girls would die for。”
“Um； yeah； I mean yes； that does sound wonderful；” I said； briefly
wondering why Sharon was trying to talk me into something that a
million other people would die for。 But there wasn’t time to think
about it。 She picked up the phone and sang a few words； and within
minutes she’d escorted me to the elevators to begin my interviews
with Miranda’s two assistants。
I thought Sharon was starting to sound a bit like a robot； but then
came my meeting with Emily。 I found my way down to the seventeenth
floor and waited inRunway ’s unnervingly white reception area。 It
took just over a half hour before a tall； thin girl emerged from
behind the glass doors。 A calf…length leather skirt hung from her
hips； and her unruly red hair was piled in one of those messy but
still glamorous buns on top of her head。 Her skin was flawless and
pale； not so much as a single freckle or blemish； and it stretched
perfectly over the highest cheekbones I’d ever seen。 She didn’t
smile。 She sat next to me and looked me over； earnestly but with
little apparent interest。 Perfunctory。 And then； unprompted and
still having not introduced herself； the girl I presumed to be Emily
launched into a description of the job。 The monotone of her
statements told me more than all of her words： she’d obviously gone
through this dozens of times already； had little faith that I was
any different from the rest； and as a result wouldn’t be wasting
much time with me。
“It’s hard； no doubt about it。 There will be fourteen…hour days； you
know—not often； but often enough；” she rattled on； still not looking
at me。 “And it’s important to understand that there will be no
editorial work。 As Miranda’s junior assistant； you’d be solely
responsible for anticipating her needs and acmodating them。 Now；
that could be anything from ordering her favorite stationery to
acpanying her on a shopping trip。 Either way； it’s always fun。 I
mean； you get to spend day after day； week after week； with this
absolutely amazing woman。 And amazing she is；” she breathed； looking
slightly animated for the first time since we started speaking。
“Sounds great；” I said and meant it。 My friends who’d begun working
immediately after graduation had already clocked in six full months
in their entry…level jobs； and they all sounded wretched。 Banks；
advertising firms； book publishing houses—it didn’t matter—they were
all utterly miserable。 They whined about the long days； the
coworkers； and the office politics； but more than anything else；
they plained bitterly about the boredom。 pared with school；
the tasks required of them were mindless； unnecessary； fit for a
chimp。 They spoke of the many； many hours spent plugging numbers in
databases and cold…calling people who didn’t want to be called。 Of
listlessly cataloging years’ worth of information on a puter
screen and researching entirely irrelevant subjects for months on
end so their supervisors thought they were productive。 Each swore
she’d actually gotten dumber in the short amount of time since
graduation； and there was no escape in sight。 I might not
particularly love fashion； but I’d sure rather do something “fun”
all day long than get sucked into a more boring job。
“Yes。 It is great。 Just great。 I mean； really； really great。 Anyway；
nice to meet you。 I’m going to go get Allison for you to meet。 She’s
great； too。” Almost as quickly as she finished and departed behind
the glass in a rustle of leather and curls； a coltish figure
appeared。
This striking black girl introduced herself as Allison； Miranda’s
senior assistant who’d just been promoted； and I knew immediately
that she was simplytoo thin。 But I couldn’t even focus on the way
her stomach caved inward and her pelvic bones pushed out because I
was captivated by the fact she exposed her stomach at work at all。
She wore black leather pants； as soft as they were tight； and a
fuzzy （or was it furry？） white tank top strained across her breasts
and ended two inches above her belly button。 Her long hair was as
dark as ink and hung across her back like a thick； shiny blanket。
Her fingers and toes were polished with a luminescent white color；
appearing to glow from within； and her open…toe sandals gave her
already six…foot frame an additional three inches。 She managed to
look incredibly sexy； seminaked； and classy all at the same time；
but to me she looked mostly cold。 Literally。 It was； after all；
November。
“Hi； I’m Allison； as you probably know；” she started； picking some
of the tank top fur from her barely there leather…clad thigh。 “I was
just promoted to an editor position； and that’s the really great
thing about working for Miranda。 Yes； the hours are long and the
work is tough； but it’s incredibly glamorous and a million girls
would die to do it。 And Miranda is such a wonderful woman；
editor；person； that she really takes care of her own girls。 You’ll
skip years and years of working your way up the ladder by working
just one year for her； if you’re talented； she’ll send you straight
to the top； and 。 。 。” She rambled on； not bothering to look up or
feign any level of passion for what she was saying。 Although I
didn’t get the impression she was particularly dumb； her eyes were
glazed over in the way seen only in cult members or the brainwashed。
I had the distinct impression I could fall asleep； pick my nose； or
simply leave and she wouldn’t necessarily notice。
When she finally wrapped things up and went to go notify yet another
interviewer； I nearly collapsed on the unweling reception…area
sofas。 It was all happening so fast； spiraling out of control； and
yet I was excited。 So what if I didn’t know who Miranda Priestly
was？ Everyone else certainly seemed impressed enough。 Yeah； so it’s
a fashion magazine and not something a little more interesting； but
it’s a hell of a lot better to work atRunway than some horrible
trade publication somewhere； right？ The prestige of havingRunway on
my résumé was sure to give me even more credibility when I
eventually applied to work atThe New Yorker than； say； havingPopular
Mechanics there。 Besides； I’m sure a million girlswould die for this
job。
After a half hour of such ruminations； another tall and impossibly
thin girl came to the reception area。 She told me her name but I
couldn’t focus on anything except her body。 She wore a tight；
shredded denim skirt； a see…through white button…down； and strappy
silver sandals。 She was also perfectly tanned and manicured and
exposed in such a way that normal people are not when there’s snow
on the ground。 It wasn’t until she actually motioned for me to
follow her back through the glass doors and I had to stand up that I
became acutely aware of my own horrendously inappropriate suit； limp
hair； and utter lack of accessories； jewelry； and grooming。 To this
day； the thought of what I wore—and that I carried something
resembling abriefcase —continues to haunt me。 I can feel my face
flame red as I remember how very； very awkward I was among the most
toned and stylish women in New York City。 I didn’t know until later；
until I hovered on the periphery of being one of them； just how much
they had laughed at me between the rounds of the interview。
After the requisite look…over； Knockout Girl led me to Cheryl
Kerston’s office；Runway ’s executive editor and all…around lovable
lunatic。 She； too； talked at me for what seemed like hours； but this
time I actually listened。 I listened because she seemed to love her
job； speaking excitedly about the “words” aspect of the magazine；
the wonderful copy she reads and writers she manages and editors she
oversees。
“I have absolutely nothing to do with the fashion side of this
place；” she declared proudly； “so it’s best to save those questions
for someone else。”
When I told her that it was really her job that sounded appealing；
that I had no particular interest or background in fashion； her
smile broadened to a genuine grin。 “Well； in that case； Andrea； you
might be just what we need around here。 I think it’s time for you to
meet Miranda。 And if I may offer a piece of advice？ Look her
straight in the eye and sell yourself。 Sell yourself hard and sh