|An unintentional shrine to Miuccia; tying up some pretty packages|
Sometimes, mostly on exceptionally trying days like the ones I had last week, I find myself wondering if this is all worth it. “This,” of course, being the following: waking up at 5:15 in the morning and not being able to go to sleep any earlier than midnight; spending 12 hours a week on a bus; working in a clothing store all weekend instead of relaxing so that I can afford to commute three days week; staring at InDesign until 11 at night so that the Style section of the newspaper layout is done in time for our printer’s deadline; fielding emails from writers for the magazine and trying to explain nicely how the editors have the final say in their captions or their titles; not hearing from my Hong Kong group members until the night before our assignment is due; realizing only 10 minutes before Multimedia: Space class that I don’t have half of the materials I needed for this week’s installation because I didn’t have time to go to CVS; eating another giant bowl of quinoa or rolled oats and an apple for dinner because I didn’t have time to go to the grocery store; declining another Friday night outing with friends because my bus doesn’t get in until 8:30 at night.
Then, some really spectacular moments occur, like one did on Tuesday. Last week marked the Fall/Winter 2014 Miu Miu show in Paris, and only days later we received some preliminary lookbooks in our office. These smaller, spiral books were bound in a soft pink textured cover, and while each look was numbered, there were no items names, product numbers or color codes. I was instructed by the press assistant to package a number of lookbooks in a very specific manner: first, I wrapped them in soft grey tissue paper. Then, I placed them in a tiny Miu Miu bag, and I tied the handles with two bows of custom Miu Miu ribbon. That’s when I noticed the handwritten notes attached to each book. “Dear Anna…”, “Dear Grace…”, “Dear Virginia…”. The press assistant passed me a larger bag and said to put three of the books in it, for the Vogue girls. I’m sure my eyes popped out of my head because he chuckled a little and told me to personally address three labels to three very important women in the Conde Nast building. I was tempted to slip in a fan-girl love note to Grace, confessing my adoration for her visionary talents as well as her British sass, but I managed to restrain myself. I knew that this was grunt work, but I still find myself getting starstruck by all of the influential people I’m surrounded by who before only existed in an unattainable, far away place called “the fashion industry.”
Some days, I feel like PR really isn’t for me, and it weighs on my conscience. I’m interested in more than just a name on my resume, I want a fulfilling experience. I realized last week, exhausted and on the verge of a minor meltdown, that I have too much on my plate. One person should know better than to do everything that I’m doing and expect to stay sane, or even expect to get a full night’s sleep. But deep down inside, I know I would regret not working on all of the projects I’m involved in. If I don’t make some sacrifices and give it my all, I’ll never get where I want to be. Then, when I get to touch the same lookbook Grace Coddington may or may not also touch, it makes me realize I’m one step closer than I was yesterday to working in the offices at Vogue.
P.S. One of the other interns didn’t even know who Anna Wintour was. Who is she and WHY is she here???