Since I was 18, all I wanted to do was work at Vogue … said every girl who has ever watched Sex and the City. But no seriously, it was all I want to do with my life. I freelanced my ass off until I found myself a Junior in college, in Philly, realizing my Vogue dreams were in the wrong damn city. So I decided to find the “Vogue” of Philly … which was Philly Style Magazine.
When my interview got scheduled for an editorial internship, I immediately had an anxiety attack that all of the Natty Ice in the world couldn’t fix. Devil Wears Prada had just come out and all I kept thinking about was this is a style magazine, in a large city, and a Miranda Priestly-esque woman wearing couture will surely turn her nose up at my discount garbs and dismiss me. I was a college student, for crying out loud, I could barely afford Forever 21. Seriously … Forever 21 was my couture. All I had was bedazzled halter tops, ugly boot cut jeans, and kitten heels I would wear out to “da club” and sweats. Stay classy.
In this case I reference the only source I trust when it comes to timeless fashion … enter my mother stage right. She took me to Forever 21, even though I was thoroughly against it as I was certain four editors wearing Helmut Lang would start hysterically laughing at the poor quality of my clothes. But luckily my mom had/has a sick gift for finding cheap clothing that looks insanely expensive. We settled upon a pair of high-waist (literally came up to my taas), black flared pants that were to die for, which I would pair with a black button down puffy capped sleeve shirt I had from Old Navy. The whole, “but mom, I need Chanel,” shit didn’t really fly over well.
The day of my interview I threw my portfolio in my black over-sized tote … from Forever 21 … which looking back was heinous with horrifying “gold” hardware, and went on my way. When I walked into the all white room, basically almost every girl looked like Lauren Conrad from the Hills (the Hills was basically the Bible for college girls at this time … see below). Me … I looked like Karl Lagerfeld. I had completely forgotten that Lauren Conrad was basically Jesus for girls 18-25 years old and everyone wanted to not be the “girl who didn’t go to Paris.” Fuck.
Long story short, Karl Lagerfeld got the internship over all the Lauren Conrads … okay maybe a few Lauren Conrads made the cut, too. Turns out the editors were more interested in my writing then my outfit. Take that, Devil Wears Prada. Real life wins in this case. AND I didn’t have to get coffee for anyone once OR get their kids an unreleased copy of the Harry Potter book. Boom.
Internship style is insanely tricky, kids … there is no perfect formula. My advice would be definitely to own your style. That is important. Your style … not trends (there is a distinct difference). You want to be you and express who you are, not rocking cheetah print rompers with your bra straps hanging out because some style blogger told you to. At the same time, remember you are in an environment with people who no longer beer bong Natty Ice or go to ABC parties (oh yeah … I know what that is, kids). Don’t be that girl/guy that the older folks in the office talk shit on and ask “where your pants are,” behind your back.
Ps. I totally said that about an intern this past year.