Today I decided to go out and do something old fashioned – a lil ole thing I like to call human interaction.
I pulled on my favorite boots, grabbed the gorgeous Marc Jacobs Tony bought for me and crammed it full of resumes and writing clips. I traipsed the city from 2nd to 19th Street, Market to League, and handed packets in to any publication I could find.
It went as well as one would expect. But there was one place that stuck out in my mind.
When I got to Philadelphia Style, I nearly threw up from the sheer overwhelming feeling that hit me when I walked in. It came from the fact that everything clicked and I knew this was the place I had to work.
It was in a remote part of town, the door outside was big and black, as well as the name plate that indicated the company inside. I walked in to blood red walls adorned with blown-up pictures of select covers of the magazine. It was quiet and the secretary desk was unmanned – until a huge fluff of white came bounding out of the back to jump up on my legs and lick my hands. The dog was adorable and soon followed by a woman, who I gave my packet to. She said she would pass it on to the editor.
I hope so. And I hope I get a call.
I walked in that office and saw myself. I saw myself traveling there day in and out, working there and enjoying every minute of it. I saw comfort and guidance. I saw the era of a new me.
I’ve been seriously considering going back to school for fashion lately. I’ve got journalism and marketing under my belt. Why not add the passion that comes second to writing to it?
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