Before anything else is said, I have to say something to all of you. I cannot believe how wonderful and supportive my friends and family are. The many comments I received on my last blog meant so much to me, thank you all. Although if you’re all that interested, that means I better step up and make something happen. And so, on to my post….
I’m sure my weekly blog was sorely missed while I was away, but now I’ve returned from beautiful, sunny England to enrich your lives once again.
First of all, what a fantastic week I had with subjects of the Queen. We visited the boyfriend’s family and friends, all of whom were lovely, gracious, and hopefully future apartment guests here in New York. I don’t like to generalize based on race, but the English put us Americans to shame in courtesy and several counts of awesomeness. You may have lost the empire, U.K., but you’ve still got it.
I have to say, one of my favorite things about living in New York came up while overseas. When I used to visit a foreign country and someone made small talk, it would go something like this:
Where are you from?
I’m from a place called Wisconsin/Minnesota
It’s near Chicago.
Oh (vague recognition of a city they’ve heard of and my location being “somewhere in the middle”)
My conversation recently with a bartender:
So where are you from?
Done. They recall the city from Friends where out-of-work actors and waitresses afford spacious, upper west side apartments. No explanation needed.
Suffice to say, great trip. And something else happened while I was away, something related to my previous post. Remember that internship that I finally got offered after months of waiting, the one that would put me in Anne Hathaway’s shoes and transform me to a Manhattan fashionista? Well, I turned it down.
Excuse me? Colleen! Have you lost what little sense you’ve had? After all this agonizing over not getting a job, you turn down a great offer? Sounds like someone needs their head examined.
Slow down, there is a reason. It really comes down to this; The Devil Wears Prada is a terrible film.
As some of you may recall, my last blog centered around this film; a wannabe journalist is down on her luck in the big city and grabs a fashion internship to launch her career. Now, I hadn’t actually seen this film in a while and remembered not really thinking much of it, but I thought that was my usual over-thinking, fun-ruining attitude towards movies that led to my conclusion. So when I was on a plane over the Atlantic, rather than watching Russell Crowe try and fail as Robin Hood, I decided to give this movie another shot.
I know chick flicks shouldn’t be judged based on believability, but come on (insert over-the-top eye roll). So we’re supposed to believe that the main character Andy (Hathaway) was editor of her college newspaper at Northwestern, has impeccable (apparently) writing skills, has won several national journalism awards and can’t get one single interview with any publication? Oh, except for a super awesome job that hundreds of girls want that turns out to be her only option.
There are many other leaps of logic here, like her giving away her stupid expensive clothes while underpaid and living in a very large lower east side apartment (yes, I’m obsessed with unreal real estate now). I haven’t been this angry since How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.
The point is, I blame this movie and not my own judgement in the slightest when it came to my hasty excitement and acceptance of this job. I really thought that it was next to impossible to get a communications internship, especially in writing. I was sure that I couldn’t compete with sheer number of brilliant students willing to work for nothing. I thought, how could I possibly do better than that? Well, what I guess I just forgot how awesome I am.
Okay, not really. But the truth is, I have an okay resume, and maybe there just aren’t enough super-smart, qualified ivy leaguers to fill every single internship. In the past two weeks, I’ve gotten eight requests for interviews, all of which involve writing, something I actually want to do, and are not full-time and unpaid, something I don’t want to do.
Side note: I’ve gotten some rather funny interviews for magazines (which I would be grateful to work at, don’t get me wrong): a teen celebrity gossip rag, a company that writes in-flight magazines, the grandmother’s favorite Family Circle and of course, Good Housekeeping.
The point is, although it might not be the most sensible thing to do, I’m taking a risk. I’m betting that in a city of thousands upon thousands of publications, someone will want to exploit me for free labor with more reasonable time demands, someone who I will want to learn under.
At least I really, really hope so.