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Adios..


Tomorrow is my penultimate day at Vogue.

I will be free!  Free from the tumultuous unpaid existence as an intern.

And I feel very sad to be leaving. After all, it has been my first proper stint in grown-up world and I was getting quite comfortable there, without the every other day hangovers and constant impending essays at University. Photoshoots, Fashion week- I couldn’t have asked for a better place to work. Despite the one time that I had to run around Madrid in a torrential downpour collecting clothes, trying to protect a 600 euro fur jacket from the rain with my measly umbrella and then getting chased around a very bizarre, very expensive shoe boutique by a greyhound, still guarding that godforsaken coat, it’s been a very smooth run.

It seems like everyone is trying to bombard me with as much work as they can in my last week before I leave. But I’m trying to drink it in and remember it all. At least my name will be immortalised in the glossy pages of the past 9 issues and the next few to come. And thankfully I have one month left to play in the sunny streets of Madrid before hometime.

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Magical Madrid

I love Madrid.

They really know how to celebrate bank holiday weekends here, and this one is the most popular as it’s the festivo de San Isidro. The lantern lit streets are tinted with a 24 hour buzz from Thursday onwards and crammed with the young and old alike.

Watching the hubbub below from 6th floor balconies, spectacular views, dancing in squares with fountains and bongos, dancing to the big band in the palace gardens, 6am metro home, tintos de verano at dusk, i have never,  sun kissed skin, drinking cañas, La Latina. Delightful.

Now I have what is called the delayed Monday hangover and I need to sleep.

I never want to leave this place..




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still love you

As my ex housemates all know, when i tidy my room i a) have to have someone sitting on my bed talking to me while i am doing it or b) have a show on in the background.

today it was the o.c. season 3 and it never fails to make me realise how much i truly love rachel bilson.




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treats from the flea market



the rastro is bargain basement.
the big leather bag smells of cow
i need febreeze

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502 copy and pastes later.


502 copy and pastes does give you repetitive muscle strain. Click click click. On Friday I had to copy and paste 502 photographs from style.com’s 2009 accesories report to a Word document for my boss- the best “bags, shoes and jewels” from this season’s collections.

Don’t get me wrong, I love looking at clothes, but approximately 100 items in my eyes were starting to turn square and I had the images of platform shoes, fur boots and studded clutch bags burned into my retinas. On that note, there were 5 special pieces that have stuck, beating the other 497... and oh how beautiful they are:

Miu Miu studded fur leather boot, Viktor & Rolf suede drapery clutch, Chanel thigh high boot, Tom Binns Get Real collection necklace, Proenza Schouler studded biker boot.

















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too hot to sleep.

With the no-tights short shorts and sandal wearing weather, comes dirty old viejos verdes. That’s Spain for you. i smell of suntan lotion, i can't bare to sleep under my duvet and at the weekend, i had a 4 hour battle with a mosquito in the early hours. A can of L'Oreal Elnett was my chosen weapon.

Summer is here. Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

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The post-it always sticks twice.


In the current climate of economic unease it seems to be becoming more difficult to get away from the words credit crunch, or, as the Spaniards like to call it “crisis”. However,  I have to be honest- I haven’t really seen firsthand the knock on effects of this new age of austerity. Perhaps it’s because I intern at one of the leading fashion magazines of the world, where opulence, luxury and high fashion are paramount. Fashion world and economic crisis are two terms that do not complement each other well.

The only significant way I have been affected by the recession is the pound-euro exchange rate, making everything for me here in Madrid SO expensive- I’m having to buy Carrefour’s own brand sweet corn instead of my beloved Green Giant. And I’m trying to avoid Madrid’s only Topshop at all costs. Call me uninformed but other than that, I am living in blissful ignorance. I am, after all, a student- and a bad one at that. Student’s are supposed to be poor. For the first 2 years at Uni I refused to buy Sainsbury’s basics, carried on eating at Pret at every opportunity, and continued to shop to my heart’s content whenever any pieces of coursework had been stressing me out too much.  

Other than that, I can see no other real way in which the crisis affects me personally. Unemployment has risen; I understand this much, and it’s my friends who will be graduating and unfortunately not continuing to grace Bristol with their presence next year who could be looking at a hard time. I’ve received an excess of emails for talks on “How to find employment during the economic crisis” and have read in my Uni paper “what the real value of Bristol degree is during the recession”. I find this all quite intimidating and I will cross this bridge when I come to it. Thankfully I have one year left of being a student and right now as a mere intern my job isn’t on the line. Like I said before, blissful ignorance.

Last week, I sat at my desk pondering about the changes I’ve seen in my department due to the economic situation. Unemployment rates at the moment in Spain are worse than in England, yet the only noticeable changes I could think of was the fact that I am no longer allowed to send out copies of the magazine to other countries. Oh, and the stationary cupboard is no longer full of veritable treats of highlighters, waterproof pens, felt tips and different coloured post it notes. I have to reuse my post-it notes now. Hard times indeed.

I hadn’t realised the implications of the crunch until that fateful day, when, whilst I was un-sticking my post its from lookbooks, one of the assistants in my department came over to say a teary goodbye, consequently informing me that two (the only two) fashion assistants in my department had been fired, just like that, and now it was up to us. The interns.

I was, and still am stunned and gutted. The assistants were like the older sisters of the department, and were always so patient with my Spanish. They knew everything. They knew how to arrange DHL pickups, which show rooms carried what brands, where to get a steel telephone and a 1950s typewriter from....... In short- if I messed up or didn’t know something, I would go to them. Everyone would go to them. 

And if that wasnt enough, the lovely post guy that would come round the whole of our building has been reassigned to head of the Condé Nast mail department, because the previous receptionist has been fired. He delivered all our mail directly to my desk and pick up all outgoing mail without me having to lift so much as a fingernail.  Now this means that we have to go down to the basement and collect all the post. Everyday. A lot of people post a lot of things to my department. 

So, back to work today as per usual. Now I am fashion assistant and intern and postwoman rolled into one. Picking up the pieces and completing the work they’ve left. It’s going to be a long month.......

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Mama knows best.

There’s something heart warming about receiving a parcel, especially when you’re living in a foreign country. When I got back from work today I saw in reception a parcel with what could only be my Dad’s uber large handwriting. Basically, I order things to my house in England so my parents are forced to forward them on to me so as to avoid paying extortionate p&p charges, sneaky eh. And my mum’s parcels are the crème de la crème; not only did she send me the stuff I ordered but she also sent me Sinutabs (the best decongestion tablets ever) and some cute little flowery tea dresses made by her own two nimble hands. That’s what my mum does for a profession, as it were.

I remember sitting cross legged on her desk in the sewing room watching her cutting out patterns, piecing together wedding dresses, gowns and the like. She’d never do my textiles homework for me though. It’s a shame that I’ve only just started to appreciate her pursuit, and I never paid more attention. I can sew a button on or hem things but that’s as far as my capabilities go.

She’s basically altered all my clothes since I can remember and until I knew how to choose my own clothing Mum made all my party dresses as a child. When I reached that difficult adolescent age I refused to wear her creations as I thought it was a bit of a faux pas. Now I’ve come back round full circle... thank-you madre!

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my dear friend Sophie



Ever since she encouraged me to start a blog, I've promised her I'd dedicate a blog to her.

1.       People here in Spain can’t pronounce her name, so some call her Shopie instead.

2.       She absolutely loves Scholl foot products and doesn’t stop talking about how much she wants all of them.

3.       Her biggest fear is that someone will make her count absolutely every single grain of sand in the world.

4.       She used to set her alarm at like 5am so she could shower and then go back to sleep before work, until she realised that this is the most stupid idea in the world.

5.       She is currently en paro. Which is Spanish for unemployed. She got fired because of the crisis.

6.       She thinks she hates a lot of things.

7. My favourite thing to do with her is laugh.

8.       She’s obsessed with Ebay and watches on average about 10 things at a time.

9.  She’s even more obsessed with Kano, and doesn’t fail to mention him at least once a day.

10.       When she is quoting what someone else says, she always puts on the same voice.

11.   She introduced me to two of the best Spanish cereals I have ever tasted in my life; Chocolate Pillows and Crousty 4 fruits. We eat them from mugs.

12.   When she’s drunk or falling asleep she has what we like to call a limp hand, or the K-hole hand.

13.   When she got DC++, instead of downloading amazing films, she downloaded utter shit like Night at the museum and Just my luck.

14.   Everytime she asks if we should watch a film, I always say The Break-Up, and she always says no.

15.   She always wants to watch The Business, to which my reply is no. So we always end up watching Grey's Anatomy.

16.   She likes to throw clothes on innocent Spanish strangers while they’re sleeping.

17.   She once got asked to go for churros and cocaine with Mike Skinner in Madrid. She went, but turned down the cocaine.

18.   She likes to dance to the music in Carrefour which attracts attention from the check out boys.

19. She cooks goooooood food.

18.   She loved this French boy for a while. And she loves Chuck Bass.

19.   She nearly cried once after a Columbian got a little too carried away.

20. She always sings the first line of Candle in the Wind.

21.   She's a sexy little critter she is. Hahahahaha.

22. We like to talk in lithp to one another. Eg. You're tho methy thopie. 

23. She has strangely perfect nails. 


Sofi Sofi, Sofi Sofa, cada dia te quiero maaaaaaas.

 

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bye bye tie die

There are a few reasons why you should never put your denim jacket in a bucket of bleach and then pop into work for a couple of hours:

1. your flat ends up smelling like my school swimming pool.

2. the following photo really explains all.



So, that's 5.50 and a whole afternoon i'll never get back. 
ps. this is partially, if not fully, the fault of my best friend. Cheers GOOF.

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still a Sesame Street fan...








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Monday Monday, so good to me


8am wake up. Don’t snooze at all today. Muesli with about 2 tablespoons of sugar. Fit in some reading time on metro. Work more chilled than last week as people are actually answering their phones today. Everything functions on a Monday.

11.05am. Online banking tells me student loans are in. Hello.

Get sent out to shops to collect things. Despite a taxi driver yelling at me as I made him go through about 10 one way systems to three different places and wait for me each time I went to get something, it was quite nice being driven around. One of my fav shops in Madrid is called Ekseption which stocks everything from The Row to Oscar de La Renta. Anyway, they had these really cute fluorescent style string bracelets with mother of pearl charms by Aurelie Bidermann. Couldn´t shop on the job unfortunately.

2pm. Go to the most amazing beautician called Alice in Wonderland. It even has a mini-sized door and it IS actually wonderland. Quaint French music, flower wallpaper, teacups and bunny rabbits. Walk around chic Chueca with Shopie and keep seeing amazing restaurants. I wish I lived there. We avoided the magnetic pull of all the bistros but finally gave in and had a menu del día at cute little Italian restaurant. Doughy bread is the best.

Continue strolling in the sun and we find an awesome Californian sunglass brand called Sabre. Gave in and bought a wide framed aubergine pair a la Juno. Not the cheapest of sunny Gs I have to admit. I cannot under any circumstance break these ones. I call it the first day loan syndrome- first day expenditure does not count. I should have bought more.

6pm. Gym gym. Realise it’s actually a steam room not a sauna they have in the changing room. Yes! Fortunately not busy. Went mental on the steppers and my iPod didn’t run out of battery which is usually what happens as I am incapable of charging anything to full battery. Tengo agujetas hasta las orejas.

10pm. Fruit salad and Spanish TV with Soph. Still don’t like kiwis mate.

Now. Uninterrupted Grey’s Anatomy in duvet. Perfect.

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A rediscovered treasure



I have this bag. I absolutely adore it; it is a postbox red weaved clutch that is too big to actually carry and a pain but I use it anyway. It was my mother’s; one of the many many bags I steal from her extensive collection of gems from the 80s and beyond.

Anyway, about a year and a half ago, I wore it on a night out and an acquaintance of mine approached me and proceeded to ask why I had brought my folder out to a club. Maybe it was because the huge clutch bag phenomenon hadn’t really set off yet but I laughed it off anyway thinking it was hilarious and consequently wacked him over the head with it. Maybe it's a male thing. A friend told me she was once asked by male friend why on earth she was wearing two coats. She was in fact trying to pull off an American Apparel nylon windbreaker under her winter abrigo. She wasn't wearing two, stupid. 

A year passes and the bag (like the majority of the things I own) gets lost in the deep, dark, depths of my wardrobe. Yet after a yearly and natural reshuffle I rediscover it much to my delight. So I rocked it last night to a friend’s fiesta, and someone asked me why I had brought a hot water bottle to a party, above all in Spain. Oh dear.

So if you see me out and about, the huge red thing I am struggling to carry under one arm is most likely to be my bag guys. I don't even use hot water bottles. 

 

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the diary of an intern










One pair of Louboutins. Some Marc Jacobs ballerinas. A Miu Miu skirt. One Gucci clutch. And that Balmain denim military jacket that sold out in Madrid in one afternoon. Thousands of Euros worth of attire in just two, albeit large, shopping bags. I haphazardly skip my way down calle Serrano inbetween the shoppers and business men. I get back to the office just in time for the phone call with the girl from Prada.


This is the life of an intern for the fashion department of Spanish Vogue. Little fashion obsessed preened creatures that tiptoe around the office observing, pleasing and doing what we are told to without so much as a flutter of an eyelid. We are the assistants’ assistants. Scanning, phoning, carrying, picking up or dropping off clothes/bags/flowers/food- these are to name but a few of my daily tasks. The better responsibilities include requesting clothes from fashion houses on behalf of stylists for photoshoots; the not so good jobs include organising the cupboards full of backdated French, American, British, Russian and Japanese Vogues. The plus side is that I have an endless archive of publications at my disposal. My favourites include precious British and French Vogues from the 1990s.


A lot of people ask me what I wear to work. The fact of the matter is, I wear what I want. Sometimes I dress up, sometimes I wear my battered Converse. It is after all, a fashion magazine. Fashion is subjective; beauty is in the eye of the beholder etcetera etcetera. All the stylists, naturally, look effortlessly stylish whether it be in their Chanel pumps or puma retros. They own what seems like an endless number of coats, jackets, dresses and boots. Moreover, they all have an air about them, as if they’ve just rolled out of bed fresh-faced and elegant, throwing on the first thing they come across in their wardrobe. I am yet to perfect this- I think it’s a Spanish thing.


The head of my department always looks impeccable, petite yet chic in her over sized blazers, flowery dresses and tassled boots (she has the same ones as me and this makes me happy). As for my fashion editor- need I say anymore- she looks incredible every day. She towers above the rest of us with her Chanel bags (she must have at least 4) and Vuitton heels. Did I mention she rides a motorbike?


Heels- now this is something of a grey area in the office. I, for example, would not wear heels in the office. Not because I do not love them, sometimes even prefer them to flats, but because heels represent professional standing. There is a heel hierarchy. It’s a pretty safe bet, for instance, that the fashion editor will be wearing high heels. Sometimes she will sport some New Balance vintage trainers, but most of the time, it’s the 6 inchers. The junior stylists, however, wear chunky heeled boots, kitten heels or flats. I, as a meagre intern, therefore, tend to stick with my French soles or brogues, and the furthest I have ever gone was to wear some chunky ruffled mary janes, and even then that was with tights.


So, from my experience so far, I have come to the conclusion that the Devil does not wear Prada. Anyway, if he was to wear anything it would definitely be Armani.





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HOLA





Hello

I am new to this. I have decided to jump on the blogging bandwagon, because diaries are so
1990s. I've had a diary ever since I was 12 years old. I tend to only ever write in it when something really good or something really bad happens.
 
I need somewhere to write about all the stuff inbetween..