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.
