all the pretty people

I recently got a gig cutting web videos for Hearst Magazines. It's not a terrible gig. Though arriving in that airy lobby every morning as those editors and models for Cosmo and Seventeen strut through the turnstiles in their heels and pose on the dual escalators past the waterfall, has done something to my self-esteem. Which is sort of why I never read those magazines in the first place. But now it can't be helped, and I've been forced to confront my own schlubbiness.

The nice thing about working in film is the jeans/t-shirt uniform which I bring to new levels by also not doing my face or hair until I get to work, after which I run to the bathroom and half-heartedly throw some clips in one and powder on the other. Besides, I live in Williamsburg/Greenpoint which makes Disheveled into an art. But Hearst is Manhattan- the kind of Manhattan where Sarah Jessica Parker bought her shoes and gossiped and ate brunch on HBO. Hearst creates that Manhattan. And a short while I after I started there, I found myself horrified by my appearance and promptly spent a sizable portion of my salary on some new wardrobe items. So now (to my mother's delight if she knew) I look moderately presentable at least two days of the weeks when I work there. Though now I have to work there more frequently in order to pay for it.

The other day, while slinking past my reflection in the mirror, I went into the bathroom stall and overheard two of the fashion editors talking.
"They've just transferred me to Harper's Bazaar!" One said.
"Uh-oh." Said the other.
"I know! Now I'm going to have to lose ten pounds and start shopping at Berdorf Goodman."
"They ought to raise your salary when they transfer you. It's like they've just cut your paycheck."

Thank goodness for freelancing. In a few more weeks I'll go back to working out of my apartment. Then I'll put on my new getup and be the best dressed girl in the whole place.

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