Growing up I wanted the same thing all little girls want – a pony and a job at Vogue. Pretty much my life would be complete if I could live in the big city and have an amazing job running a magazine and correcting people's grammar all the time. I could wear fabulous clothes and travel the world and meet fabulous people.
Then I came to college and became a journalism major. I took a little class called Fieldwork in Magazines and my professor set me up with a two week internship at InStyle. My dad, who had already taken to the habit of watching The Devil Wears Prada whenever he missed me, started calling me "Miranda's girl."
My winter break: My boyfriend and I sublet an apartment in the City. Every day he went to work at Details and I went to InStyle. I'd ride the subway to the Time, Inc. building where I got to know the security guard within a couple days. I'd ride the elevators to the 18th floor and enter an office where stilettoed girls wearing black went about their daily business of packing up a fashion show to ship to L.A. or getting Renee (Zelwegger, duh) lined up for the cover of the Color Issue or calmly panicking because the Grammies were cancelled and what would we do with those 20 pages in the editorial well? On my lunch break I went shopping on 5th Ave. and got catcalls from construction workers.
Little girl, BIG city.
Long story short – I was living my dream.
On my last day there, I was invited to have a talk with the managing editor. He offered me the possibility of coming back for a full summer internship. And I saw my life happening: I'd go there in the summer and then they would offer me a real internship after graduation, after that internship and maybe a few more at similar magazines, someone would hire me as an editorial assistant. I'd work my way up the ranks…
PANIC ATTACK!
I can't have my life planned out! I'm still in school! I have other things I want to do!
I told InStyle that I was very grateful for the offer and I would keep them updated on my summer plans. And I left New York having reaffirmed my love for the City and learned that maybe – just like the pony, maybe fashion magazines just aren't something I want anymore.
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