Firstly, sorry for getting all behind and suddenly dropping off a cliff (in metaphorical blog terms, rather than actual death and tragedy rebel Without A Cause terms). My family arrived and I have suddenly turned into acting tourguide so everything got a bit hectic. So, as ever, you can blame the parents. Just like in Rebel Without a Cause! omg the connections are just coming in so thick and fast; you'll just never guess what we did last night. Actually, I'm afraid you'll have to wait to find out because if I start at the end and then just hop about in time for a bit until I have said everything there is to say about my last days in NY, it might get a bit confusing, and although you're all bright and can definitely cope, I never fully understood Doctor Who so I would get totally lost and feel like I'm floating in a very disorganised and unstructured mess and start repeating things. Which would clearly be awful because a) I can't deal with that amount of chaos (my need for routine again, can definitely blame the parents for that one) and would get all anxious and b) anyone who is using valuable time to read my partly nonsensical ramblings on New York would definitely not appreciate repetition and it would be highly dull and c) catching up might actually take, like, four weeks anyway because I have done so much and there is so much to talk about and so much to catch up on that repetition would make it take, like, four months. And no one wants that. Aaaaand in four months time who knows what I'll be doing or where I'll be and I will probably want to be focusing on that. So to recap; no jumping about in time, Doctor Who style.
So. Where were we??
Oh yes, that was it.
I'd been given my new silk romper and was uber excited to trry it on.
After the designer had left I got back to work, doing some planning for the min Editorial Awards Harper's are entering, getting together all the hard copies and electronic copies that were needed for each category and entry.
I did more of my sad 'last time' rituals. Whenever I go anywhere I get really attached to it and have to, like, say goodbye to my toilet.
I took some photos of my view but I doubt it will do it justice. Standing there, on the 25th floor of Hearst Tower, overlooking the Manhattan skyline on my last day, I felt suddenly empowered. I had been shit scared two weeks ago, and yet here I was, alive. In fact, more than alive; I had totally owned it. The whole experience had been incredible and I had done it and, I think, done it well. I gave myself a pat on the back (in my head. I had, thus far, managed to keep my total insanity hidden from view of the Harper's office and appeared quite sane. I did not intend to ruin that at the last moment).
Amazingly, a hurricane was predicted for that afternoon. Lisa was, she informed me, terrified. hurricanes are not regular occurrences in New York City and I too was not looking forward to that. I'd felt that I was actually inside the eye of the storm whilst the thunder had raged and the lightening struck on Monday (twenty five floors is high up) so I'm imagining that a hurricane at that height would have been scarier. There was mass hysteria. Hurricane-alert was a new fave excuse to do no work.
My last task at Harper's was back with the archives. Me and the archives became bessies. I had another huge list from a woman called Hanna of issues I needed to pull and helped her sort them and take them to her office on the 18th floor. I also made friends with an intern shadowing a scary looking lady in blood red shoes. Typical me to achieve that on the last day.
Then, saving the best till last, Lisa took me on a massive tour of the Harper's office. We saw the production team and the art department and the stylists and the make up artists and the beauty department and the birth place of all the features and a tall beautiful girl with short dark hair cropped close to her face who looked like Audrey Hepburn and was wearing zebra print trousers being photographed. We saw girls pulling out clothes from rails of choice and lying them on the floor to piece together outfits, a feature on denim and diamonds (big next season: you heard it here first folks), hundreds of hats, a wall dedicated to Manolo's, an entire section of floor space devoted to the red soles of Louboutin, belts, gloves, even some fur coats and a cupboard for beauty products bigger than my kitchen. Lisa also got the heads of each department to explain to me what they do and how they do it and show me what they were working on, which was so interesting and quite exciting. I loved seeing the ideas for a feature based on the statues on fifth avenue take shape and develop, and it's so cool to think that it will appear as a fully fledged feature in a few months time, but that I've already seen it. I'm in the know, me, what can I say. I also saw how much putting together the magazine is like piecing together a puzzle. My head hurt a little bit afterwards. But ohh it was so exciting, I loved it!! I felt so like I was actually a part of the magazine and I was all like, ooh I think I can see myself here, in this environment, as a career. Certainly, the features and editorial is something I would love to do, although I am aware that I'll have to do soooo much work to be able to do anything like that.
I do think it's unfair the way the fashion magazine industry is portrayed; it's run by smart, intelligent individuals who have to work hard and think hard. It's not about matching a bag to a coat and it's not run by shallow people obsessed with clothes and being thin and it isn't like 'The Devil Wears Prada'. *Rant over* Ahem. Sorry about that, I'll sit back down now...
My tour ended at 4.45 on the dot and I was suddenly like waaaa this means I'm leaving for the last time! I wouldn't tell Lisa I'd see her tomorrow and I'd never hurtle down the 25 floors so fast that my tummy flipped again. It was all very emosh. No really.
Lisa gave me a card and an absurdly heavy wrapped present and a hug, which was sweet. I logged off and shut down my jazzy Mac a final time and, taking a quick snap of the huge 'Bazaar' emblazoned on the imposing glass door of the equally imposing office in which I had just spent two weeks, left Hearst Tower.
I couldn't believe it was all over and that I had actually done that and that it had gone so horribly fast. I'm an emotional wreck (trust me, that is not exaggeration) so it will come as no surprise to those who know me that, as I headed for my daily post work frappe, I had tears emptying themselves down my cheek. They were neither happy tears nor sad tears, just a complete well-of-emotion-tears.
Always good to be in touch with your emotions, I find.
Yes that includes when watching the Pampers ad. You can probably blame the parents for that too, actually.
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