fashion　industry；　and　clearly　one　of　the　most　prominent　magazine
  editors　in　the　world。　The　world！　The　chance　to　work　for　her；　to
  watch　her　edit　and　meet　with　famous　writers　and　models；　to　help　her
  achieve　all　she　doeseach　and　every　day；　well；　I　shouldn’t　need　to
  tell　you　that　it’s　a　job　a　million　girls　would　die　for。”
  “Um；　yeah；　I　mean　yes；　that　does　sound　wonderful；”　I　said；　briefly
  wondering　why　Sharon　was　trying　to　talk　me　into　something　that　a
  million　other　people　would　die　for。　But　there　wasn’t　time　to　think
  about　it。　She　picked　up　the　phone　and　sang　a　few　words；　and　within
  minutes　she’d　escorted　me　to　the　elevators　to　begin　my　interviews
  with　Miranda’s　two　assistants。
  I　thought　Sharon　was　starting　to　sound　a　bit　like　a　robot；　but　then
  came　my　meeting　with　Emily。　I　found　my　way　down　to　the　seventeenth
  floor　and　waited　inRunway　’s　unnervingly　white　reception　area。　It
  took　just　over　a　half　hour　before　a　tall；　thin　girl　emerged　from
  behind　the　glass　doors。　A　calf…length　leather　skirt　hung　from　her
  hips；　and　her　unruly　red　hair　was　piled　in　one　of　those　messy　but
  still　glamorous　buns　on　top　of　her　head。　Her　skin　was　flawless　and
  pale；　not　so　much　as　a　single　freckle　or　blemish；　and　it　stretched
  perfectly　over　the　highest　cheekbones　I’d　ever　seen。　She　didn’t
  smile。　She　sat　next　to　me　and　looked　me　over；　earnestly　but　with
  little　apparent　interest。　Perfunctory。　And　then；　unprompted　and
  still　having　not　introduced　herself；　the　girl　I　presumed　to　be　Emily
  launched　into　a　description　of　the　job。　The　monotone　of　her
  statements　told　me　more　than　all　of　her　words：　she’d　obviously　gone
  through　this　dozens　of　times　already；　had　little　faith　that　I　was
  any　different　from　the　rest；　and　as　a　result　wouldn’t　be　wasting
  much　time　with　me。
  “It’s　hard；　no　doubt　about　it。　There　will　be　fourteen…hour　days；　you
  know—not　often；　but　often　enough；”　she　rattled　on；　still　not　looking
  at　me。　“And　it’s　important　to　understand　that　there　will　be　no
  editorial　work。　As　Miranda’s　junior　assistant；　you’d　be　solely
  responsible　for　anticipating　her　needs　and　acmodating　them。　Now；
  that　could　be　anything　from　ordering　her　favorite　stationery　to
  acpanying　her　on　a　shopping　trip。　Either　way；　it’s　always　fun。　I
  mean；　you　get　to　spend　day　after　day；　week　after　week；　with　this
  absolutely　amazing　woman。　And　amazing　she　is；”　she　breathed；　looking
  slightly　animated　for　the　first　time　since　we　started　speaking。
  “Sounds　great；”　I　said　and　meant　it。　My　friends　who’d　begun　working
  immediately　after　graduation　had　already　clocked　in　six　full　months
  in　their　entry…level　jobs；　and　they　all　sounded　wretched。　Banks；
  advertising　firms；　book　publishing　houses—it　didn’t　matter—they　were
  all　utterly　miserable。　They　whined　about　the　long　days；　the
  coworkers；　and　the　office　politics；　but　more　than　anything　else；
  they　plained　bitterly　about　the　boredom。　pared　with　school；
  the　tasks　required　of　them　were　mindless；　unnecessary；　fit　for　a
  chimp。　They　spoke　of　the　many；　many　hours　spent　plugging　numbers　in
  databases　and　cold…calling　people　who　didn’t　want　to　be　called。　Of
  listlessly　cataloging　years’　worth　of　information　on　a　puter
  screen　and　researching　entirely　irrelevant　subjects　for　months　on
  end　so　their　supervisors　thought　they　were　productive。　Each　swore
  she’d　actually　gotten　dumber　in　the　short　amount　of　time　since
  graduation；　and　there　was　no　escape　in　sight。　I　might　not
  particularly　love　fashion；　but　I’d　sure　rather　do　something　“fun”
  all　day　long　than　get　sucked　into　a　more　boring　job。
  “Yes。　It　is　great。　Just　great。　I　mean；　really；　really　great。　Anyway；
  nice　to　meet　you。　I’m　going　to　go　get　Allison　for　you　to　meet。　She’s
  great；　too。”　Almost　as　quickly　as　she　finished　and　departed　behind
  the　glass　in　a　rustle　of　leather　and　curls；　a　coltish　figure
  appeared。
  This　striking　black　girl　introduced　herself　as　Allison；　Miranda’s
  senior　assistant　who’d　just　been　promoted；　and　I　knew　immediately
  that　she　was　simplytoo　thin。　But　I　couldn’t　even　focus　on　the　way
  her　stomach　caved　inward　and　her　pelvic　bones　pushed　out　because　I
  was　captivated　by　the　fact　she　exposed　her　stomach　at　work　at　all。
  She　wore　black　leather　pants；　as　soft　as　they　were　tight；　and　a
  fuzzy　（or　was　it　furry？）　white　tank　top　strained　across　her　breasts
  and　ended　two　inches　above　her　belly　button。　Her　long　hair　was　as
  dark　as　ink　and　hung　across　her　back　like　a　thick；　shiny　blanket。
  Her　fingers　and　toes　were　polished　with　a　luminescent　white　color；
  appearing　to　glow　from　within；　and　her　open…toe　sandals　gave　her
  already　six…foot　frame　an　additional　three　inches。　She　managed　to
  look　incredibly　sexy；　seminaked；　and　classy　all　at　the　same　time；
  but　to　me　she　looked　mostly　cold。　Literally。　It　was；　after　all；
  November。
  “Hi；　I’m　Allison；　as　you　probably　know；”　she　started；　picking　some
  of　the　tank　top　fur　from　her　barely　there　leather…clad　thigh。　“I　was
  just　promoted　to　an　editor　position；　and　that’s　the　really　great
  thing　about　working　for　Miranda。　Yes；　the　hours　are　long　and　the
  work　is　tough；　but　it’s　incredibly　glamorous　and　a　million　girls
  would　die　to　do　it。　And　Miranda　is　such　a　wonderful　woman；
  editor；person；　that　she　really　takes　care　of　her　own　girls。　You’ll
  skip　years　and　years　of　working　your　way　up　the　ladder　by　working
  just　one　year　for　her；　if　you’re　talented；　she’ll　send　you　straight
  to　the　top；　and　。　。　。”　She　rambled　on；　not　bothering　to　look　up　or
  feign　any　level　of　passion　for　what　she　was　saying。　Although　I
  didn’t　get　the　impression　she　was　particularly　dumb；　her　eyes　were
  glazed　over　in　the　way　seen　only　in　cult　members　or　the　brainwashed。
  I　had　the　distinct　impression　I　could　fall　asleep；　pick　my　nose；　or
  simply　leave　and　she　wouldn’t　necessarily　notice。
  When　she　finally　wrapped　things　up　and　went　to　go　notify　yet　another
  interviewer；　I　nearly　collapsed　on　the　unweling　reception…area
  sofas。　It　was　all　happening　so　fast；　spiraling　out　of　control；　and
  yet　I　was　excited。　So　what　if　I　didn’t　know　who　Miranda　Priestly
  was？　Everyone　else　certainly　seemed　impressed　enough。　Yeah；　so　it’s
  a　fashion　magazine　and　not　something　a　little　more　interesting；　but
  it’s　a　hell　of　a　lot　better　to　work　atRunway　than　some　horrible
  trade　publication　somewhere；　right？　The　prestige　of　havingRunway　on
  my　résumé　was　sure　to　give　me　even　more　credibility　when　I
  eventually　applied　to　work　atThe　New　Yorker　than；　say；　havingPopular
  Mechanics　there。　Besides；　I’m　sure　a　million　girlswould　die　for　this
  job。
  After　a　half　hour　of　such　ruminations；　another　tall　and　impossibly
  thin　girl　came　to　the　reception　area。　She　told　me　her　name　but　I
  couldn’t　focus　on　anything　except　her　body。　She　wore　a　tight；
  shredded　denim　skirt；　a　see…through　white　button…down；　and　strappy
  silver　sandals。　She　was　also　perfectly　tanned　and　manicured　and
  exposed　in　such　a　way　that　normal　people　are　not　when　there’s　snow
  on　the　ground。　It　wasn’t　until　she　actually　motioned　for　me　to
  follow　her　back　through　the　glass　doors　and　I　had　to　stand　up　that　I
  became　acutely　aware　of　my　own　horrendously　inappropriate　suit；　limp
  hair；　and　utter　lack　of　accessories；　jewelry；　and　grooming。　To　this
  day；　the　thought　of　what　I　wore—and　that　I　carried　something
  resembling　abriefcase　—continues　to　haunt　me。　I　can　feel　my　face
  flame　red　as　I　remember　how　very；　very　awkward　I　was　among　the　most
  toned　and　stylish　women　in　New　York　City。　I　didn’t　know　until　later；
  until　I　hovered　on　the　periphery　of　being　one　of　them；　just　how　much
  they　had　laughed　at　me　between　the　rounds　of　the　interview。
  After　the　requisite　look…over；　Knockout　Girl　led　me　to　Cheryl
  Kerston’s　office；Runway　’s　executive　editor　and　all…around　lovable
  lunatic。　She；　too；　talked　at　me　for　what　seemed　like　hours；　but　this
  time　I　actually　listened。　I　listened　because　she　seemed　to　love　her
  job；　speaking　excitedly　about　the　“words”　aspect　of　the　magazine；
  the　wonderful　copy　she　reads　and　writers　she　manages　and　editors　she
  oversees。
  “I　have　absolutely　nothing　to　do　with　the　fashion　side　of　this
  place；”　she　declared　proudly；　“so　it’s　best　to　save　those　questions
  for　someone　else。”
  When　I　told　her　that　it　was　really　her　job　that　sounded　appealing；
  that　I　had　no　particular　interest　or　background　in　fashion；　her
  smile　broadened　to　a　genuine　grin。　“Well；　in　that　case；　Andrea；　you
  might　be　just　what　we　need　around　here。　I　think　it’s　time　for　you　to
  meet　Miranda。　And　if　I　may　offer　a　piece　of　advice？　Look　her
  straight　in　the　eye　and　sell　yourself。　Sell　yourself　hard　and　sh