meet　Miranda。　And　if　I　may　offer　a　piece　of　advice？　Look　her
  straight　in　the　eye　and　sell　yourself。　Sell　yourself　hard　and　she’ll
  respect　it。”
  As　if　on　cue；　Knockout　Girl　swept　in　to　escort　me　to　Miranda’s
  office。　It　was　only　a　thirty…second　walk；　but　I　could　sense　that　all
  eyes　were　on　me。　They　peered　at　me　from　behind　the　frosted　glass　of
  the　editor’s　office　and　from　the　open　space　of　the　assistants’
  cubicles。　A　beauty　at　the　copier　turned　to　check　me　out；　and　so　did
  an　absolutely　magnificent　man；　although　he　was　obviously　gay　and
  intent　on　examining　only　my　outfit。　Just　as　I　was　about　to　walk
  through　the　doorway　that　would　lead　me　to　the　assistants’　suite
  outside　of　Miranda’s　office；　Emily　grabbed　my　briefcase　and　tossed
  it　under　her　desk。　It　took　only　a　moment　for　me　to　realize　that　the
  message　wasCarry　that；　lose　all　credibility。　And　then　I　was　standing
  in　her　office；　a　wide…open　space　of　huge　windows　and　streaming
  bright　light。　No　other　details　about　the　space　made　an　impression
  that　day；　I　couldn’t　take　my　eyes　off　of　her。
  Since　I’d　never　seen　so　much　as　a　picture　of　Miranda　Priestly；　I　was
  shocked　to　see　howskinny　she　was。　The　hand　she　held　out　was
  small…boned；　feminine；　soft。　She　had　to　turn　her　head　upward　to　look
  me　in　the　eye；　although　she　did　not　stand　to　greet　me。　Her　expertly
  dyed　blond　hair　was　pulled　back　in　a　chic　knot；　deliberately　loose
  enough　to　look　casual　but　still　supremely　neat；　and　while　she　did
  not　smile；　she　did　not　appear　particularly　intimidating。　She　seemed
  rather　gentle　and　somewhat　shrunken　behind　her　ominous　black　desk；
  and　although　she　did　not　invite　me　to　sit；　I　felt　fortable　enough
  to　claim　one　of　the　unfortable　black　chairs　that　faced　her。　And
  it　was　then　I　noticed：　she　was　watching　me　intently；　mentally　noting
  my　attempts　at　grace　and　propriety　with　what　seemed　like　amusement。
  Condescending　and　awkward；　yes；　but　not；　I　decided；　particularly
  mean…spirited。　She　spoke　first。
  “What　brings　you　toRunway；　Ahn…dre…ah？”　she　asked　in　her　upper…crust
  British　accent；　never　taking　her　eyes　away　from　mine。
  “Well；　I　interviewed　with　Sharon；　and　she　told　me　that　you’re
  looking　for　an　assistant；”　I　started；　my　voice　a　little　shaky。　When
  she　nodded；　my　confidence　increased　slightly。　“And　now；　after
  meeting　with　Emily；　Allison；　and　Cheryl；　I　feel　like　I　have　a　clear
  understanding　of　the　kind　of　person　you’re　looking　for；　and　I’m
  confident　I’d　be　perfect　for　the　job；”　I　said；　remembering　Cheryl’s
  words。　She　looked　amused　for　a　moment　but　seemed　unfazed。
  It　was　at　this　point　that　I　began　to　want　the　job　most　desperately；
  in　the　way　people　yearn　for　things　they　consider　unattainable。　It
  might　not　be　akin　to　getting　into　law　school　or　having　an　essay
  published　in　a　campus　journal；　but　it　was；　in　my　starved…for…success
  mind；　a　real　challenge—a　challenge　because　I　was　an　imposter；　and
  not　a　very　good　one　at　that。　I　had　known　the　minute　I　stepped　on
  theRunway　floor　that　I　didn’t　belong。　My　clothes　and　hair　were　wrong
  for　sure；　but　more　glaringly　out　of　place　was　my　attitude。　I　didn’t
  know　anything　about　fashion　and　I　didn’tcare　。　At　all。　And
  therefore；　I　had　to　have　it。　Besides；　a　million　girls　would　die　for
  this　job。
  I　continued　to　answer　her　questions　about　myself　with　a
  forthrightness　and　confidence　that　surprised　me。　There　wasn’t　time
  to　be　intimidated。　After　all；　she　seemed　pleasant　enough　and　I；
  amazingly；　knew　nothing　to　the　contrary。　We　stumbled　a　bit　when　she
  inquired　about　any　foreign　languages　I　spoke。　When　I　told　her　I　knew
  Hebrew；　she　paused；　pushed　her　palms　flat　on　her　desk　and　said
  icily；　“Hebrew？　I　was　hoping　for　French；　or　at　least　something
  moreuseful　。”　I　almost　apologized；　but　stopped　myself。
  “Unfortunately；　I　don’t　speak　a　word　of　French；　but　I’m　confident　it
  won’t　be　a　problem。”　She　clasped　her　hands　back　together。
  “It　says　here　that　you　studied　at　Brown？”
  “Yes；　I；　uh；　I　was　an　English　major；　concentrating　on　creative
  writing。　writing　has　always　been　a　passion。”So　cheesy！　I　reprimanded
  myself。Did　I　really　have　to　use　the　word　“passion”？
  “So；　does　your　affinity　for　writing　mean　that　you’re　not
  particularly　interested　in　fashion？”　She　took　a　sip　of　sparkling
  liquid　from　a　glass　and　set　it　down　quietly。　One　quick　glance　at　the
  glass　showed　that　she　was　the　kind　of　woman　who　could　drink　without
  leaving　one　of　those　disgusting　lipstick　marks。　She　would　always
  have　perfectly　lined　and　filled…in　lips　regardless　of　the　hour。
  “Oh　no；　of　course　not。　I　adore　fashion；”　I　lied　rather　smoothly。
  “I’m　looking　forward　to　learning　even　more　about　it；　since　I　think
  it　would　be　wonderful　to　write　about　fashion　one　day。”　Where　the
  hell　had　I　e　up　with　that　one？　This　was　being　an　out…of…body
  experience。
  Things　progressed　with　the　same　relative　ease　until　she　asked　her
  final　question：　Which　magazines　did　I　read　regularly？　I　leaned
  forward　eagerly　and　began　to　speak：　“Well；　I　only　subscribe　toThe
  New　Yorker　andNewsweek；　but　I　regularly　readThe　Buzz　。
  SometimesTime；　but　it’s　dry；　andU。S。　News　is　way　too　conservative。
  Of　course；　as　a　guilty　pleasure；　I’ll　skimChic；　and　since　I　just
  returned　from　traveling；　I　read　all　of　the　travel　magazines　and　。　。
  。”
  “And　do　you　readRunway；　Ahn…dre…ah？”　she　interrupted；　leaning　over
  the　desk　and　peering　at　me　even　more　intently　than　before。
  It　had　e　so　quickly；　so　unexpectedly；　that　for　the　first　time
  that　day　I　was　caught　off…guard。　I　didn’t　lie；　and　I　didn’t
  elaborate　or　even　attempt　to　explain。
  “No。”
  After　perhaps　ten　seconds　of　stony　silence；　she　beckoned　for　Emily
  to　escort　me　out。　I　knew　I　had　the　job。
  3
  “It　sure　doesn’t　sound　like　you　have　the　job；”　Alex；　my　boyfriend；
  said　softly；　playing　with　my　hair　as　I　rested　my　throbbing　head　in
  his　lap　after　the　grueling　day。　I’d　gone　straight　from　the　interview
  to　his　apartment　in　Brooklyn；　not　wanting　to　sleep　on　Lily’s　couch
  for　another　night　and　needing　to　tell　him　about　everything　that　had
  just　happened。　I’d　thought　about　staying　there　all　the　time；　but　I
  didn’t　want　Alex　to　feel　suffocated。　“I　don’t　even　know　why　you’d
  want　it。”　After　a　moment　or　two；　he　reconsidered。　“Actually；　it　does
  sound　like　a　pretty　phenomenal　opportunity。　I　mean；　if　this　girl
  Allison　started　out　as　Miranda’s　assistant　and　is　now　an　editor　at
  the　magazine；　well；　that’d　be　good　enough　for　me。　Just　go　for　it。”
  He　was　trying　so　hard　to　sound　really　excited　for　me。　We’d　been
  dating　since　our　junior　year　at　Brown；　and　I　knew　every　inflection
  of　his　voice；　every　look；　every　signal。　He’d　just　started　a　few
  weeks　earlier　at　PS　277　in　the　Bronx　and　was　so　worn　down　he　could
  barely　speak。　Even　though　his　kids　were　only　nine　years　old；　he’d
  been　disappointed　to　see　how　jaded　and　cynical　they　already　were。　He
  was　disgusted　that　they　all　spoke　freely　about　blow　jobs；　knew　ten
  different　slang　words　for　pot；　and　loved　to　brag　about　the　stuff
  they　stole　or　whose　cousin　was　currently　residing　in　a　tougher　jail。
  “Prison　connoisseurs；”　Alex　had　taken　to　calling　them。　“They　could
  write　a　book　on　the　subtle　advantages　of　Sing　Sing　over　Rikers；　but
  they　can’t　read　a　word　of　the　English　language。”　He　was　trying　to
  figure　out　how　he　could　make　a　difference。
  I　slid　my　hand　under　his　T…shirt　and　started　to　scratch　his　back。
  Poor　thing　looked　so　miserable　that　I　felt　guilty　bothering　him　with
  the　details　of　the　interview；　but　I　just　had　to　talk　about　it　with
  someone。　“I　know。　I　understand　that　there　wouldn’t　be　anything
  editorial　about　the　job　whatsoever；　but　I’m　sure　I’ll　be　able　to　do
  some　writing　after　a　few　months；”　I　said。　“You　don’t　think　it’s
  pletely　selling　out　to　work　at　afashion　magazine；　do　you？”
  He　squeezed　my　arm　and　lay　down　next　to　me。　“Baby；　you’re　a
  brilliant；　wonderful　writer；　and　I　know　you’ll　be　fantastic
  anywhere。　And　of　course　it’s　not　selling　out。　It’s　paying　your　dues。
  You’re　saying　that　if　you　put　in　a　year　atRunway　you’ll　save
  yourself　three　more　years　of　bullshit　assistant　work　somewhere
  else？”
  I　nodded。　“That’s　what　Emily　and　Allison　said；　that　it　was　an
  automatic　quid　pro　quo。　Work　a　year　for　Miranda　and　don’t　get　fired；
  and　she’ll　make　a　call　and　get　you　a　job　anywhere　you　want。”
  “Then　how　could　you　not？　Seriously；　Andy；　you’ll　work　your　year　and
  you’ll　get　a　job　atThe　New　Yorker　。　It’s　what　you’ve　always　wanted！
  And　it　sure　sounds　like　you’ll　get　there　a　whole　lot　faster　doing
  this　than　anything　else。”
  “You’re　right；　you