necklaces；　said　every　time　I　saw　her；　“I　still　don’t　understand　what
  you　wear　to　work。　It’sRunway　magazine；　for　god’s　sake。　Your　clothes
  are　as　cute　as　the　next　girl’s；　Andy；　but　nothing　you　own　isRunway
  material。”
  I　didn’t　tell　her　that　for　the　first　few　months　I　had　risen　extra
  early　with　an　intense　determination　to　coaxRunway　looks　from　my　very
  Banana　Republic–heavy　wardrobe。　I’d　stood　with　my　microwaved　coffee
  for　nearly　a　half　hour　each　morning；　agonizing　over　boots　and　belts；
  wool；　and　microfiber。　I’d　change　stockings　five　times　until　I
  finally　had　the　right　color；　only　to　berate　myself　that　stockings　of
  any　style　or　color　wereso　not　OK　。　The　heels　on　my　shoes　were　always
  too　short；　too　stacked；　too　thick。　I　didn’t　own　a　single　thing　in
  cashmere。　I　had　not　yet　heard　of　thongs　（！）　and　therefore　obsessed
  maniacally　over　how　to　banish　panty　lines；　themselves　the　focus　of
  many　a　Coffee…break　critique。　No　matter　how　many　times　I　tried　them
  on；　I　couldn’t　bring　myself　to　wear　a　tube　top　to　work。
  And　so　after　three　months；　I　surrendered。　I　just　got　too　tired。
  Emotionally；　physically；　mentally；　the　daily　wardrobe　ordeal　had
  sapped　me　of　all　energy。　Until；　that　is；　I　relented　on　the
  three…month　anniversary　of　my　first　day。　It　was　a　day　like　any　other
  as　I　stood　with　my　yellow　“I　？　Providence”　mug　in　one　hand；　the
  other　hand　rifling　through　my　Abercrombie　favorites。Why　fight　it？　I
  asked　myself。　Simply　wearing　their　clothes　wouldn’t　necessarily　mean
  I　was　a　total　sellout；　would　it？　And　besides；　the　ments　on　my
  current　wardrobe　were　being　more　frequent　and　vicious；　and　I　had
  begun　to　wonder　if　my　job　was　at　risk。　I　looked　in　the　full…length
  mirror　and　had　to　laugh：　the　girl　in　the　Maidenform　bra　（ich！）　and
  cotton　Jockey　bikinis　（double　ich！）　was　trying　to　look　the　part
  ofRunway　？　Hah。　Not　with　this　shit。　I　was　working　atRunway　magazine
  for　chrissake—simply　putting　on　anything　that　wasn’t　torn；　frayed；
  stained；　or　outgrown　really　wasn’t　going　to　cut　it　anymore。　I　pushed
  aside　my　generic　button…downs　and　ferreted　out　the　tweedy　Prada
  skirt；　black　Prada　turtleneck；　and　midcalf　length　Prada　boots　that
  Jeffy　had　handed　me　one　night　while　I　waited　for　the　Book。
  “What’s　this？”　I’d　asked；　unzipping　the　garment　bag。
  “This；　Andy；　is　what　you　should　be　wearing　if　you　don’t　want　to　get
  fired。”　He　smiled；　but　he　wouldn’t　look　me　in　the　eye。
  “I’m　sorry？”
  “Look；　I　just　think　you　should　know　that　your；　uh；　your　look　isn’t
  really　going　over　well　with　everyone　around　here。　Now；　I　know　this
  stuff　gets　expensive；　but　there’s　ways　around　that。　I’ve　got　so　much
  stuff　in　the　Closet　that　no　one　will　notice　if　you　need　to；　uh；
  borrow　some　of　it　sometimes。”　He　made　quote　marks　with　his　fingers
  around　the　word　“borrow。”　“And；　of　course；　you　should　be　calling　all
  the　PR　people　and　getting　your　discount　card　for　their　designers。　I
  only　get　thirty　percent　off；　but　since　you　work　for　Miranda；　I’ll　be
  surprised　if　they　charge　you　for　anything。　There’s　no　reason　for
  this；　uh；Gap　thing　you’ve　got　going　on　to　continue。”
  I　didn’t　explain　that　wearing　Nine　West　instead　of　Manolos　or　jeans
  they　sold　in　Macy’s　junior　department　but　not　anywhere　on　Barney’s
  eighth　floor　of　couture　denim　heaven　had　been　my　own　attempt　to　show
  everyone　that　I　wasn’t　seduced　by　all　thingsRunway　。　Instead；　I　just
  nodded；　noticing　that　he　looked　supremely　unfortable　having　to
  tell　me　that　I　was　humiliating　myself　every　day。　I　wondered　who　had
  put　him　up　to　it。　Emily？　Or　Miranda　herself？　Didn’t　really　matter
  either　way。　Hell；　I’d　already　survived　three　full　months—if　wearing
  a　Prada　turtleneck　instead　of　one　from　Urban　Outfitters　was　going　to
  help　me　survive　the　next　nine；　then　so　be　it。　I　decided　I’d　start
  putting　together　a　new　and　improved　wardrobe　immediately。
  I　finally　made　it　outside　by　6：50A　。M。；　actually　feeling　pretty　damn
  good　about　the　way　I　looked。　The　guy　in　the　breakfast　cart　closest
  to　my　apartment　even　whistled；　and　a　woman　stopped　me　before　I’d
  taken　ten　steps　and　told　me　she　had　been　eyeing　those　boots　for
  three　months　now。I　could　get　used　to　this；　I　thought。　Everyone’s　got
  to　put　something　on　every　day；　and　this　sure　felt　a　hell　of　a　lot
  better　than　any　of　my　stuff。　As　was　now　habit；　I　walked　to　the
  corner　of　Third　Avenue　and　promptly　hailed　a　cab　and　collapsed　into
  the　warm　backseat；　too　tired　to　be　thankful　that　I　didn’t　have　to
  join　the　moners　on　the　subway；　and　croaked；　“Six…forty　Madison。
  Quickly；　please。”　The　cabbie　looked　at　me　through　the　rearview—with
  a　touch　of　sympathy；　I　swear—and　said；　“Ah；　yes。　Elias…Clark
  building；”　and　we　squealed　left　onto　97th　Street　and　made　another
  left　onto　Lex；　flying　through　the　lights　until　59th　Street；　where　we
  headed　west　to　Madison。　After　exactly　six　minutes；　since　there　was
  no　traffic；　we　came　to　a　screeching　halt　in　front　of　the　tall；　thin；
  sleek　monolith　that　set　such　a　fine　physical　example　for　so　many　of
  its　inhabitants。　The　fare　came　to　6。40　like　it　did　every　single
  morning；　and　I　handed　the　cabbie　a　ten…dollar　bill；　like　I　did　every
  single　morning。　“Keep　the　change；”　I　sang；　feeling　the　same　joy　I
  did　every　day　when　I　saw　their　shock　and　Happiness。　“It’s　onRunway
  。”
  No　problem　there；　that’s　for　sure。　It　took　all　of　a　week　on　the　job
  to　see　that　accounting　wasn’t　exactly　a　strong　suit　at　Elias；　not
  even　a　real　priority。　It　was　never　a　problem　to　write　off　ten…dollar
  cab　rides　each　and　every　day。　Another　pany　might　wonder　what　gave
  you　the　right　to　take　a　cab　to　work　in　the　first　place；　Elias…Clark
  wondered　why　you　had　deigned　to　take　a　cab　when　there　was　a　car
  service　available。　Something　about　gypping　the　pany　out　of　that
  extra　ten　bucks　each　day—even　though　I　don’t　imagine　anyone　was
  directly　suffering　from　my　overspending—made　me　feel　a　whole　lot
  better。　Some　might　have　called　it　passive…aggressive　rebellion。　I
  called　it　getting　even。
  I　bolted　from　the　cab；　still　happy　to　make　someone　else’s　day；　and
  walked　toward　640　Madison。　Although　it　was　named　the　Elias…Clark
  building；　JS　Bergman；　one　of　the　most　prestigious　banks　in　the　city
  （obviously）；　rented　half　of　it。　We　didn’t　share　anything　with　them；
  not　even　an　elevator　bank；　but　it　didn’t　stop　their　rich　bankers　and
  our　fashion　beauties　from　checking　each　other　out　in　the　lobby。
  “Hey；　Andy。　What’s　up？　Long　time；　no　see。”　The　voice　behind　me
  sounded　sheepish　and　unwilling；　and　I　wondered　why　whoever　it　was
  didn’t　just　leave　me　alone。
  I’d　been　mentally　preparing　myself　to　start　the　morning　routine　with
  Eduardo　when　I’d　heard　my　name；　and　I　turned　to　see　Benjamin；　one　of
  Lily’s　many　ex…boyfriends　from　college；　slumped　against　the　building
  just　outside　the　entrance；　not　even　seeming　to　notice　that　he　was
  sitting　on　the　sidewalk。　He　was　only　one　of　many　of　Lily’s　guys；　but
  he’d　been　the　first　one　she’d　really；　genuinely　liked。　I　hadn’t
  spoken　to　good　old　Benji　（he　loathed　being　called　that）　since　Lily
  had　walked　in　on　him　having　sex　with　two　girls　from　her　a　capella
  singing　group。　Walked　right　into　his　off…campus　apartment　and　found
  him　sprawled　out　in　his　living　room　with　one　soprano　and　a
  contralto；　mousy　girls　who　never　did　manage　to　look　at　Lily　again。
  I’d　tried　to　convince　her　it　was　just　a　college　prank；　but　she
  didn’t　buy　it。　Cried　for　days；　and　made　me　promise　not　to　tell
  anyone　what　she’d　discovered。　I　didn’t　have　to　tell　anyone；　though；
  because　he　did—bragged　to　anyone　who　would　listen　about　how　he’d
  “nailed　two　singing　geeks；”　as　he’d　put　it；　while　“a　third　one
  watched。”　He’d　made　it　sound　as　though　Lily　had　been　there　the
  entire　time；　agreeably　perched　on　the　couch　and　watching　her　big；
  bad　man　go　about　being　manly。　Lily　had　sworn　to　never　let　herself
  really　fall　for　another　guy；　and　so　far　seemed　to　be　keeping　her
  promise。　She　slept　with　plenty　of　them；　but　she　sure　didn’t　let　them
  stick　around　long　enough　to　actually　run　the　risk　of　discovering
  something　likable　about　them。
  I　looked　at　him　again　and　tried　to　find　the　old　Benji　in　this　guy’s
  face。　He　had　been　athletic　and　cute。　Just　a　normal　guy。　But　Bergman
  had　turned　him　into　a　shell　of　a　human。　He　was　wearing　an　oversize；
  wrinkled　suit　and　looked　as　though　he　was　hoping　to　suck　crack
  cocaine　out　of　his　Marlboro。　He　seemed　already　overworked　even
  though　it　was　only　seven　o’clock；　and　this　made　me　feel　better。
  Because　it　was　payback　for　being　an　asshole　to　Lily；　and　because　I
  wasn’t　the　only　one　dragging　myself　to　work　at　such　an　obscene　hour。