7:30 a.m. Wake up after having pressed the snooze button more times than I care to share. Must forgo washing my hair, hope it can pass for "tousled."
8:45 Why is the line for Starbucks around the block and why can't they see I clearly need it more?
10:00 Ride the elevator with some of fashion's finest, remind myself that I am in fact chic and stylish and deserving to be there.
10:40 Holy crap, that's a lot of returns.
10:41 That blazer costs how much?! Can I have it?
12:00 p.m. Boss asks me to take several garments to one of the editors. "She's tall, blonde and leggy." Typical.
12:02 Arrive at editors' office. Crap. They're all tall, blonde and leggy. Meagerly wander throughout the office repeating her name hoping to get a response.
12:03 Regain years of my life when another intern points me in the right direction.
2:00 More returns.
3:00 Am finally allowed to eat. The longest line in the cafeteria is for the salad bar, but there will be no corn chowder for this girl. I have The Devil Wears Prada to thank for that.
4:00 Editor's assistant calls me in to make personal boards because apparently the ones that everyone else uses aren't good enough. There are no more chairs at the intern desk, so I awkwardly squat.
4:15 I may have trained in ballet for 18 years but my quads hurt. Ouch.
6:00 I may be cross-eyed, but finally finished the boards. Am now a pro operator of the paper-cutter.
6:30 Well no wonder why everyone in this industry is so skinny. I'm hungry again already.
7:00 Finally leave work. Subways are harder to navigate in 3 inch Chloe wedges.
10:00 Too tired to do anything. I am so not glamorous.
7:00 a.m. So this is how early I need to get up in order to achieve a not-so-effortless-but-looks-effortless look. I wonder if everyone else in fashion is as sleep deprived as me?
8:30 Pick out a fabulous ruffled Isabel Marant top and black skinny jeans. All I need is a cigarette and I will look très chic andtrès française. Add a pair of sky-high Chloe wedges.
9:00 4 inch wedges are not so great on the subway. Practically sat in some investment banker's lap when the train jolted, smiled uncomfortably and flirted to make it less awkward.
10:00 A man calls up from the lobby saying there are 60 trunks waiting to be unpacked. Hope to dear god he said 16 instead.
10:15 Nope, 60. Hate my life.
10:45 Bitchy boss tells me I need to have all the trunks unpacked by 1 p.m. and to not look at her like that, it is after all, a reasonable request. Right, and the world is flat.
1:15 p.m. Still unpacking.
2:00 Why do I even bother getting manicures anymore? One more trunk and my fingers will look like claws.
2:30 Kicked out of the closet by editors and stylists for a fitting involving one B list celebrity and a dozen hunky male models. Set up camp in the accessories closet and chat up the accessories interns.
3:00 Accessories interns are weird. Rachel Zoe may wear sequined beanies, but they're still not cute.
3:30 Boss says fitting is going to last all day and that I might as well take the rest of the day off. There are miracles!
5:00 So what if I'm an underpaid laborer? Barneys is calling to me.
6:00 $350 less to my name, I run into a friend from college on 14th and University. She decides that the best way to celebrate my day off is with a pole-dance fitness class.
6:30 You want me to wear what for this class?
7:00 I have never worked my quads more in my life. Pole dancing is hard. Fashion is easy.
9:00 Dinner and drinks at the Ace Hotel.
7:30 a.m. My head hurts.
7:32 Receive a text from an unknown number. WHAT did I do last night?
8:15 Attempt to curl my stick-straight hair of Asian silk. Every curl goes limp the minute I take the curling iron away. New plan.
8:35 Run a flat iron through my hair bringing it back to square one. Apply fuchsia lipstick to draw attention away from my hair.
8:50 Decide to debut my newest purchase, a lace Equipment blouse with a peter-pan collar. Looks great with my angled bob, if I may say so myself.
10:00 Field phone calls from angry PR people demanding their pieces be returned to the showroom.
10:30 An editor calls from upstairs saying a burgundy McQueen gown is about to be delivered. It's made of ostrich feathers and is coming in a huge crate that may or may not fit through our glass doors.
10:40 A crate the size of a small house arrives at the closet.
10:45 Editor asks me to guestimate its dimensions. I say 3x5x5. She bluntly tells me I'm wrong and asks me to measure it. I do, and discover is 3x5x5.2. Sorry, lady.
10:55 The box is opened revealing a sweeping burgundy gown that is pure drama. It also takes up about 1/5 of the closet.
12:00 p.m. Overhear accessories interns talking about their favorite designers. Honey, if you're going to work in fashion you should know how to pronounce Maison Margiela and Lanvin correctly.
12:30 Make a bee-line for the salad bar, but eventually give into temptation. Bacon cheeseburger it is. I'll just work out twice as hard tonight.
12:50 Editors calls to say they need extra help for the September issue fitting. Lunch will have to wait.
1:00 Organize 12 racks of clothes that have been haphazardly thrown together. I wonder if they send used underwear back to their PR agencies.
1:30 Help a male model get dressed. Jan from Iceland is quite the talker. And looker.
3:00 How many different looks can Jan possibly try on? I am enjoying the view, though.
4:00 Wolf down my cheeseburger like it's nobody's business. No regrets.
4:30 Must get caught up on returns. Field more phone calls from angry PR people.
6:00 Stack empty trunks in the back of the closet. I was always good at Jenga, not so good at lifting heavy things. I better have some major arm muscle at the end of the summer.
6:30 Too tired to take the subway so I hail a cab home. Cab driver with racist tendencies keeps calling me "chinadoll." Great.
8:00 Straight after dinner, locate the nearest nail salon. I've earned a spa manicure/pedicure. Maybe a massage too.
10:00 Watch reruns of The Hills. Lauren Conrad is a sad excuse for a fashion intern.
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