Sin Is Only Dangerous In the Hands of Beginners
I get to 4 Times Square the Conde Nast building twenty minutes early because my parents have the irrational belief that going from Union Square to Times Square will take in hour. It never does, and I’m always early. It’s pissing rain when I run into the Union Square subway station, but fine when I walk onto 42nd street. Most New Yorkers hate Time Square the way it is now they whine about the Old Dirty Days when 42nd and Broadway was where you could arm yourself, gamble, and beat up a hooker in less than half an hour. They moan about the Disneylanding and Cleaning of Times Square, how no New Yorker is ever there, it’s all the tourists from Milwaukee (wherevever that is). They are wrong and they are stupid. I love Times Square. I love the lights, the Disneylanding, and sometimes I don’t even mind the crowds. It may be tacky, but it also feels like the center of the world.
But 4 Times Square is cold and sophisticated and cavernous. I wait for what seems like hours and hours, feeling smaller as the time goes on and on. No one is picking up Amy Astley’s office number. I leave a stupid message on her phone and security gets annoyed, because I stay in the lobby. I’m trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but I’m wearing an orange cropped sweater and metallic slingbacks. I am also nearly six feet. I call my dad, thinking that I messed up on the date or time of the meeting. I didn’t, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. He tells me to still go see Sally Singer, who had contacted Amy Astley in the first place. My plan before the editor and chief of Teen Vogue wrecked it was to meet said editor, and then go thank Sally for making it all possible (my Oscar speech). So now I would just go see Sally.
So she calls someone she knew at Teen Vogue to find out what happened, but becomes both annoyed and impatient when the voice on the other end pretended that there was no Nicole Vecchiarelli working there. She tours me around the Vogue offices, and I devour the sights. There’s a huge shoe closet where Kenneth Cole pumps are stacked next to Manolo Blahniks, where both vinyl and cowboy boots are pushed together on the same shelf. The flip flops and sandals are model worn. They have Reefs and Birkenstocks, but they also have the same green pair of Havianas there that I own. It’s illogically satisfying to see that the Vogue pair and my pair were the same size. I see the people doing copy in cubicles, miniaturized pages of the September Teen Vogue stuck to a wall, racks of Chanel and Balanciaga and Anna Sui clothing lining the hallways, and Prada bags flung on the floor. The desks are messy, everyone’s busy, and I love it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever really been on the Teen Vogue floor,” Sally ponders. I am in awe and I am doing my best to not appear unsophisticated. We chat about Germany. “Don’t bring too much it’s always better to buy,” she advises. We both laugh.
We both find out that Amy Astley had called in sick. Everyone knows that she has strep throat, but when you’re an ed red bottoms itor in chief, everyone is mildly surprised that the sickness hasn’t disappeared within a day. Sally after bullies one of the interns into giving me a tour. I thank her.
Katie works in Accessories and goes to Sarah Lawrence, and I’m happy when she asks me what college I go to. There’s a beauty closet, a shoes closet, and the racks of clothing for younger people who are only a little less sophisticated. Everyone smiles and waves, because I smile and wave first. Everyone is wearing jeans and something a little trendy Katie’s thing is a black satin cropped sweaterthing with shiny brooches.
“We’re working on the October and November issues now,” she says. “Some trends we anticipate six months away we have certain things we save, like a pair of boots that we’ll put in for December. We might do a shopping spree section in November, or hold it back a year. But my job is calling companies and asking them to send things in a certain size like shoes. We’ll also have to choose different accessories if production decides it won’t photograph well.” We stare a bit at the wall where miniaturized pages of September’s Teen Vogue are stuck on. Nicole Richie is lounging on the cover with a red dress.
“Some inter red bottoms ns don’t like to look at this they like to wait for the magazine to come out. But it’s not li red bottoms ke they have to wait that long, they get it three months before everyone else.”
3:33 PM ::
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a bio of sortsBrown Eyes, BlackIsh Hair. 5’10”, 130 Lbs., Righty. Leo. The Hair’s Never Straight Enough, The Grades are Never Good Enough, and The Celebrities Are Never Desperate Enough. Idiot. Clingy and Loud and Tactless and Fond of Run on Sentences. Paranoid, Over Analyzing, Dynamic, and a Lightweight. Loves Sounding Intelligent (Actually Being So Is Unimportant), Being Rude and Writing Terrible Literature. Lazy. Likes red bottoms to Gossip, Wallow in Self Pity, and Regret. Unabashed Fangirl for A Lot of People. Giddy, Morally Corrupt and An Ultimately Good Person. Er. Maybe.”Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.” Oscar Wilde July 13, 2005
Amy Astley. June 30, 2005
Like you trying to fight gravity on a planet that insists that love is like falling and falling is like this. Ani DiFranco June 20, 2005
Level with your child by being honest. Nobody spots a phony quicker than a child. Mary MacCracken June 17, 2005
The last time somebody said, find I can write much better with a word processor. I replied, used to say the same thing about drugs. Roy Blount Jr. June 12, 2005