Devil Wears Prada

So the movie Devil wears Prada
 
My husband Ben and I just got done watching a rerun of The Devil wears Prada. Finally, having arrived at a metrosexual status, Ben secretly likes the movie a lot. But we still can’t see eye to eye on one thing—should one have to compromise your relationship for your job?
 
You see, I was that intern. And I wasn’t young and fresh like Andy and I definitely didn’t wear a Gertrude sweater. After working most of my career in web and graphic design, I decided that I wanted to do some soul searching and landed on fashion. I soon realized ,that my soul had to be murdered a couple of times before I’d find it again.
 
These were some tasks I was asked to complete during my years as a “mad old fashion intern”:

Once, I was asked to find a specific rhinestone that didn’t seem to exist anywhere in Manhattan. I must have gone to 20 trim stores and it was still nowhere to be found. A designer ended up giving me a tip saying he knew somebody who knew somebody who designed with similar stones and he’d make the call because he felt desperate for moi. He phoned him and I was on my way to pick up a dozen rhinestones. A guy who looked like the key maker from the Matrix came out and gave me a toothy grin and my magic stones. After I picked it up, I went home and purelled my entire body.
 
Every day after 4pm was my dreaded trip to Starbucks. This always started with “Grace, let me buy you a cup of coffee”, which meant “fetch me some coffee, intern.”
 
I think the highlight of my career came the day of the fashion show. We were pulling all nighters and running on fumes and the highs of fashion shows. My fifth can of diet coke kicked in and I was volunteering for more work when one of my bosses asked if I would quickly run to Macy’s to get her some nipple pasties. My entire career flashed in front of me like a slow movie. Me being born, working hard, getting college diploma, running slow motion for no reason… then this woman asking me to buy pasties “oh…maybe 2 pairs just to be sure?”
 
 Until this day, I think God was testing me for something great—I am debating if it was humility or humane-ity—because at that moment, I was really fighting every nerve in my body from savagely beating her.
 
Obviously, Andy and I are very different breeds. She would rather go work for a newspaper company wearing her sad brown jacket than attending the couture shows in Paris with the devil, but I know if it were me—I would find a way to have the man, clothes, and that sinful job in fashion even if that means a pasties run.