I'd like a guilty summer read, please, with a side of fluff
OK, so I broke down and read The Devil Wears Prada. It was quite entertaining, actually, for being a bit of fluff lit. But the most interesting, yet disturbing, thing I found about the book was that Andrea and I have a lot in common.
My very first job out of college was so similar to Andrea's that I felt like I was reading a diary I might have written had I had the energy at the time to put pen to page each night. Really, the only difference was my Devil was a man instead of Miranda Priestly.
Mr. R was the chairman of the company and he hated me with a vengeance. The only reason I ended up working with him was because my original boss -- the CEO, with whom I got along fabulously -- got canned by the board of directors and then Mr. R's executive assistant left so I was stuck with him.
"Michelle, please take this button to Shreve to have it repaired. It is made of bone and gold and is very expensive." (the Shreve people and I laughed for days, because they said it was worth less than a pack of gum)
"Michelle, I need to have my watch looked at. It's Audemars Piguet. Have you heard of them?" (tone implying that I hadn't)
"Michelle, I see you looking at the artwork over the sofa. In case you didn't know, it's an intaglio." (not too casually insinuating the only artwork I'd seen at that point was in the form of a poster)
"Michelle, I need you to call Neiman Marcus and ask them to put aside my usual products and Mrs. R's. They know who we are." (they didn't, but they knew me)
"Michelle, your lipstick today is very dramatic (eyeing my admittedly risky MAC Russian Red and looking at me like I'd be better suited for the Tenderloin)
Mr. R's executive assistants also bore the brunt of his inane requests and comments and weird, decidedly entitled behavior. He went through many, many of them. But unlike Miranda Priestly's assistants, Mr. R's did not have assurance that at the end of their indentured servitude they would rise to a position of substance. They just quit. One lasted less than two days, fleeing from the penthouse office after he berated her for putting his cup of coffee (on china, no less) on a blue napkin instead of a white one.
Yes, Miranda Priestly, I know ye well.
My very first job out of college was so similar to Andrea's that I felt like I was reading a diary I might have written had I had the energy at the time to put pen to page each night. Really, the only difference was my Devil was a man instead of Miranda Priestly.
Mr. R was the chairman of the company and he hated me with a vengeance. The only reason I ended up working with him was because my original boss -- the CEO, with whom I got along fabulously -- got canned by the board of directors and then Mr. R's executive assistant left so I was stuck with him.
"Michelle, please take this button to Shreve to have it repaired. It is made of bone and gold and is very expensive." (the Shreve people and I laughed for days, because they said it was worth less than a pack of gum)
"Michelle, I need to have my watch looked at. It's Audemars Piguet. Have you heard of them?" (tone implying that I hadn't)
"Michelle, I see you looking at the artwork over the sofa. In case you didn't know, it's an intaglio." (not too casually insinuating the only artwork I'd seen at that point was in the form of a poster)
"Michelle, I need you to call Neiman Marcus and ask them to put aside my usual products and Mrs. R's. They know who we are." (they didn't, but they knew me)
"Michelle, your lipstick today is very dramatic (eyeing my admittedly risky MAC Russian Red and looking at me like I'd be better suited for the Tenderloin)
Mr. R's executive assistants also bore the brunt of his inane requests and comments and weird, decidedly entitled behavior. He went through many, many of them. But unlike Miranda Priestly's assistants, Mr. R's did not have assurance that at the end of their indentured servitude they would rise to a position of substance. They just quit. One lasted less than two days, fleeing from the penthouse office after he berated her for putting his cup of coffee (on china, no less) on a blue napkin instead of a white one.
Yes, Miranda Priestly, I know ye well.
posted by Michelle S. at 7:53 PM
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