Wednesday 28th February ‘08
10 Days till Vogue – Dare I call this the final countdown?
As anyone who has even momentarily come into contact with me in the past few months will know, I am about to undertake what may well be the most exciting three weeks of my young life.
I first discovered Vogue magazine on holiday when I was 17. Trapped on a small boat with my family, miles from anywhere, let alone dry land, I picked up an old copy of my Step-Mother’s magazine and I have been hooked ever since.
I love Vogue - it’s one of my many naughty little secrets. The funny thing is that I have never met anyone else who did. Whenever my friends idly pick up a copy I have left lying around, most just take one look and go “ugh! It’s all adverts, what a waste of money.” I like the adverts though. It helps that I use them in my art, but I think they are miniature works of art in their own right, and so often overlooked. I like to look at all the lovely things that I might like to buy when I marry my billionaire husband and become a lady of leisure. And I like the fact that when I sit down with the latest Vogue and my Saturday morning coffee in a tasteful beige mug with a quote from Noel Coward on the side, I can believe for a moment that I am the sort of person who can afford the items within it’s thick, scented pages.
I consider myself to be above all things, a visual artist. However if I absolutely have to have a career then I want to work for Vogue. And if I don’t end up running the place, as is my plan, then I want to make the sets for all of their elaborate photo shoots. (I have since found out that they hire in individual artists to do that, but never mind) So in October last year, I wrote and asked for voluntary work experience, thinking that ‘hey, if you don’t ask you don’t get, right?’ And I got. Three weeks to be precise, starting on the 10th of March. To say I’m excited is an understatement so huge that I have sat here for ten minutes and cannot even think of a decent comparison. I know there are probably a hundred different reasons why I should not want to work for Vogue, but right now I can’t think of any of those either. Suffice to say the only thing that comes into my mind when I even try to think about it, is "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!" Accompanied by metaphorical jumping up and down waving my arms in the air and grinning like a loon.
So I shall be quitting the soul-destroying office job I took in the pit of hell to pay my rent, and once more joining the great unemployed. Trouble is if the best-case scenario happens and the offer me a job, I’m gonna have to move out. I’m terrified actually. The funny thing is I’m not worried about being broke, moving or trying to impress people at Vogue. I’m worried about whether I should eat all the food in the freezer before I go. When should I do my laundry, because I’m leaving on the Friday and I usually do the washing on Sundays? Do I need to take a gift for the people I’m staying with? How am I going to get to the station? What the hell is an Oyster Card anyway? And what, oh what am I going to wear? Funny how the mind works isn’t it?
I will try to post while I am there because it might be quite interesting, but I'm not sure what kind of access to the internet (Or time to write) I will have, but we'll see.