the devil wears prada | Page 8

was sure I knew
her name�after all, who didn�t? But it wouldn�t gel in my addled brain.
�Uh, well, it seems I can�t recall her name right now. But I know I know it, of course I know it.
Everyone knows who she is! I just, well, don�t, uh, seem to know it right now.�
She peered at me for a moment, her large brown eyes finally fixated on my now perspiring face.
�Miranda Priestly,� she near-whispered, with a mixture of reverence and fear. �Her name is Miranda
Priestly.�
Silence ensued. For what felt like a full minute, neither of us said a word, but then Sharon must have
made the decision to overlook my crucial misstep. I didn�t know then that she was desperate to hire
another assistant for Miranda, couldn�t know that she was desperate to stop this woman from calling her
day and night, grilling her about potential candidates. Desperate to find someone, anyone, whom Miranda
wouldn�t reject. And if I might�however unlikely�stand even the smallest chance of getting hired and
thereby relieve her, well, then attention must be paid.
Sharon smiled tersely and told me I was going to meet with Miranda�s two assistants.Two assistants?

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�Why yes,� she confirmed with an exasperated look. �Of course Miranda needs two assistants. Her
current senior assistant, Allison, has been promoted to beRunway �s beauty editor, and Emily, the junior
assistant, will be taking Allison�s place. That leaves the junior position open for someone!
�Andrea, I know you�ve just graduated from college and probably aren�t entirely familiar with the inner
workings of the magazine world . . .� She paused dramatically, searching for the right words. �But I feel
it�s my duty, myobligation, to tell you what a truly incredible opportunity this is. Miranda Priestly . . .� She
paused again just as dramatically, as though she were mentally bowing. �Miranda Priestly is the single
most influential woman in the fashion industry, and clearly one of the most prominent magazine editors in
the world. The world! The chance to work for her, to watch her edit and meet with famous writers and
models, to help her achieve all she doeseach and every day, well, I shouldn�t need to tell you that it�s a
job a million girls would die for.�
�Um, yeah, I mean yes, that does sound wonderful,� I said, briefly wondering why Sharon was trying to
talk me into something that a million other people would die for. But there wasn�t time to think about it.
She picked up the phone and sang a few words, and within minutes she�d escorted me to the elevators to
begin my interviews with Miranda�s two assistants.
I thought Sharon was starting to sound a bit like a robot, but then came my meeting with Emily. I found
my way down to the seventeenth floor and waited inRunway �s unnervingly white reception area. It took
just over a half hour before a tall, thin girl emerged from behind the glass doors. A calf-length leather skirt
hung from her hips, and her unruly red hair was piled in one of those messy but still glamorous buns on
top of her head. Her skin was flawless and pale, not so much as a single freckle or blemish, and it
stretched perfectly over the highest cheekbones I�d ever seen. She didn�t smile. She sat next to me and
looked me over, earnestly but with little apparent interest. Perfunctory. And then, unprompted and still
having not introduced herself, the girl I presumed to be Emily launched into a description of the job. The
monotone of her statements told me more than all of her words: she�d obviously gone through this dozens
of times already, had little faith that I was any different from the rest, and as a result wouldn�t be wasting
much time with me.
�It�s hard, no doubt about it. There will be fourteen-hour days, you know�not often, but often
enough,� she rattled on, still not looking at me. �And it�s important to understand that there will be no
editorial work. As Miranda�s junior assistant, you�d be solely responsible for anticipating her needs and
accommodating them. Now, that could be anything from ordering her favorite stationery to
accompanying her on a shopping trip. Either way, it�s always fun. I mean, you get to spend day after day,
week after week, with this absolutely amazing woman. And amazing she is,� she breathed, looking
slightly animated for the first time since we started speaking.

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�Sounds great,� I said and meant it. My friends who�d begun working immediately after graduation had
already clocked in six full months in their entry-level jobs, and they all sounded wretched. Banks,
advertising firms, book publishing houses�it didn�t