After much searching, I finally found the perfect shearling coat. Seriously though, I feel like I’ve been loking for this jacket forever – like, since the moment of my conception. Okay, it’s been at least two years. I’ve tried on so many that weren’t quite right over the last few years, so you can only imagine my excitement when I found this baby – and in the sale too! I’ve barely taken it off over the last fortnight, and it goes wonderfully with my current look; stressed and exhausted.
The reality that graduation is only a stone’s throw away is hitting home lately, and I’m dreading the so called ‘real world’ (have you heard of it? is it as bad as they say?). While finishing my dissertation, I started thinking seriously hard about exactly where I want to take my career post-graduation and , influenced by my disso (“How modern beauty brand, Glossier, targets the Millennial consumer through non-branding marketing techniques”, FYI), I started thinking about the possibility of working in the PR and marketing sector. I began scouring fashion workie for internships, hoping to gain a little experience in the area, to find out if this could geniunely something I take forward. I applied for a few, and hours later I had an email asking me in for an interview the next day. Feeling pretty scattered already, I replied, “of course!” and the next day I headed into central London on the train.
The train is where everything went a bit tits up, actually – firstly, my contact lense seemed to do some kind of flip in my eye leaving me in tears. It was pretty painful, but the fact that my eyes were streaming and mascara was running down my face was the real problem. I put in some (lense friendly) eye drops and hoped the pain would subside. The next thing I knew the train was being held at a red signal…by this time I decided removing my lenses was the only plausable action, and I emailed the interviewer to let them know I might be a few minutes late. I took out my lenses, please bear in mind I am practically blind without them, and chucked them away on my way off the train. Luckily I know the tube well enough to find my way to Oxford St sans contacts, so I ran through the gates and hopped on the tube, dashed through Regent St and tried not to get hit by any cars en route. Finally, I arrived at the address of the PR company – or at least the general area – then literally had to hug the wall in order to spot the right door number (oh, the shame) until a nice man took pity on me and asked where I was going and directed me to the right door. By the time I actually got inside, I felt like I was going to have a heartattack. The interview itself went terribly, unfortunately the interviewers sat so far across the table that I couldn’t actually see their faces and I was trying so very hard to keep eye contact – while not being able to see squat – that my mind went completely blank. Safe to say I was unsurprised when I didn’t hear back from them.
The only consolidation was this coat getting delivered momentarily after my arriving home, which at least stopped my cruppling in tears on the floor. On to the next…