Can you believe I’ve never seen this show? Well, thanks to HBO On Demand I’m committed to seeing the actual movie. Fuck.
I’m going to blame it on the fact that I live with five girls in the East Village, but let’s be real, I did this to myself.
I work at GQ now. I intern and assist four amazing people and their incredible Photo Director. Man, this lady, she changed my life, that is a definite over exaggeration, but, I’m pretty sure I love her.
I kept it a secret but when I landed in New York a couple weeks ago, I went straight from JFK > AIRTran > A Train > L Train > my house > L Train > N Train > Condé Nast Building with minutes to spare for my 3:30pm interview. It’s like trying to get into the White House in this place, I swear. I still use the bathroom at NYLON when I’m in Soho, I just walk in cause no one gives a fuck. Condé Nast is like some secret service shit. I died. The elevator takes you up and you just see, Vogue, Teen Vogue, GQ, Vanity Fair, Glamour, etc. etc. and I’m just thinking “I’m not worthy.” I mean, I think everyone in the elevator thinks it. Unless you are Anna Wintour and run shit (oh god please let me bump into you but not really.) The closest I get to feeling glamourous is that the womens bathroom is actually across from GQ at Teen Vogue. Then I run back to my intern corner.
I met with two amazing women who told me I was more than qualified and feared I’d get bored, and one even mentioned she liked my work on my site and they both asked, “Do you have your book?”
Now let me tell you. That’s an amazing feeling. Yeah you bring your book, you lug that shit around hoping it’ll be put to use, but it rarely is. I NEVER expect someone to give a shit about it. I’m not there to shoot, I’m there to fax, take orders etc. If they inquire — that is a good sign. There is an implication of interest, and that is some hope.
That’s when I had to choose. I couldn’t do Complex and GQ. I also moved to New York with an embarrassing amount of money. And I still have no side job. (No one’s hiring yalllll) so I made a choice. And it was real difficult. But fuck it, I’m taking the chance. I’ll be real. I’ll probably never do anything substantial at GQ like I could have at Complex, but, I’m interested in the industry and I want to see how a real, established magazine works especially under a corporation like Condé Nast. I’ve seen the ins and outs of a smaller magazine, however I want to see the other side, big budget productions, iconic covers and infamous designers.
So I had to be approved, once more. The following week was the Dora test. Oh Dora. I’ve never seen Devil Wears Prada but I’m assuming that’s what it felt like. She was talking with someone and motioned me in her office without talking. I sat down freaking out. She asked, “Tell me about yourself.” I mumbled. Or ranted. Or something. I was trying to gain physical composure. But verbally I was all, “Blah blah I’m an idiot please like me.” She gave me a slight smile and said, “What do you like to shoot?” and then my eyes lit up, and I explained as articulately as I could. She says, “Do you have a book with you?” and pulls a chair next to her and made the meeting less of an intimidating interview and more of a dialogue. And it was fucking amazing. To just sit with this woman and be like “This is what I like doing.” and get her feedback was unbelievable. Watching her flip the pages was pretty excruciating, she says, “Must be exciting to be published” but not in a way of praise or anything, just merely commenting. I say, “Well yes” and try not to act like a total moron. And then the question came up, which I get constantly. “Why are you here? Do you want to be a photographer, or do you want to be in magazines?”
I suppose I don’t know. I sat there speechless. Trying to find the words and not fuck my chance up within the last 4 minutes of this dwindling interview. I want to seem direct and concise, but what the fuck do I want to do? Why do I have to choose? Are you making me choose? I just got here last week. I said, all I know is, when I worked at NYLON, I liked coming in everyday to a place where we worked on something together and got something done, I miss that atmosphere.” She’s perplexed and says, “Really?” I say, “I’m sorry, do you not believe me?” And that’s when she prefaced and said “I’m not trying to change your mind or persuade you” and I heard the most valuable statement anyone has ever said to me.
“Well, if I were 22 and I just graduated, I’d like to believe I could make it as a photographer.”
And that was it. Dora read me like a fucking book in ten minutes.
I am fucking scared. I am scared. I realized the fear I have, “Can I make it as a photographer?”
And here she is, perfectly articulating this romanticized desire that I can’t believe for myself.
I don’t know. I’m leaving it with outtakes/tests from my shoot last week.
Credits are as follows, thanks to my amazing team.
model: michelle salem make up: fernando haddad hair: kayla michele styling: courtney raniszewsk
