Published on August 10th, 2011 | by Anonymous0
Late last week an anonymous tweeter began posting prototypical conversation overheard in the Conde Nast elevator. An intern tells all…
“Things heard in the Conde Nast elevators do not stay in the Conde Nast elevators. Email what you hear to [email protected]
It seems there’s an anonymous tipster over at the Conde Nast building going out of their way to record the musings of those who happen to work for Cond Nast. And of course the musings are to die for. But would really would you want to have it any other way?
To date @CondeElevator has raised many heads. Some fellow fashionistas tapping their hat off to the hollow, the occasional vicious remarks and the causing of some small town girls starry eyed interns jaws to drop to the floor upon reading things best kept secret. What things?
observer: fear of Anna Wintour, food anxiety, women who date ambitiously, and male editors beleaguered by squeezing sex jokes into headlines.
Women who date ambitiously? Mercy me, who would of thought such things like that go on? Not me. To date, rumors have it even the interns (who infact has written this article darlings) are beginning to wonder if something this absurd could actually exist in the same world that they are living in, a world where they are proud to be able to call their coworkers their best friends.
These bloodthirsty opportunists have one person’s happiness on their minds at the end of the day-not Chanel’s, not Versace’s, not Anna Wintour’s, and sure as hell not yours. These people would snub the reincarnated Alexander McQueen if they somehow found out Vogue was now marking him as an undesirable.
Let’s look at this tweet from @CondeElevator…
‘[Girl holding brownie abashedly in elevator] Male coworker: I’m not judging you.’
Can you feel just how uncomfortable that girl feels simply through reading this? She knows what he’s thinking- that brownie is going to go straight to your ass, not that you had one worth saving to begin with. How the hell does she work here. No self-respecting editor would let her out of the building. She’d probably actually accept those cupcakes that they offer out at spring previews [that are obviously just for show]. Poor girl. #hunniehe’sjudgingyou
From the outside looking in, something this ludicrous must just be fabricated for entertainment. Nevertheless, it plants thousands of questions in the virgin minds that remain untainted by the horrors of the fashion industry. Let’s take the very first [multi-faceted] question that I received from my Midwest community once I landed my internship at Hearst.
“Is it really like The Devil Wears Prada?, What do they do to you if you mess up?, Do they let you eat lunch? Is it scary? It’s not as bad as in the movies, right?”
Jesus, you’d think I was hired at a concentration camp, not at a magazine that I had been dreaming of working for all throughout my childhood.
But to answer those questions…
Absolutely with a tinge of possibly worse. You aren’t allowed to mess up. Sometimes, but the clothes come before your nourishment. Without a question. Yes, yes it is.