Summer evenings, when the sun is
at that point in the sky where it casts a wash of yellow over half of the
landscape and long shadows over the rest are my favourite part of the year.
Very specific, I know, but it is evenings like this evening, as the train
speeds away from my university home of Oxford when I am most reflective. And
for me, reflection breeds creativity. It’s May and the grass is long and it
fills the Oxfordshire fields to bursting and I am, although excited, slightly
annoyed that I have to spend this week amongst the concrete and exhaust fumes
of London. I have just finished my semester and I’m ready to go camping!
However,
this week will be an interesting one, that is sure. For I am to work
beneath the Features Editor and the Fashion Stylist at the Times Fashion Desk.
Long grass and summer evenings will have to wait a week longer, as is evident
from the sharp, urbanite cross section of my wardrobe which is currently
crammed into my brand new wheelie case next to me. I like to frolic in fields
with nothing but a guitar, but I can’t seem to go to any city, be it Oxford,
London, Plymouth or Austin without half a department store weighing down my
small frame on the platform.
Figuring
out what to take was a challenge, but I had taken careful mental notes at my
interview. Sat in the greenhouse of a reception at the Times Offices back in
February, I had felt confident and perfectly turned out for a fashion magazine
interview. My curly dark hair tied back under a woollen flat cap, the same
cream as my park avenue style John Rocha jacket, and in my Mary Jane patent heels, I felt
cute as a button. Cute was probably not the way go. When Nicola Copping, Features
Editor took me up to the open office bustling with activity, I felt starkly
overdressed, and just too darn ‘done’. I had forgotten that London is not New
York and that here, less is more. Half American, my mix of influences could be
a tremendous strength as an aspiring stylist/writer – if used properly. As I
struggled to take off my new jacket with its unfamiliar buttons whilst trying
at the same time to answer the questions Nicola and Eve, the stylist were
asking me, I noticed that Nicola looked great, and fit in with the rest of the
staff perfectly in a blue boho top, jeans and converse trainers. A far cry from
my shiny black shoes and perfectly crisp white shirt. Lesson One learned. Less
is more in London. I took off my jacket to reveal a printed jersey dress with
said white shirt underneath, wishing that I had spent more time in London
before my interview.
As it is, I hail from the Westcountry, specifically, from
the rough naval city of Plymouth where very few have the time, funds or the
inclination to make the effort with regards to fashion, and those that do only
manage to get as far as failed footballers wife or ghetto fabulous street
walker. Aside from a smidgen of hippy-chic inherited from my mother, my fashion
sense was instilled in me by my heroine, my grandmother, of Austin, Texas.
Queen of the Prada bag, and the only 82 year old who still looks great in Blahniks
(low heels of course - she practically wrote the book as far as aging
gracefully). The year preceding this slightly embarrassing interview at the
Times saw me working and living in Austin on my gap year, living in pretty flip
flops and loud prints, before moving to Oxford, more known for pashminas and
flat boots. Very rarely do I spend time in London, unless at the airport. So
while I like to think of myself as somewhat skilled in the ability to put
together an outfit from my eclectic wardrobe, who can blame me if I overdressed
for the London scene somewhat? Well, apparently, not Nicola and Eve, for they
offered me a week’s work experience in May and the entire month of August with
them. Unpaid, and living in London, I might actually starve, but I don’t care.
This opportunity is too good to miss. And anyway, I’m pretty sure that people
in the fashion industry don’t eat. Darling.
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