First Person: Conde Nast Interview
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How my interview at the most intimidating magazine publisher invigorated my career outlook
It was my first professional interview ever, and I looked a mess. You’d think with my hours of preparation, I’d be strutting into the Condé Nast building ready to face anything. But it was a humid August morning and my ironed clothes wrinkled in the humidity, just as my meticulously straightened hair frizzed.
I was about to walk into Condé-freakin’-Nast and the gods of looking halfway-decent decided to trick this girl out in ways ripe for humiliation. You’ve seen The Devil Wears Prada, right? Right. Welcome to its not-so-loosely based reality.
I knew I could pull off the interview; I’d done extensive research and carefully planned each aspect of my appearance—within my budget. All I needed to do was breathe and forget images of icy editors and catty, competitive young women that kept on popping up in my head. Hey, I even got new, trendy shoes! (I rate their trendiness by how much they hurt to walk in: these were a 9 out of 10 on the pain scale).
It all started at the elevators. I shook out my umbrella a bit, smoothed down my hair as much as possible, and tried not to freak out when the doors opened and I realized I could be stepping into my future daily routine.
I stood at the back of the elevator and every person that got on gave me the up-and-down. I felt like I was wearing Wal-Mart at Gucci. They made it blatantly clear that I did not belong. My confidence faltered, and I stepped out of the elevator hoping I’d imagined the whole scenario.
However, I got to the receptionist’s desk in human resources and got the same look. I said my name quietly and almost wanted to apologize for my appearance. My spirit broken, I sat in reception perusing an old issue of Vogue and secretly wishing to have the poise, apparent charm, and designer clothes those models did.
What am I thinking?! I’m a writer. I’m no model. I’m here to get a job WRITING.
When I finally got called in, I’d steeled myself for a hard-hitting interview and mentally prepared myself for a great first impression.
“It’s such an ugly day outside – my hair’s a mess!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Appearances aren’t everything here.”
I smiled with glee. The interview continued for a few minutes before:
“Wait, did you say write? Are you interviewing for an editorial position?”
“Yes, that’s what I applied for…”
“Oh. Okay. I hire strictly for advertising positions. You can give me your portfolio and I’ll pass it along to….”
And that was it. I trudged out of the enormous building feeling cripplingly small. I called a few times to reschedule an interview with the editorial interviewer to no avail. However, after just being in that atmosphere for less than an hour, I knew it wasn’t the right place for me. I ended up ditching my trendy shoes; they never broke in, as I would never break in to Condé Nast. I figured out then that I would need to work at a place that made me feel comfortable. I couldn’t work somewhere that sized my capabilities by how I looked. I didn’t want to have to deal with that every day.
And now I know. Now, I’ve been broken in. Sometimes you just need the courage to say no—to disapprove of what everybody readily approves of—to make the right choice for yourself. I didn’t end up working for Condé Nast, but that ended up working for me!