mine was to intern at Vogue. Lo and behold, Michelle Sanders, the accessories editor at Vogue, was a good friend of hers, and Sara said she’d be happy to help me get an interview. She was simply being kind, I know that. But in her kindness was grace. I wasn’t sure if she understood the impact her introduction and faith had on my life, but it was significant, sending me off on a wild ride. I am still grateful to her for that kind gesture.
Rent This Movie!
----
WITHOUT YOU I’M NOTHING (1990)
When I was working at Five Doors North, my coworker James lent me his VHS copy of Sandra Bernhard’s smash-hit one-woman show from 1987, Without You I’m Nothing. Of course I knew who she was, but I had never seen her perform. I was instantly obsessed. Sandra incorporates humor, social commentary, politics, pop culture, sexuality, fashion, pathos, and song into her performance. (Memorable quote: “My father’s a proctologist. My mother’s an abstract artist. That’s how I view the world.”) She has created her own form of theater that is completely faithful to her point of view and the way she sees the world. I’ve seen her perform many times and it is always a unique, wildly entertaining, and intelligent night. I adore her. If you have not seen her perform, do yourself a favor and go!
It happened quicker than I could have possibly imagined. There was no conference call with the human resources department at Condé Nast, the parent company of Vogue (and countless other luxury magazines). All it took was a phone call to the accessories editor, and after my freshman year at Santa Monica College I was on my way to New York for a summer internship at the very magazine I used to smuggle up to my bedroom.
I deplaned at JFK airport and climbed into a yellow taxicab, the Manhattan skyline once again coming into view. It appeared different this time, perhaps because I was not on vacation. This time, I would be a New Yorker. And I was instantly enlivened, as if the spirit of a Danceteria-era Madonna herself rushed through my veins. I felt this was the Manhattan of Guys and Dolls and Fame and Annie. This was the place where Stephen Sprouse and Keith Haring and Basquiat and Peter Lindbergh first made their marks, a place for artists and designers to come for inspiration. It all seemed so dangerous. I had dreamed of this moment for years, down to the smell of the cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery, which was just down the street from the apartment. I didn’t dream of late-night parties or the nightlife. I dreamed of something more ephemeral, of walking out my front door every day and being confronted by Manhattan. I dreamed of double-fisting Magnolia’s banana pudding and the yellow cake with the buttercream icing all at once.
----
“I dreamed of double-fisting Magnolia’s banana pudding and the yellow cake with the buttercream icing all at once.”
----
At twenty-four years of age, I was the oldest summer intern in Anna Wintour’s kingdom. And I was deadly serious about the job. I was living in a one-bedroom sublet on Charles Street; Gary’s friend James, a writer, was away in Provincetown for the summer and agreed to sublet the rent-stabilized apartment to me for the bargain-basement price of $1,200. Like all New York apartments, this one had its quirks—namely, an elderly neighbor who slammed her front door every time she came and went, so much so that the dishes and glassware in James’s apartment rattled. We came to call her “Donna Door Slammer.” But trust me, this place was a steal. Not least of all because it was in the West Village, around the corner from 66 Perry Street, an address made famous by Sex and the City. (While Carrie Bradshaw lived on the Upper East Side, the actual front stoop where they shot is on Perry.)
This sounds crazy in retrospect, but I can’t remember what I wore on my first day of work. But I know how I felt emerging from the elevator on the twelfth floor of the Condé Nast Building in Times
Rent This Movie!
----
WITHOUT YOU I’M NOTHING (1990)
When I was working at Five Doors North, my coworker James lent me his VHS copy of Sandra Bernhard’s smash-hit one-woman show from 1987, Without You I’m Nothing. Of course I knew who she was, but I had never seen her perform. I was instantly obsessed. Sandra incorporates humor, social commentary, politics, pop culture, sexuality, fashion, pathos, and song into her performance. (Memorable quote: “My father’s a proctologist. My mother’s an abstract artist. That’s how I view the world.”) She has created her own form of theater that is completely faithful to her point of view and the way she sees the world. I’ve seen her perform many times and it is always a unique, wildly entertaining, and intelligent night. I adore her. If you have not seen her perform, do yourself a favor and go!
It happened quicker than I could have possibly imagined. There was no conference call with the human resources department at Condé Nast, the parent company of Vogue (and countless other luxury magazines). All it took was a phone call to the accessories editor, and after my freshman year at Santa Monica College I was on my way to New York for a summer internship at the very magazine I used to smuggle up to my bedroom.
I deplaned at JFK airport and climbed into a yellow taxicab, the Manhattan skyline once again coming into view. It appeared different this time, perhaps because I was not on vacation. This time, I would be a New Yorker. And I was instantly enlivened, as if the spirit of a Danceteria-era Madonna herself rushed through my veins. I felt this was the Manhattan of Guys and Dolls and Fame and Annie. This was the place where Stephen Sprouse and Keith Haring and Basquiat and Peter Lindbergh first made their marks, a place for artists and designers to come for inspiration. It all seemed so dangerous. I had dreamed of this moment for years, down to the smell of the cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery, which was just down the street from the apartment. I didn’t dream of late-night parties or the nightlife. I dreamed of something more ephemeral, of walking out my front door every day and being confronted by Manhattan. I dreamed of double-fisting Magnolia’s banana pudding and the yellow cake with the buttercream icing all at once.
----
“I dreamed of double-fisting Magnolia’s banana pudding and the yellow cake with the buttercream icing all at once.”
----
At twenty-four years of age, I was the oldest summer intern in Anna Wintour’s kingdom. And I was deadly serious about the job. I was living in a one-bedroom sublet on Charles Street; Gary’s friend James, a writer, was away in Provincetown for the summer and agreed to sublet the rent-stabilized apartment to me for the bargain-basement price of $1,200. Like all New York apartments, this one had its quirks—namely, an elderly neighbor who slammed her front door every time she came and went, so much so that the dishes and glassware in James’s apartment rattled. We came to call her “Donna Door Slammer.” But trust me, this place was a steal. Not least of all because it was in the West Village, around the corner from 66 Perry Street, an address made famous by Sex and the City. (While Carrie Bradshaw lived on the Upper East Side, the actual front stoop where they shot is on Perry.)
This sounds crazy in retrospect, but I can’t remember what I wore on my first day of work. But I know how I felt emerging from the elevator on the twelfth floor of the Condé Nast Building in Times
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