From My Desk

I wanted to be bold and Aria in PLL-esque today and am wearing overknee socks. Now I'm constantly pulling them down. And up. And checking if my legs look bigger than usual.

Welcome to the office!

I got in ten minutes ago and fifteen minutes early 'cause I'm not able to change traing times according to my work schedule even though I wish I was (I would be if I was driving but I'm a countryside driver only). Thankfully, in the fashion/pr world, which is essentially a glittery little snowglobe of its own wrapped in dollar bills and binding contracts, no one starts working before nine am. Because why bother if no one's life is at stake? Also, you gotta at least try to look nice and that, my friends, takes time. And sometimes, you have to take one for the team and go to a work party in the evening. Sometimes the editors moan about it 'cause they'd rather be home and watch TV and I'm always hoping they'll send me instead, 'cause I sure watch enough TV as it is. I volunteer.

One editor didn't feel good yesterday and now the editor in chied is close to sending him home again - they don't go for "show up at all costs" here. It's like they're scared of the slightest hint of sickness (understandably, as "looking nice", "going to work parties" and stuff doesn't mix well with it) so that's why I was out cold for a week when I had that itchy plague.

But oh my, when I came back I had millions of emails (alright, about fifty, but still) with press images to sort out. I spent hours doing that (and forwarding as many as I could to our student intern who we sadly don't have anymore). I'm doing some right now (new ones) while writing this. Well, I have the folder open.

I'm cold.

Closed the windows. There's windows all along the walls of the group office, which is nice because

a) it looks cosmopolitan

b)if the sun's out, there's lots of light

c) you can see the Elbphilharmonie (google it, it's pretty)

but to my dismay, it's always drifty. I wish I had overknees for my arms. I realize that would be a cardigan. Okay, I'm gonna do those emails and return.

Oh, the phone just rang for someone else and I thought of another thing that wouldn't go with being sick: You always have to be cheerful. Even when you're trying to tell someone that they messed everything up, you have to sound Disney princess chipper. Otherwise, you'd scare the pr people, who are a whole new level of "all is right in the world".

Now the other intern forwarded me press image mail - is she kidding me? It's not even originally hers! Now we're playing "don't touch the press link". There's not even one in here. It just says "you are welcome to order press images". What now? I don't feel the need to, honestly.

Okay, so the deal with sorting press images is a bit like online shopping, only there's usually no price and the clothes aren't out yet. 

I feel bad for the people writing the press tects 'cause I feel like no one ever gives a damn.

This file takes forever to download. Gives you too much time to think of all that is wrong with the world.

See, I just wrote a message to some pr firm asking if they were ever so kind to maybe, possibly send me some pictures because that would be just marvelous, lots of love, etc. It wasn't even a personalized adress, I may add. But it's the rules. 

Aw, just got a reply. You know a pr guy is doing a good job when he makes you feel loved even though he just put a wetransfer file with work for you to do together. Which is his job.

Oh, goodness, it's still downloading and I need to do something or I'll cry.

I didn't cry, you'll be glad to learn, but I went into the sample closet and got distracted. To be continued....

Love,

Rosy Smith