The Perks of Rejection

I spent the summer job hunting.  With my college degree in writing proudly displayed on the top of my resume, I became determined to get a job working for a magazine. I’ve recently learned how to be rejected by some seemingly very important publications. I am proud to say that I have been rejected for employment at Glamour, Harper’s Bazaar, W, Wired, VOGUE, National Geographic, and one online business magazine.  I’ve been rejected by every genre of publication and every size of publication.

I have been rejected for the same position at W magazine twice.

On two separate occasions I interviewed with two different people for the same job, who both could do with without me. The new interviewer had no idea I had already spoken to the woman he replaced.  Being rejected twice by the same place gave me an uncomfortable feeling like I probably should see someone about having my fangs removed.  Each time I strolled up to the Conde Nast building, in the heart of Times Square I felt like my entire life was beginning. I’d like to believe that each time I attend an interview I get a little bit better at the process. The numbers just don’t lie.

 I am struggling with how to separate myself from all the other over eager job candidates out there. Wired Magazine recently had 4,000 applicants for three internship spots. Students in Beijing, China will willingly pick up and move to San Francisco just to write for them full time. For weeks I was convinced I was giving off a, Unabomber-like vibe. Instead I am just fighting the masses. I also discovered I was fighting myself.

                I spent $400 on a plane ticket that I charged to my credit card when I was offered at interview at VOGUE. It seemed like a small price to pay for a job that could potentially change my life. There was no way I was going to tell a writer for VOGUE’s beauty department, “Hey! I live in Savannah, Georgia. Ya know it’s like in the South?” I found myself sitting on an airplane, with a heart full of hopeful conviction. Before I left, my roommate and I came to the conclusion that I had nothing to wear and immediately hit the stores. 

My new dress was white with black detailing. My new designer shoes were red and they matched my, oh so trendy red feather hair band. Between the plane ticket, the clothes, transportation, and food I spent $1,000 I don’t have. I keep telling myself I just don’t have the money yet.  A cheesy mantra may be the precursor to all bad ideas in this world. It seemed to make sense to go into debt just to try and work for VOGUE. Factor in all the previous interviews I had earlier in the summer  and you have some idea of what I’ve spent just trying to build a career. Question: When does determination just make you a huge sucker?

                The lobby of VOGUE has the inviting atmosphere of an operating room. Its fluorescent lights reflect off the cream colored walls and onto the cream colored furniture.  A few weeks earlier when I had interviewed at Glamour, Conde Nast had recently fired all of their secretaries. As I headed into the office the secretary offered me some of her farewell cheesecake the office had bought in her honor of her unexpected and forced retirement. As I was beginning my career a 20 year old industry veteran was being thrown out on the street. On each floor the doors to the office of each magazine are locked, and a potential job candidate is not even invited inside the office. Conde Nast a place that takes its self more seriously than the Vatican.

The elevator ride in the Conde Nast building feels like Candy Land to a writer with Vanity Fair, the New Yorker, and plethora of famous publications all under one roof. Once you make it to the atrium of the right floor, you have to find the phone and call the person you’re meeting. Conde Nast is more secure then the Pentagon. People move more freely about on military bases. Under no circumstances will you be allowed through the glass doors is the only message you can take away as your interviewer cracks open the door and tries to slide out. My interviewer hadn’t eaten since the Carter administration so this should have been easy. Apparently, the oxygen in the VOGUE office is sacred and the goal is to keep it all bottled up inside.  

                The woman who interviewed me asked me two questions in the lobby before she threw me back on the elevator. I got to the appointment five minutes early and was out the door before I was supposed to have even arrived.  So, what did she ask me? “How old are you?” Answer: 22.  “Tell me a little bit about yourself?” Answer: “Well, I am…” and that’s when the building went into fire drill mode. My interviewer clearly knew famous faces at VOGUE would be coming through the lobby due to the fire drill, and she clearly wanted to get rid of me. Sirens that sounded like the cries of a stabbed cat sounded throughout the entire building. “Thanks for everything,” she said coldly directing me to the elevator. I tried to think of something clever and witty to say feeling my career slip away. She responded to my hesitation with, “You should go downstairs now.” I never heard from VOGUE (obviously).  Wired is the only publication to ever pen me a form written rejection e-mail. I never expected the job interview process to feel like a garden party, but I am convinced cattle are given a warmer reception at the slaughter house.

Monday morning is my first day at the biggest publicity firm in New York City. I am going to be an assistant to a woman who represents some of the biggest movie stars in the entertainment business. It may sound pretentious, but I think I could be really good at this. I got this interview by sending a cover letter to every public relations firm in New York City. At VOGUE I was interviewing for a mystery position in one of their warehouse sized fashion closets. I probably would have been in charge of cataloguing lipstick or alphabetizing bath salts. I may have never even been given the chancee to string three words together.

As a publicist, I am going to do one of things I apparently do best: write excellent cover letters for other people. Finding out what direction I want to take with my career was priceless. My career path may change multiple times.  Just this month I sold four stories as a freelance writer.  I recently just ripped open my first paycheck and discovered that you can make money from writing.  It helps that I love to do it. While it may take me years to cover the cost of “starting” my career at least I am finally getting to work.