Sold My Soul To The Devil For A Job.

As of 2006, ambitious women the world over watched as a Meryl Streep type Anna Wintour invaded their screens, reminding them that a modern day love story, can be just as much about a job as it can be about a man.

Girls are no longer raised to polish oven doors, we’re here to work. Don’t get me wrong, I know my way around a turkey baster as well as the next Nigella Lawson, but I was brought up knowing I had to work, and since statistically we spend 99,117 hours of our lives doing just that, I figured I might as well get the job that I want. Unfortunately for me, so did everyone else.

Everyone seems to be looking for a job, yet no one seems to know what wins in the battle between industry experience and education. Take it from me, who has tried both, having the right contacts wins hands down every time. Instead of complaining about it, you just accept the hierarchy of the working world, and start from the bottom. The bottom of course, being unpaid.

The chances are life will throw you a lifeline eventually, even if it is a minimum wage one. You take it of course, because let’s face it, a few thousand a year, is better than no thousand at all.

Before you disagree with me, I must admit it’s not just the career aspect of ’The Devil Wears Prada’ that caught my interest. It’s was the Chanel. And the Prada of course. Definitely the Prada. I need shoes, and not just for my own vanity, no, I need them to make a good impression on that next job interview, waiting just around the corner.

Also if like myself, being able to afford to move out before the age of forty seems an appealing prospect, you must embrace the jobs which pay badly, just as much as the ones which pay well.

As for my soul. That was sold a long time ago. I could blame the companies which take us in under their umbrella, fully qualified, yet working for free. One volunteer after the other, all of them getting the job done, not one asking for a penny, because having the experience on the CV is payment enough.

I could even blame the boss, who pays you too little despite demanding so much. Yes, he definitely deserves a mention.

Not because they are the reason I will soon be purchasing from the very charity shops I once donated to. Or for the lines around my eyes which no Sainsbury’s bought home facial can seem to eradicate. But because they gave me the first taste of what success could taste like, and I kind of liked it.


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Am I Rich Yet?

Me in 5 Years?

I actually picked up 20p off the floor today. It’s come to that.

Before you judge me, let it be known I gave it a hand sanitiser bath before popping it into my purse next to that losing lottery ticket I couldn’t quite bring myself to throw away.

Who knew you can’t get a loan for a Masters? Not me. Hats off to NatWest really for allowing me an overdraft the size of Brazil. Not that I’m worried about it or anything, I love a good challenge, and digging my self out of that one, is going to be just that.

I remember earning some money somewhere along the way, but since the only thing I ever invested in was my feet, we’re back to square one. My maths is rusty at best, so correct me if I’m wrong, but with the help of my blackberry’s calculator I worked out that over the years, I’ve spent approximately £3000 on shoes.

My next pair perhaps?

Now, I didn’t want to have to whip out the finger of blame, but I’m convinced that my parents have been encouraging this unfortunate obsession on the basis that without savings I’d be forced to live with them until the age of 35.

To any other culture this would seem an inprobable explanation, but us Greeks like our kids where we can see them. Where we can ensure they are eating four square meals a day, and only bringing home acceptable suitors (wealthy bankers who grown their own tomato plants and are in possession of a stereotypically Mediterranean  long baby finger nail).

“Love grows” my Grandma tells me, “what you need is stability”. They may as well give up this pretence of happiness altogether and nudge me down the aisle, to Abba’s Money Money Money proving my fellow students right once and for all.

I should elaborate. Way back when in sixth form, I had been voted “Most Likely To Marry For Money”. I personally don’t know where they got such an idea.

Yes I’d like to be rich, who wouldn’t? (Walk in wardrobe’s don’t build themselves you know). And yes it’s probably going to take me a while (because as I’ve discovered, working in the media industry involves a lot of working for free). And okay, if I were the “sleep your way to the top” type of girl I’d probably get there a lot faster. But damn it my morals are always getting in the way of an easy life.

So until success busts a groove over to my ends, London keep dropping those 20p’s and I’ll keep picking them up. And one day, when I can spare them, perhaps I’ll drop a few back.


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