In My Shoes [antikvár]

TAMARA MELLON I'd been at Vogue for five years at this point, and despite my after-hours indiscretions, I'd always worked very hard. I'd started off as the assistant to Sarajane Hoare, the fashion director, but when she decamped for Harper's Bazaar in New York, I went to work for Jane Pickering. Eventually, I became accessories editor, a job that included putting together a page on belts and bags and shoes called "Last Look." The feature was called "Last Look" because it came last in the book, but lots of people told me it was the page that they looked for first. It wasn't a fashion shoot with a model, but rather a collection with a theme. One month, it was Christmas gifts. Another, it would be "everything's going metallic silver." But now it appeared very likely that "Last Look" was going to be my last stand. I followed Anna into her office and sat down across from her, confronting a woman with the exasperated mien of a schoolmistress pushed to the limit. I think what must have frustrated her most is that she could see that I had talent, but that talent alone was not going to save me. "We think you've outgrown your job," she began. At Vogue they never said, "You're fired." They came up with encouraging euphemisms framed in the language of personal development. I nodded and let out a great sigh of relief. It was all very polite. We exchanged a moment of warm and well-meaning eye contact, and then, leaving my things to pack up another day, I went home and slept all afternoon. Introspection and self-awareness were not my strong suits in those days, and as I trundled home I did not fully appreciate the huge favor Anna was doing me. She was setting me up to mend my ways. She was 2