The Devils Wear Prada

Miranda Priestly: [Miranda and some assistants are deciding between two similar belts for an outfit. Andy sniggers because she thinks they look exactly the same] Something funny?
Andy Sachs: No, no, nothing. Y’know, it’s just that both those belts look exactly the same to me. Y’know, I’m still learning about all this stuff.
Miranda Priestly: This… ‘stuff’? Oh… ok. I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don’t know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don’t know is that that sweater is not just blue, it’s not turquoise, it’s not lapis, it’s actually cerulean. You’re also blindly unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves St Laurent, wasn’t it, who showed cerulean military jackets? And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic casual corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you’re wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of stuff.

A conversation between Miranda Prisley and Andy Sachs from the movie “The Devil Wears Prada”.
A movie about a naive young woman comes to New York and scores a job as the assistant to one of the city’s biggest magazine editors, the ruthless and cynical Miranda Priestly. Brilliantly acted by Meryl Streep(Miranda Priestly) and justifiably supported by Anne Hathway(Andy Sachs), this movie gave me a stroll to my past.

If not the same, then similar atleast is my voyage of the first job, incidentally or accidentally in the world of glamour. I joined the software division(of merely 4 people) of a big Modeling agency in 2004. They were the Indian franchise of an multinational corporation operating in 48 countries of the world. Needless to mention their turnover was slightly over than my current employer which happens to be one of the biggest software corporation in the world. For me, it was to start the episode of my earnings. Having a masters in computer applications, burning the mid night lamp for grasping the data structures, design patterns and algorithms for years, it took me quite some time to get accustomed to the world of glitter, glamour and fashion. I was also not as smart, hard working and fast learner as ‘Andy Sachs’, but my ‘Miranda Priestly’ was far less flagitious, snobbish and pretentious. She was a fashion statement, a lady in mid 50’s , separated from husband and survived by two kids.

Many a times I witness the weird look of bookers and agents (who used to book and finalize the modeling assignments for models) towards me. They were mostly the womens in their late thirties, in skimpy outfits and heavily loaded with accessories. A girl in plain salwar suit or torn jeans and plain tee obviously looked alien to them. My working on the software the company was running on or keep the company website up and running was what I was supposed to do, but my outfits used to display my utter disgrace and disrespect toward the religion they used to swear by – FASHION.

My only survival factor was My ‘Miranda Priestly’. I had always seen affection in her eyes for me. Seeing me getting depressed in booker’s room , she used to put her hands on my head and always used to gave a consoling smile. She once invited me to a party where guest list included the likes of Rohit Bal, Reena Dhaka, Pandit Ravi Shankar, Anoushka Shankar, Priyanka and Robert Vadhera. I couldnot afford to go as it was a late evening event. Next morning all the bookers was mocking at me, it was she who stood up and said “Its her life, let her take the call”.

My every visit to bookers room gave me an insight with the most critical news of the industry .. like.. “Karan Johar and Sharukh are Gay of the century” , “Subash Ghai and Ram gopal Verma used to sleep with every girl they feature in their movie and they never cast a girl who denies to sleep”… “Priyanka Chopra is always guarded by her mother and is a big time bitch” … and what not. My days were going pretty busy, smelling the french perfumes and swiss conditioner whole through the day, seeing Neha Kapoor(Ex Femina Miss Universe) kissing Ignetitios (Model in AXE Deo), Watching Kangana Ranaut (Gangster) flaunting and long legs, suffering the lust in eyes of male accountants (coz for them I was a girl easily to take a ride upon and models and brokers were out of reach for them).

Every passing day was making my life suffocating. My penchant for earning was no longer able to overcome this daily shit. I had enough of witnessing fashion, advocating nudity, smelling cigarette puffs, facing lusty eyes, hearing rumors and bit of working….

One fine day I decided it to call it a day. It was an obvious shock for My ‘Miranda Priestly’. I was standing in her room just to say a final bye. she didn’t looked at me, she found the Italian glass pane more deserving. She sipped her whiskey, crossed her legs, took a puff.. looked at the bonsai bamboo plant at her table and speak slowly…. “U disappointed me”

Yes indeed, I did… but I saved myself.

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