I've been putting this off, but ugh, let's get sappy. Let's do it.
After more than two years at Fashionista, I'm making the leap to Racked, where I'll be starting as a senior reporter next week. While not technically my first job out of college — I interned and later freelanced for TechCrunch immediately after graduating — Fashionista was the first gig that provided me health insurance and necessitated that I show up to the office every day. I started this "full time" venture as an editorial assistant, and worked my way up to associate editor, and then senior editor. I also started out a slow and unconfident writer, and now I put off stories until 20 minutes before they're due and sometimes need to be reigned in when anthropomorphizing, say, a pair of sneakers. Evolution creaks on.
My cocktail party anecdotes have gotten so much better as a result of the stories I've written here. I got to interview Bill Nye, and for a brief second my readership swelled to include nearly everyone on my Facebook timeline. (I later deleted Facebook.) With Lauren's guidance, I learned how to report on brands' quarterly financial results in a way that wasn't all wah wah wah numbers numbers wah wah, and I learned in the process that I really like writing about the business side of the industry. I profiled up-and-coming models. I went to Russia for Moscow fashion week! Chantal and I created a manic and laborious little series called "Shop It Out," which attempted to answer major life questions through shopping. We wrote four of them in total, which is actually pretty impressive given how many hours of market research, soul searching, fine-tuning and follow-up therapy each required. Mostly, we did "Shop It Out" for us, because it was an opportunity to get giggly in the office and bizarre but authoritative on the Internet. God, I really love getting paid to be weird. Not every set of coworkers would have encouraged me on that front like these women have, and for that my Instagram branding is forever grateful. I mean, I am. I mean that.
People are always shocked when I tell them Fashionista only has a seven person staff, to which I say: YEAH, BITCH! Not only are the women I work with monstrously hardworking and prolific, but they're also the best bunch I could have wished for. You know how you feel about your best friends, how smart and empathetic and hilarious you think they are, and it's an outrage that the whole world doesn't know about it? That's it. And who gets lucky enough to feel that way, unequivocally, about their coworkers? It's ridiculous.
I'll stop here because otherwise I'll just go on about how much I love talking about '00s models with Alyssa, or how Dhani is low-key the funniest person you will ever meet because she doesn't speak until she really has something worth saying unlike the rest of us loudmouths, or how I just love looking at Chantal and Maura's faces across our shared work station. I won't miss the unrelenting air-conditioning that this office building inflicts upon us. I won't miss the day care center next door. But everything else, so much.