It has reached my ears that a certain New York based female fashion designer of long standing who has always advocated female empowerment does not practice what she preaches. I realize I sound like those Page 6 gossip columns but I don’t care. She has distinctly let the side down.
Where’s the girl power here?
An assistant manager was transferred from the Seattle store to the Manhattan flagship because of her great sales record. Her numbers were legendary. She was, I suppose (although I’m speculating here), thrilled to be asked because she promptly transferred her life to the East Coast and set about putting an equally successful sales strategy in place in her new store.
One day, the internationally revered designer popped into her flagship, to cast a proud look around her empire, pat herself on the back for building a career from scratch without the aid of any man (well, maybe a little, but people forget), stalk about admiring her merchandise and priding herself in dressing every shape of woman for any role with ease and glamour, maybe while running over in her head her latest speech on ethics and injustice in the industry. Okay, I’m speculating again.
She may just have had a few minutes to kill between meetings and needed to use the loo.
Either way, in she popped.
After a few minutes of running her finger along the racks for dust (okay, now I’ll stop), she beckoned the store manager to her. She told her to get rid of the new assistant manager.
Why? I hear you gasp.
The new girl was overweight.
In NYC, it is increasingly common to be asked to present a head shot with job applications for retail positions but what happens from the neck down goes generally unchecked––until you’ve gone and packed up your life and flown to the other side of the country.
Healthy sales figures, yes, welcome. Fuller figures, no. You know where the door is.
The poor store manager, now placed in a horrible position, tried to save the new girl the only way she knew how. By encouraging her second-in-command to join her in training runs as she prepares for the upcoming marathon. But the assistant manager didn’t fly across country just to do some cardio.
A crappy position all round, I think you’d agree. But then what do we expect? As Stanley Tucci’s character put it in The Devil Wears Prada:
My debut novel Silk for the Feed Dogs, set in the international fashion industry, is now available. You can buy it here.