A junior assistantship to the editor of the world's top fashion
magazine ("The job a million girls would die for") provides endless
fodder for a one-note but on-the-money kiss-and-tell debut. Andy,
or, as her boss from hell calls her: "Ahn-dre-ah," harbors dreams
of writing for The New Yorker, but her luck runs out-or runs high,
depending on your priorities-when her first job interview lands her
at Runway magazine, beholden to Miranda Priestly, "solely
responsible for anticipating her needs and accommodating them."
Intelligent, sarcastic and without a smidgen of interest in
fashion, Andrea quickly learns the Runway culture, from the
necessity of being tall, emaciated, slavish, and half-naked in
winter to the perks of town cars, shopping bags filled with
designer duds, and the promise of any job after one year of
servitude. A few weeks of dealing with the insensitive, sadistic
and imperious Miranda leave our heroine on the verge of abdicating,
but before long she's joining her colleagues in "the classic Runway
Paranoid Turnaround . . . scrambling to negate whatever blasphemy
is uttered" about the divine Miranda." Outside of work, Andrea has
a perfectly nice socially conscious boyfriend from her college days
at Brown, a best-friend-slash-roommate with a drinking problem
who's getting her doctorate at Columbia, a loving family in
Connecticut, and no time for any of them as she races to retrieve
Miranda's French bulldog puppy from the vet, hire a nanny for her
children, make 12 trips in stiletto heels to Starbucks for her
coffee in between sorting her dirty dry cleaning. It's only a
14-hour day! Ultimately, of course, everything explodes, and in the
end, of course, righteousness prevails. Weisberger writes with
humor and authority, but her plot circles like a whirlpool-and by
the time Andrea's ready to face some hard choices, it's difficult
to care. Her exhaustion is contagious. (N.B: Weisberger, this
season's buzz of the town, was an assistant to Vogue editrix Anna
Wintour-read: Miranda Priestly-giving this putative roman-a-clef an
added splash of juice.) (Kirkus Reviews)
Welcome to the dollouse, baby!
When Andrea first sets foot in the plush Manhattan offices of Runway she knows nothing.
She's never heard of the world's most fashionable magazine, or its feared and fawned-over editor, Miranda Priestly. But she's going to be Miranda's assistant, a job millions of girls would die for.
A year later, she knows altogether too much:
That it's a sacking offence to wear anything lower than a three-inch heel to work. But that there's always a fresh pair of Manolos for you in the accessories cupboard.
That Miranda believes Hermes scarves are disposable, and you must keep a life-time supply on hand at all times.
That eight stone is fat.
That you can charge cars, manicures, anything at all to the Runway account, but you must never, ever, leave your desk, or let Miranda's coffee get cold.
And that at 3 a.m. on a Sunday, when your boyfriend's dumping you because you're always at work, and your best friend's just been arrested, if Miranda phones, you jump.
Most of all, Andrea knows that Miranda is a monster who makes Cruella de Vil look like a fluffy bunny. But also that this is her big break, and it's going to be worth it in the end.
Isn't it?
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