On the train to a temp job this morning, I gazed longingly at two women who were clearly on their way to the beach. The weird thing is that I knew if I doubled back to play hooky and traded my “dress” flip-flops for real ones, I would probably not even enjoy myself because, if I was being totally honest, all I actually wanted to do was sit someone else’s AC and eat a FiDi-made mortadella sandwich and feel “useful.” Talk about domesticated…
And so the era of the global editorial director dawns at Vanity Fair! Very lol to me that…...
