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agree with me。 “It’s not you； it’s her。 She’s an empty； shallow；
bitter woman who has tons and tons of gorgeous clothes and not much
else。”
Emily’s face tightened noticeably； the skin on her neck and around
her cheeks pulling taut； and her hands stopped shaking。 I knew she
was going to bulldoze me at any moment； but I couldn’t stop。
“Have you ever noticed that she has no friends； Emily？ Have you？
Sure； her phone rings day and night with the world’s coolest people；
but they’re not calling to talk about their kids or their jobs or
their marriages； are they？ They’re calling because they need
something from her。 It sure seems awesome looking in； but can you
imagine if the only reason anyone ever called you was because they—”
“Stop it！” she screamed； the tears streaming down her face again。
“Just fucking shut up already！ You march into this office and think
you understand everything。 Little Miss I’m So Sarcastic and So Above
All This！ Well； you don’t understand anything。 Anything！”
“Em—”
“Don’t ‘Em；’ me； Andy。 Let me finish。 I know Miranda is difficult。 I
know she sometimes seems crazy。 I know what it’s like to never sleep
and always be scared she’s calling you and have none of your friends
understand。 I know all that！ But if you hate it so much； if you
can’t do anything but plain about it and her and everyone else
all the time； then why don’t you just leave？ Because your attitude
is really a problem。 And to say that Miranda is a lunatic； well； I
think there are many； many more people out there who think she’s
gifted and gorgeous and talented and would think you’re a lunatic
for not doing your best to help out someone so amazing。 Because she
is amazing； Andy—she really is！”
I considered this for a moment and decided she had a point。 Miranda
was； as far as I could tell； a truly fantastic editor。 Not a single
word of copy made it into the magazine without her explicit；
hard…to…obtain approval； and she wasn’t afraid to scrap something
and start over； regardless of how inconvenient or unhappy it made
everyone else。 Although the various fashion editors called in the
clothes to shoot； Miranda alone selected the looks she wanted and
which models she wanted wearing each one； the sittings editors might
be the ones at the actual shoots； but they were simply executing
Miranda’s specific and incredibly detailed instructions。 She had the
final—and often even the preliminary—say over every single bracelet；
bag； shoe； outfit； hair style； story； interview； writer； photo；
model； location； and photograph in every issue； and that made her；
in my mind； the main reason for the magazine’s stunning success each
month。Runway wouldn’t beRunway —hell； it wouldn’t be much of
anything at all—without Miranda Priestly。 I knew it and so did
everyone else。 What it hadn’t yet done was convince me that any of
this gave her a right to treat people the way she did。 Why was the
ability to put together a Balmain evening gown and a brooding； leggy
Asian girl on a side street in San Sebastian worshiped so much that
Miranda wasn’t accountable for her behavior？ I still wasn’t building
the bridge； but what the hell did I know？ Emily obviously got it。
“Emily； all I’m saying is that you’re a really great assistant to
her； that she’s lucky she has someone who works as hard as you do；
who’s so mitted to the job。 I just wish you’d realize that it’s
not your fault if she’s unhappy with something。 She’s just an
unhappy person。 There’s nothing more you could have done。”
“I know that。 I really do。 But you don’t give her enough credit；
Andy。 Think about it。 I mean； really think about it。 She is so
incredibly acplished； and she’s had to sacrifice a lot to get
there； but couldn’t the same be said of supersuccessful people in
every industry？ Tell me； how many CEOs or managing partners or movie
directors or whatever don’t have to be tough sometimes？ It’s part of
the job。”
I could tell we weren’t going to see eye to eye on this one。 It was
clear that Emily was deeply invested in Miranda； inRunway； in all of
it； but I just couldn’t understand why。 She wasn’t any different
from the hundreds of other personal assistants and editorial
assistants and assistant editors and associate editors and senior
editors and editors in chief of fashion magazines。 But I just didn’t
understand why。 From everything I’d seen so far； each one was
humiliated； degraded； and generally abused by their direct superior；
only to turn around and do it to those under them the second they
got promoted。 And all of it so they could say； at the end of the
long and exhausting climb； that they’d gotten to sit in the front
row at Yves Saint…Laurent’s couture show and had scored a few free
Prada bags along the way？
Time to just agree。 “I know；” I sighed； surrendering to her
insistence。 “I just hope you know that you’re doing her the favor by
putting up with her shit； not the other way around。”
I expected a quick counter…attack； but Emily grinned。 “You know how
I just told her like a hundred times that her Thursday hair and
makeup were confirmed？”
I nodded。 She looked positively giddy。
“I was totally lying。 I didn’t call a single person or confirm
anything！” She practically sang the last part。
“Emily！ Are you serious？ What are you going to do now？ You just
swore up and down that you’d personally confirmed it。” For the first
time since starting work； I wanted to hug the girl。
“Andy； be serious。 Do you honestly think that any sane person is
going to say no to doing her hair and makeup？ It could make his
whole career—he’d be crazy to turn her down。 I’m sure the guy was
planning to do it all along。