apparently Prada = hell

I watched a movie tonight. That's right. The Devil Wears Prada. Now from what I can tell (contrary to frequent expectation I am totally out of it as far as knowing what's playing, esp. on tv) stuff hits Oz ages after it comes out in the US, so probably this film is long gone where you are. But I saw it tonight. And I was disturbed. Jennica, this post is for you, babe ;-)

So in this film Anne Hathaway plays a smart, pretty college grad who really wants to be a journalist [and write for liberal publications] but in the meantime she's paying the bills and making contacts working as a personal assistant for the editor-in-chief (Meryl Streep) of what is basically Vogue magazine, a job that lots of girls would kill for but she's not that into it. The movie spends most of its time depicting her increasing entwinement with her job as her boss calls her at all hours and the job slowly becomes her life, pushing out her friends, her boyfriend, blah blah.

Here's why I don't feel like I wasted my money: Anne Hathaway has got the most beautiful shape mouth, and her eyes stayed soft all through the NYC stress.

Here's why I was horrified (you may notice I took everything very personally):

-How can she race around in those heels all day? Her feet must be cramping up allll the time. and she must need a full body massage every day.

-why isn't she sick? I would be sick! I would be dying from stress after three weeks on this job. (actually I'd have quit it after two.) To quote Han Solo: No reward is worth this!

-even before she got all glam looking it said she was always behind on her rent- so now where is she getting the money for her expensive makeup, her taxis, her things she buys as part of the job?

-heels, uncomfortable clothing, no time to exercise, moving at a fast pace but with tense energy all day long, a boss who is only happy when her employees are panicked and/or suicidal, being told that size 6 is fat all day long, no time to eat, no time to invest in relationships, having to be a slave to your cell phone at all times, always on the point of being ready to jump when The Boss whispers and with an ear constantly strained to catch that whisper, never being thanked -- I hate corporate and I hate all that New York implies for me, thanks to this movie [right now].

-the fashion industry, while it may be a 30 billion dollar one, is founded on... nothing. Ok, it's founded on looks. but to paraphrase the boyfriend, "You gave up your friends, your family, for what? for shoes. for shirts. for belts." It's this bubble. It rests on nothing, and it doesn't notice. It exists, but it's in a loop, there's no Jesus or family ties or world-bettering legacy that even the world would acknowledge worthy that it's founded on. It's self-perpetuating, and it's hell.

-Anne Hathaway's character was dangerously close to basing her self-worth on being able to satisfy her boss, whether that was coming from her need for approval or her determination that she would show the dragon lady that she could do the job. Actually if I were in the same position as she was I'd have done a lot worse than her -- part of the reason I'd have quit after two weeks. The dread of it would have done me in, but her character didn't seem to have as much anxious need to please this remote queen of put-downs as I would have, which I found admirable. And when Anne finally got the "compliment" that Ms. Editor saw a lot of herself in Anne, it was only then that she, Anne, saw that that was not the road she wanted to be heading down.

- I was painfully reminded of my job with Dr. G and how I was essentially owned by her while I was at work. Had to do some of the same kinds of errand running and impossible call making too. But the pace was a lot more tolerable as Dr. G was about 25 years older than Meryl Streep's character.

-the boyfriend. how could she be unaware of the lack of relationship that was happening as she worked all these months at this magazine? how could she just not seem to notice that the only contact she and her guy had was sleeping together every now and then, despite the fact they live in the same apartment? that's not a relationship!! didn't this trouble her? didn't she at least miss it?

-is it really that easy to get back together? you go to paris and sleep with a player who's been flirting with you for months and then when you've made the revelation and thrown your cell phone in the fancy fountain and tell your bf you're really sorry, even though he just broke up with you last week you he can say it's okay, I just got a job in Boston, let's move there. That's it? No more discussion necessary? Either that guy is full of grace, or he's banking on a long history together proving itself worthwhile in the end, or inertia is easier and more comfortable. Jeez.

Then I rode home after waiting for my first bus for 40 minutes, and the second bus from Bondi Junction was crammed full of Friday night holidaymakers in states from tipsy to drunk and swearing. Remind me to take the back-route 389 home and not the 380 next time.

But now that I'm here, I am so relieved and grateful to live in the world I live in. I just went downstairs for some peppermint tea and Brian and Julie, the middle-aged couple who have let me live in their upstairs, were on the sofa watching an older period miniseries. Brian was sitting upright on the sofa and Julie was lying with her head on the sofa arm and her legs across Brian's lap, his arms around her knees. It was so great to see a couple married for that long lounging around like teenagers. Julie may sometimes remind me of Miss Bates from Emma, and her jumpers may have no style (ditto Brian's khakis) but you know what? I would be glad and grateful to be them in 40 years rather than beautiful empty Lucifer wearing Prada.