Years ago, I worked as an intern at Maison Valentino in Rome.
Even now, I’m not sure how I landed that gig. I was studying abroad, making use of the living breathing museum that is Rome to take Art History classes in the streets. The program had several internships available and I applied to work for Valentino.
I was not very high fashion-y. My uniform consisted of black Adidas Supergas worn religiously with jeans and a basic wool coat. I was an “Andy” who happened to speak better Italian than the other girls in the program. Somehow, I convinced the incredibly sophisticated director, with her 1960s coiffed brown hair and icy demeanor to hire me.
The Valentino building is near the Spanish Steps in an old palazzo that once belonged to a rich and powerful Roman family. It’s near a McDonald’s, the first one to open in Italy in 1986. Valentino himself famously denounced the golden arches, claiming that it was a nuisance of noise and an “unbearable smell of fried food fouling the air.”
Thankfully, you couldn’t smell the fries inside the building, which opened up onto a large courtyard filled with giant statues. Each Tuesday, I rode up a rickety elevator, eagerly peeking through the elevator window as I passed Valentino’s private floor, lined with Boteros and other artwork.
I worked in the Press Office. My job was to archive every published mention of Valentino into large books. Valentino was not into technology. He wanted everything done by hand, from personalized invites for his shows to this archaic Press Book.
My days were spent reading fashion magazines. I carefully combed through each new issue of Vogue, Elle, Harper’s Bazaar, Grazia, and Vanity Fair for any mention of him, memorizing the current collection in case it was not labeled properly. Then, I’d clip out the feature and paste it into a book, writing down the publication it came from and matching the piece to the appropriate seasonal collection.
Because I used spray adhesive to paste the clippings, I worked in a small closet with a window overlooking the back of the building and pasted my little heart out in that confined angular space. Sometimes my version of The Devil Wears Prada “Emily” came over to visit me and smoke cigarettes out of the window.
Unlike Emily from the movie, she was kind, quirky, and very curious about American life. In real life, she actually did get to go to Paris Fashion Week for one of the shows.
The rest of the Press team was very eclectic. The head of PR always wore running shoes with her tailored outfits as she sent emails to the Milan office, ahead of the trend by over a decade. The older woman in charge of the models wore glitter pleated skirts with fishnets and converse sneakers, an Italian Iris Apfel embroiled in model drama and perpetually on the phone, talking someone off a ledge.
The Accessories department was home to the mean girls. Only one of the team members on the accessories floor came to hang out with “Emily” and me. He had to sneak around to do it, meeting us in the marble stairwell for Italian smoking breaks. At that time, Valentino sold many bags, giving them a kind of superiority among the rest of the staff.
My favorites were the seamstresses on the ground floor, a group of unassuming nonnas with round faces and kind smiles. I often went down there with the excuse of getting espresso from the coffee machine just to watch them work.
They operated behind large glass windows, wearing white lab coats surrounded by swathes of colorful fabric, crafting couture gowns, sewing sequins and beads by hand. Hours of work went into making each piece, a testament to the fact that beauty in all forms is a worthwhile pursuit.
In a world that often values analysis, data, and numbers over artistic endeavors, creative expression is the stuff of the soul. Clothes can transform how you feel, how you carry yourself, and how you move.
I strive to imbue everything in my life with intentionality and meaning. It makes life more enjoyable and feels like a secret spell. Anything can become a talisman for you, couture or not.
Lackluster mood? Put on a lipstick with a name that embodies how you want to feel, like MAC’s Brave or Kinda Sexy. Feeling stressed? Try a comforting fragrance with lavender and vanilla. Need to feel powerful? Adorn yourself with a bold bangle or necklace befitting Cleopatra.
Facing a difficult conversation at work? Wear a ring with special meaning, like an onyx stone for protection, bloodstone for transformation, or an antique piece—anything that’s survived for over 100 years has lived through worse than whatever you’re facing.
Working at Valentino was like working anywhere else, except I was surrounded by beauty. The workplace issues were no different from any office environment, though I spent most of my time in the servant’s quarters of an ancient palazzo with a view of clothing lines and Italian pigeons. My later experiences in the entertainment industry were similar: fun jobs with the same old dramas of any workplace.
No matter what’s going on, you can combat the mundanity of life with a little magic. Dressing for the occasion is like anointing yourself for whatever comes your way. Choose your clothing and accessories wisely—they are modern-day armor against tension, malaise, struggle, and strife.
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