Summer Intern

Summer Intern

by Carrie Karasyov, Jill Kargman
Summer Intern

Summer Intern

by Carrie Karasyov, Jill Kargman

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Overview

Teen fans of The Devil Wears Prada will relish this inside scoop on high society fashion from bestselling authors Carrie Karasyov and Jill Kargman, star of the Bravo series Odd Mom Out.

Meet Kira Parker, total teenage fashionista. At her summer internship with one of New York's preeminent fashion magazines, Kira's to-do list includes rounding up models, fetching high-price dry cleaning, and snagging invites to some of the hottest parties in town.

When a prized position goes up for grabs, Kira finds herself pitted against Daphne Hughes, the magazine owner's daughter and girl with all the right connections. She's even dating Kira's crush.

Daphne thinks she can get what she wants without lifting a diamond-adorned pinky, but Kira's about to give her a battle the catwalk will remember for summers to come.


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780061974038
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date: 10/06/2009
Sold by: HARPERCOLLINS
Format: eBook
Pages: 208
File size: 838 KB
Age Range: 13 Years

About the Author

Carrie Karasyov & Jill Kargman are best buds who met at their all-girls private high school in New York City. They have cowritten two novels for adults, The Right Address and Wolves in Chic Clothing, and two novels for teens, Bittersweet Sixteen and Summer Intern. Carrie is also the author of The Infidelity Pact, and Jill is the author of Momzillas.


Jill Kargman is the New York Times bestselling author of nine books, including The Right Address, Wolves in Chic Clothing, Momzillas, and The Ex-Mrs. Hedgefund. Her latest effort is a nationally bestselling book of essays, Sometimes I Feel Like a Nut. She is also a featured writer for Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, Town & Country, and Elle, and a copywriter for her greeting card company, Jill Kargman Etceteras.

Read an Excerpt

Summer Intern SNY Chapter One

It was totally surreal: There I was in the midst of a dizzying, glittering collage of designer duds being pushed around on racks by leggy black-clad editors, with a soundtrack of whirring modems, ringing phones, and French accents playing in the background. There were models on go-sees with the bookings department, who were having Polaroids snapped of their gaunt, shiny faces. There were crocodile handbags from Hermès, Valentino, Chanel, and Marc Jacobs being gathered up for a shoot of "Scaley Chic" reptilian accessories. There was an armed guard from Van Cleef & Arpels with a briefcase cuffed to his arm as he transported gems for the "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" story, and a beret-wearing photographer having a loud fight with the sittings editor about renting out the Central Park Zoo's entire polar bear sanctuary for a ten-page layout of winter's best fur coats.

I was in the frenzied offices of Skirt magazine—the top of the top in fashion, pop culture, and beauty; the bible for any aesthete; the cool girl's forecast for what's hot and what to wear, listen to, even eat (i.e., carbs = the devil). It was a kaleidoscopic mix of hipsters, hotties, and badasses, all yapping a mile a minute on teeny cell phones with a stress level you'd more likely expect to see at the Pentagon rather than at Hughes Publications, the mag's parent company. But in the Gehry-architected glass-and-steel offices, the buzz of calamities at deadline was deafening. Like a trunk arriving in St. Bart's with the wrong bikinis. A beauty associate screaming at a makeup artist that the tweezing for the brow story was too arched. A beeperinforming a fashion director of a snag in a Missoni dress on location. Drama was all around. And I had just reported for my introductory summer intern meeting in the gleaming glass conference room. I took my place at one of the empty seats, heart pounding. A platter of baked goods and buttered bagels sat untouched as people streamed into the room.

Beside me were my two roommates for the next two months, whom I'd only briefly met earlier that morning: Gabe, a gorgeous androgynous rocker-type with cheekbones one could slash a wrist on, and Teagan, a multiple-pierced Goth gal who was still striking and beautiful despite the sharp objects protruding from her face.

Gabe and Teagan had both arrived a couple of days before me and had already paid a visit to the Skirt office. The accessories director had immediately taken them under his wing, filling them in on all the need-to-know gossip.

When the meeting commenced, we were each asked to introduce ourselves. For example: "Gabe Tennant. Sagittarius. Mid-westerner. Hung over." My new roomie got some chuckles.

My turn was so yawnsville: Kira Parker from Philly. I'd won the internship through a fashion sketch submission contest sponsored by Cotton, one of Skirt's big advertisers. I was headed to Columbia in the fall. I also blurted out that I was "psyched" to get to know the city, and the second the words came out of my mouth like in a cartoon bubble, I realized I sounded hot off the Greyhound. Oh well. When we were all done, each editor explained which department they headed up, and then Alida Jenkins, the executive editor, took the floor to describe how the intern program worked.

She was ten minutes into her speech, explaining the guidelines of what working at Skirt would entail, when the door to the conference room burst open. Standing on the threshold were three extremely well dressed girls, all with different shades of stick-straight long hair (the hair of the one on the left was dark brown with caramel highlights, while the one in the middle possessed the whitest hair outside of a Scandinavian country and the one on the right had the same honey color as Heidi Klum.) They were all clutching Venti-size cups from Starbucks and appeared to have been laughing at some hilarious joke that was so amusing they couldn't stop giggling even when they noticed that the meeting was already in session.

Now me, I would have been mortified to make such a ruckus that every head in the room whipped in my direction, but these girls didn't seem at all fazed.

"Oh my gosh, Alida! Did you start without us?" asked the white blonde in the center. She suddenly looked down at her watch, which I could see from across the room was a solid gold Cartier tank with small diamonds. "Cecilia, you didn't tell me it was ten-fifteen," she said accusingly to the Heidi Klum look-alike. With that watch, who needed their friend to tell her what time it was?

"That's okay, Daphne. Come on in. We're just getting started," said Alida with a tight smile.

"Sooooo sorry, Alida," said the platinum blonde girl. She strode up to Alida and gave her an air kiss on the cheek.

Instead of sitting down, the white blonde—obviously the leader of the pack—turned to face the other ten interns who were seated in the room.

"I'm sure I missed the name game, so I'll introduce myself now. I'm Daphne Hughes, this is my second summer interning here, and I go to Brown." She looked around the room to make sure everyone was paying attention. I moved my eyes to her friends, certain that they would now take the stage, but before they could, Daphne continued. "Listen, I just want to say that I know you all are probably really nervous right now, but don't worry. Everyone is really sweet here, and that's why it's the best magazine on the planet, so don't stress. Of course, they'll work us hard, won't they, Alida?"—she didn't pause to let Alida answer—"But it will be so worth it. This is the best way to get your foot in the door if you want to have a career in the fashion world."

Summer Intern SNY. Copyright © by Carrie Karasyov. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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