Every day has been a blur of reposts, comments, magazine articles, and a steady stream of followers that makes me feel sick when I wake up in the morning and refresh the number. I tried to go back to work, but I lasted half a day before I had to find cover for the rest of the week. One more ‘Hey, aren’t you that girl who...’ and I would have snapped on the spot and ended up shoving a red velvet in the questioner’s face.
By Wednesday I was home and unpaid, by Thursday Paige had come up from Brighton, and by Friday I’d given her access to all my accounts and emails to organise as she wished. She took my forced responses about sponsorship preferences and ethical alignments, and ran further than I ever could have managed to. Now here we are, sat in the lobby of theNew Traveller’s office.
Most of the things Paige passed my way were exciting enough: make-up gifting, dating app ads, event invites, et cetera... but none of it made me gasp the way this offer from theNew Travellerdid. This is the first magazine I ever subscribed to and the reason I wanted to be a journalist in the first place. Their articles on travel stand out from the crowd, blending the personal and the professional like a chic diary entry. I used to rip out my favourite articles and add them to my scrapbook, trying and failing to emulate their styles. They were the first and onlyplace I tried to ‘make it’ as a freelancer and the rejection stung so hard that I never bothered elsewhere.
‘Straighten your shoulders, Squeak. Show them you belong here,’ Paige whispers to me somewhat encouragingly as more workers strut by. Everyone is so chic in their silk blouses and their matching knit sets. I haven’t seen a single trainer – it’s all leather boots or slingbacks, paired with trendy backpacks that cost more than one of my café shifts. I thank my lucky stars that I stole Sara’s blazer when I was getting dressed this morning. I cling to the sleeves and take a long deep breath, soothed only by Paige’s soft, supportive squeeze on my arm.
‘Amorie Grant?’ a voice calls out.
I rise from my seat, smoothing the skirt of my tunic dress down as I do. A woman takes us up a lift, down a hallway and into a glamorous, glass-walled, high-rise office. I bite my tongue to stop from gasping asNew Travellereditor-in-chief, Analeise Decoeur, stands from her seat, striding over to me with her hand outstretched. Her Hollywood curls bounce as she walks, flicking behind her head and brushing softly against her champagne-silk blouse.
‘Amorie, nice to meet you!’ she says jovially. ‘And you must be Paige? Thank you so much for getting in touch.’
I did my best to ignore the comments on the video, because as nice as the good ones were, all I could see was the bad. But one stood out among the rest: a comment from theNew Traveller, getting in on all the fun. It was nothing special:So realfollowed by a couple of emojis, likely thrown together by a social media exec trying to jump on the hype. But it still made my heart leap, fangirl that I am, and Paige saw it as the perfect chance to kickstart my writing career. She tracked down the first email address she could find and pestered them until her pitch landed in the right place. Next thing I knew, we had a meeting with Analeise Decoeur herself. I take her hand and shake it firmly.
‘Come, sit!’ she beckons.
Paige and I settle in the chairs across from her and I do my best to accurately digest the powerhouse sat in front of me. Her make-up’s thick but uncreased, lipstick nude, matte and wrinkle-free. She looks airbrushed. I can’t believe it despite how long I stare.
‘Lovely office, by the way. I am super jealous. Iwishwe had half of this at Norbert and Madden,’ Paige says.
‘You work at Norbert and Madden?’ Analeise asks.
‘I’m their head of PR!’ Paige says.
It seems like a natural flow of conversation, but I know Paige better than that. She’s a masterclass in personability, working in her prestige as quickly as possible to pique Analeise’s interest. The two of them launch into a conversation about their fancy jobs, and events they’ve probably both been to at the same time, while I sit there shrouded in imposter syndrome. All I did was accidentally make a video.
‘What about you, Amorie? What do you do? Other than make hilarious videos.’ Analeise breaks into my thoughts. ‘Your bio says you’re a writer?’
Her eyes are blinding as they place me in the spotlight.
‘She studied journalism at uni before leaving early to go freelance.’ Paige swoops in on my behalf.
I suppose that’s one way to put it. It definitely sounds a lot better than ‘studied, then dropped out and never booked a gig’. It seems to have worked for Analeise, who gasps with excitement.
‘Amazing. Where do you write?’
My heart stills. Here comes the letdown.
‘She’s been waiting for the right project. We think it could be here!’ Paige says.
It’s bold. Incredibly so. Analeise bites her lip to halt her reaction. But Paige takes the moment to pull an orange-casediPad out of her bag and open a pre-prepared presentation. My eyes widen with Analeise’s... When did she have the time? I take another deep breath as she continues.
‘TheNew Travelleris iconic – we all know that – but with the rise of social media and the decline in attention spans, traditional media is struggling. You’re doing well with millennials, but Gen Z are starting to dominate a share of the landscape. You need to morph with the times and there is no better way to do that than to employ Gen Z writers with strong, influential voices. Writers that embody how younger generations yearn for travel while also being tapped into the problems their peers are facing. Writers that grew up with your pages and had them stuck in their scrapbook. Writers that can capture thatNew Travellerfeel, while breathing new life into it. Writers like Amorie.’
She gestures over to me, a soft, yet authoritative smile on her lips. I’ve never seen Paige in work-mode like this and it’s vaguely uncanny. Her serious demeanour is very Sara-like in nature. I’m too flummoxed by it to note the second pair of eyes that’s also fixed in my direction. It’s not until I turn back to Analeise that I meet her stare, the piercing nature of it startling me quite visibly. She chuckles softly.
‘We can’t just offer your sister a job.’ Analeise tilts her head. ‘The media industry is struggling, like you said. Our staff employment rate is...’
‘Oh, Iknow, believe me. We’re not asking for a job. We wouldn’t do that,’ Paige quickly assures her. ‘What we’re asking for is a column.’
Analeise blinks in shock. ‘A column?’
Paige flicks through to the next page of her presentation.
‘In the last week, Amorie’s video has been seen by thirty-four million people, has a twenty-seven per cent engagement rate – which is unheard of, by the way – and has been syndicatedby one hundred and eight media outlets, both nationally and internationally, including your own.Thatis the power her voice could bring to your magazine on a regular basis, if you let her.’
I feel my jaw drop the longer I stare at Paige’s slide. I knew the video blew up, but to see it in figures feels entirely out-of-body.
