Job-by-Job Series

The Starlight Roof at the Waldorf Astoria had such a seductive name that I didn’t question my hard-hitting journalistic assignment there. Body Fashions Intimate Apparel magazine was holding a fashion show and my job was to hook the bras of every wan, gangly model as she lined up for her runway turn.

Foundations, as the less frilly basics of lingerie are called, were on parade. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, the trade paper’s parent, hired me for a hands-on task and all I cared about is that I was officially working for a publishing company with a name I’d seen on real books. The dreamy blue and gold ceiling, the free leftover pasta salad that had fed executives running the show, the glamour of being in New York’s fashion world -- all of this was extra padding.

And then, the day after the Starlight event, an editor said I could write my very own article. Now this was heaven.

My intrepid reporting job was to cover results of a new body shape survey by a major foundation maker, Berlei. My copy read as if the manufacturer's data were from the National Institutes of Health and then released by the New England Journal of Medicine. I delved into the company’s scientific findings about widening waistlines. I disclosed that there was now less of a curvy contrast between once buxom bust lines and the hips and bottoms below.

The magazine was printed in an oversized tabloid format, 11 X17 inches. And the story was to carry my byline! On the morning the issue appeared, there was my name in bold type just beneath the headline Square Shaped, Not Pear Shaped. I’m sure the final layout included an ad for the lingerie brand set squarely on the facing page of my piece. No doubt, if my several mentions of the company name were not sufficient, someone on the copy desk, who was well-versed in the not-so-subtle the nuances of trade publishing, slipped in a few more.

I have the original clip in a portfolio of tear sheets that I cart around to every place I’ve lived since, despite announcing my intention to digitize and de-clutter. But cleaning my closet by the Kondari method has been easier than culling my desk drawer. (Does this blouse give me JOY? Maybe. My first news clip? You bet.) I never manage to scan the paper copy, convert it to a file on my screen or transfer it to the cloud and then toss it away.

And I know why.

It might lose the sense of scale, the glossy hand of the stock, smooth as a satin bathrobe, a shimmery reflection of my professional pride. The paper ticket to say I’ve arrived.