Just not where I thought I’d be

A year ago I was a content Londoner, preparing for my final weeks at Harper’s Bazaar and excited about the prospect of a new job. Sure, it wasn’t at another magazine, but it was certainly a financially lucrative move and I was confident I’d be inundated with freelancing gigs. It didn’t quite work out like that.

Since then I’ve freelanced on-and-off (mostly unpaid), been made redundant and finally forced back into nannying. While I love kids, I love writing more. But I just can’t seem to land an on-staff editorial role. It doesn’t help that the economy is so crap that people world over – including truck loads of journalists – are being laid off.

Back in London Bazaar has lost a third of its editorial staff and here in Sydney things aren’t much better. With so many cutbacks publishing houses are putting new projects on hold and those in jobs are cementing their discount-designer-derrières to their swivel seats.

And when a mag vacancy is advertised, every man, woman and university graduate is applying. Applications are generally online forms where in 25-words or less you get the opportunity to tell them why you’re perfect for the role. This morning I received a similarly generic, ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ for a magazine role I thought screamed me. Each dot-point in the job brief linked directly to a line in my CV, and I could even name drop that a top editor in the same publishing house had referred me to the role. But all that didn’t even get me an interview.

To add insult to injury, Boyfriend is taking a tour-leading job in South East Asia. Signing an 18-month contract but promising to break it and be home by New Years, he’ll be away for 7 months. In his mind he’s doing the right thing. With no travel operation jobs on offer here, he sees tour leading as not only a great experience but as a natural step in his professional journey.

So while he’s hanging in Halong Bay, trekking through Laos and shopping in Bangkok I’ll be here, living with my parents and applying for jobs that don’t seem to exist.

And more than two years since I first interned in New York I’ll be an intern once more, in Sydney. At twenty-five, I expected more.

...For some uplifting fashion news check out pics from day one of Rosemount Australian Fashion Week .