Although it’s easy for me to look back and focus on the hysteria, it was, overall, quite an enjoyable experience. Not because the bosses were good (they were mostly demonic) or the pay was fantastic (it was barely liveable), but because of the teams I worked with who suffered with me through the days and made it worthwhile. While I don’t smoke anymore, I’d happily spend crazy money to buy a pack and relive the collective unburdening of a smoke break. My favourite memories are when a colleague passed my desk with a piercing glare and whispered “outside” to indicate that their boss had either done something monstrous, or stupid, or monstrously stupid, and we’d all grab our coats and head for the door. While a lot has changed in the eight years since I worked in fashion – I believe that editor eventually came around to Lady Gaga and I’m sure that the smoking population has drastically declined – I know that, somewhere out there, there’s an intern standing next to a fashion editor, waiting for an elevator, in the throes of an existential crisis.