Writing something original is impossible. Every single intern in my position has the same hopes, fears and strops.
“Why don't they notice me?"
“Will I ever be as stylish?”
“Shall I forevermore be referred to as intern?”
And in truth I have realised how completely boring all this twenty something angst really is. I have no clear sense of style, but I won’t let this define me, one day maybe I will – but I live by the fact that sometimes my clothes work, and more often than not they don’t. It is all part of the eternal search for approval. I am not bigger than this place, nor am I the ironic insider I wish I could be. Because at the end of the day I am here because I desperately hope I can grow up to be just like them.