When others mocked you I stood firm and said,
Your vision would be for our betterment.
In happy fealty I volunteered,
Believing your requests would teach a path
Worthwhile for more than monetary gain;
I thought it my apprenticeship’s terrain.
Your fair-minded way inspired me.
I trusted the value of your guarantee.
This confidence in words proved error, mine.
Onward, I’ll loyalty with care assign.
Towards the end of ‘The Devil Wears Prada’, there is a scene in which the draconian and exacting fashion magazine editor-in-chief, Miranda Priestly, passes over one of her dedicated Runway employees for a recommendation. Nigel, the employee, has served many years in the hope that his efforts at Runway will be noticed by Miranda and provide a stepping stone to another opportunity. I reverted to a Wiki synopsis for these full plot details, for it is Nigel’s comment to Andy (the protagonist of the film) that has long played in my mind. Although disappointed, Nigel declares that his loyalty to Miranda will one day pay off.
Perhaps Nigel was raised, as I was, by a mother whose cue at such moments was, “Everything comes to those who wait.” It is not surprising that sanguine expectation has filtered into my consciousness. For some reason, I have paired this with the view that loyalty will be rewarded. (Can you tell that my ancestors were possibly the peasants rather than the overlords?) Perhaps allegiance should be its own reward. I have not evolved to that level of enhanced consciousness. I still dedicate my time, energy, working hours, money, talents and intention in the hope that there will be outcomes and that these outcomes will advance towards grand triumphs. If not immediate successes, at least the next opportune stepping-stone.
On too many occasions (and I recognise at least two in my life currently), I have held quiet admiration for someone with whom I have had a working relationship. Let me qualify that these working contexts span more than the workplace; they have included my days as a student and aspiring academic, groups and organisations where I have been involved because of a conviction or interest, even interesting people I have met who I hoped would notice me. I have wished, yes sometimes as desperately as a preteen with a crush, that some of these more experienced war-horses would offer to mentor me. Or, at the very least, my dedication would be acknowledged. In more than one instance, I believed that I offered a great deal of myself: unpaid time, tactful allegiance, trust rather than explicit demands. My view of my efforts may be biased, but the devotion was true. And then circumstances unravelled. I am prone to idealism and intense commitment, so it is not surprising that I have found myself in similar situations at recurring intervals in my life. It would seem I have yet to learn those last words of my own poem, “Onward, I’ll loyalty with care assign.”
In one of the working versions of the poem the last line read, “Shall I loyalty with more care assign?” The construction touched me as self-doubting. Why address the reader with this question? Was this the speaker’s call for confirmation, yet again? Right now, onward, I need to weed out self-doubt. I started by cutting it out of the poem.
The connection between ardent fealty and self-doubt is not abstruse. Certain narratives of our contemporary society suggest that we can all do whatever we want, right now, and we should not doubt ourselves. Expecting someone else to hold the banner for your cause demeans your agency.
I prefer to convince myself that my expressions of sanguine loyalty were in support of a learning endeavour. For there is another narrative that advises you to follow in the footsteps of the peer, superior or colleague you admire, and you will learn the ropes. These are also the movers and shakers who will be able to recommend you and open doors. (This view may once again betray the residual foot-soldier, serf mentality.) The promise of such open doors trap Andy, the protagonist in ‘The Devil Wears Prada’. After a year working for Runway’s editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly, Andy will be able to work at any magazine she desires. In the movie the trap plays out as the old Faustian deal in which you sublimates your own seemingly noble goal for someone else’s morally ambiguous agenda.
Andy rejects the Runway world and is eventually hired by another publication. I wonder if Nigel receives his opportunity. Does Miranda eventually reward his devotion? Or does he find the courage to strike out on his own, risking the withdrawal of Miranda’s endorsement and professional connections?
Re-watching TDWP clips on Youtube, especially the wonderful ‘Cerulean top’ scene, I realise how many lumpy sweaters I own. They make up a motley rainbow of grey, brown, pink and teal. While TDWP explores the ambivalence of someone caught in a Faustian deal, it drives home the point that the clothes make the character. If you want The Job, you must dress The Part. I, the character writing, am sitting in a pair of jeans, two sizes too large, and a black pullover, all pre-owned pass-ons from friends (and I’ll spare you how exactly my underwear has been re-stitched at its fraying seams). Rather than finish writing this post, I am tempted to tear through my drawers and closet and plan a wardrobe-revival shop tomorrow on Regent’s Street. Real-life enactment of this plan extends as far as googling interview outfits, work wardrobes and Banana Republic office-skirts (I locate the Regent’s Street store on Google Maps). But sense prevails, my emergency survival fund is not a wardrobe allocation for a life I do not have at present. For this brief time, while I search for the next Faustian contract, my time, money and talents are mine. My allegiance is to this craft; my loyalty is to myself. And my work wardrobe will be a pair of oversized jeans and a motley rainbow of lumpy sweaters.