Cut to the job interview, when the person behind the desk asks, “What is your passion?” It’s the question asked in possibly every job interview I have in my twenties, and it’s the question I most fear. It’s very design is to induce panic in the insecure and literal-minded.
Cut to me sitting opposite Anna Wintour, who’s interviewing me for a job at Vogue Magazine. She has the body of a fourteen-year old girl, which she moves in a youthful way, like someone who enjoys being in her own skin. She flits, sits on furniture, kicks her legs. It’s a flirtatious, expressive carriage, made all the more distinct because her face is so expressionless. She’s done this a million times. How could she not be bored?
After insisting that working at Vogue is not glamorous, she asks the dreaded question. “What are you passionate about?”
I know that one word is all she wants from me, and that word is, “Accessories.”
Cut to epiphany. It occurs to me, sitting under that bored gaze . . .that I am interested in SEX. Yes, most people are interested in sex, but I’m more interested in sex. Sex is comedy, sex is tragedy. I want to be a sex columnist.
I say, passionately, “Passion is my passion.”
I did not get that job.