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Authors: Jessica Pan
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Vince.
Blair informed me that she had a woman cook lunch for all of us every day, so there was no reason to leave the office, ever. Then I really thought about Vince.
Then, Blair had me edit bad Chinglish for nine hours and said I could go home at 7Â P.M. I did not come to China to do this. I saw my life if I stayed at the PR firm, and the dread and fear of that life. That same day, an editor at an expat magazine contacted me about an interview for a job Iâd applied for weeks ago. The magazine is distributed all over Beijing, and I stayed up all night prepping for the interview because I couldnât bear the thought of spending the rest of my days editing Chinglish for Blair.
The next afternoon, I snuck out of the PR office for my magazine interview. If it sounds like Iâm going crazy, thatâs because I amâÂthe pace of life in Beijing is absurd. Even I can barely keep up with what Iâm doing from one day to the next.
When I showed up at the office of the expat magazine, everyone was young and wearing jeans. I was asked to write and edit a few articles and interviewed with the director of the company and an editor. I felt so much more competent at these tasks than faking public relations skills. I thought I had a decent shot at the job, but I needed to make sure I was the clear choice. The editor asked me to e-mail some ideas to pitch for the magazine and so I sent her two hundred.
I got the job!
You are now reading the words of a deputy managing editor. Iâm responsible for editing each article, coming up with headlines, arranging photo shoots, and basically helping out with everything else because we have a small staff.
My boss, Victoria, is a sassy Chinese-ÂAmerican from New York who also writes for Slate and the Wall Street Journal . I want to be her when I grow up, although she scares the shit out of me.
And so, Iâm fully employed for the first time everâÂfinally. No one ever tells you how strange it is to actually get paid for your labor. After having so many internships, the money just feels disconnected from the actual work. Iâm finally getting paid for my editing, writing, and ideas.
And, just like that, my life is completely unrecognizable from what it was last week. I wake up (always late) in the mornings and I have somewhere to be. I pick up a vegetable bun and hop into a cab, where I apply smeared eyeliner during the bumpy ride before I enter a buzzing office, where I have a desk.
Itâs not perfect, though. Did I mention that I am the deputy managing editor for an expat FAMILY lifestyle magazine? Yes, yes, I am. Itâs not cutesy or annoyingâÂthe layouts are glossy and beautiful, with travel features, recipes, restaurant reviews, and some really great articles. But still, there is a lot of focus on kids, which is not exactly where I saw my career starting. Itâs strange that Iâll be writing about children when the only one I know is my four-Âyear-Âold nephew, whose favorite thing is to play with my makeup and who once asked for a purse for his birthday. Iâm not sure if this case study can be applied to the general kid population.
The office publishes four magazines, so Iâm also writing features and music and book reviews for the other expat magazines, which keeps me sane. The editorial staff at the office is young (most of us seem to be under thirty), gossipy, and full of Brits, Americans, and a handful of Australians, which means entire afternoons are wasted on arguing about the correct word for swimwear (swimsuit, bathers, swimming costume, budgie smugglers? ) while each nationality declares superiority. Office dress code seems to be anything goes besides budgie smugglers.
The managing director sometimes brings his dog Xiao Xiong (Little Bear), who is currently sitting at my feet.
When I told my editor, Victoria, that this was my first real job, she said, â This is your first real job? Youâre
Blair informed me that she had a woman cook lunch for all of us every day, so there was no reason to leave the office, ever. Then I really thought about Vince.
Then, Blair had me edit bad Chinglish for nine hours and said I could go home at 7Â P.M. I did not come to China to do this. I saw my life if I stayed at the PR firm, and the dread and fear of that life. That same day, an editor at an expat magazine contacted me about an interview for a job Iâd applied for weeks ago. The magazine is distributed all over Beijing, and I stayed up all night prepping for the interview because I couldnât bear the thought of spending the rest of my days editing Chinglish for Blair.
The next afternoon, I snuck out of the PR office for my magazine interview. If it sounds like Iâm going crazy, thatâs because I amâÂthe pace of life in Beijing is absurd. Even I can barely keep up with what Iâm doing from one day to the next.
When I showed up at the office of the expat magazine, everyone was young and wearing jeans. I was asked to write and edit a few articles and interviewed with the director of the company and an editor. I felt so much more competent at these tasks than faking public relations skills. I thought I had a decent shot at the job, but I needed to make sure I was the clear choice. The editor asked me to e-mail some ideas to pitch for the magazine and so I sent her two hundred.
I got the job!
You are now reading the words of a deputy managing editor. Iâm responsible for editing each article, coming up with headlines, arranging photo shoots, and basically helping out with everything else because we have a small staff.
My boss, Victoria, is a sassy Chinese-ÂAmerican from New York who also writes for Slate and the Wall Street Journal . I want to be her when I grow up, although she scares the shit out of me.
And so, Iâm fully employed for the first time everâÂfinally. No one ever tells you how strange it is to actually get paid for your labor. After having so many internships, the money just feels disconnected from the actual work. Iâm finally getting paid for my editing, writing, and ideas.
And, just like that, my life is completely unrecognizable from what it was last week. I wake up (always late) in the mornings and I have somewhere to be. I pick up a vegetable bun and hop into a cab, where I apply smeared eyeliner during the bumpy ride before I enter a buzzing office, where I have a desk.
Itâs not perfect, though. Did I mention that I am the deputy managing editor for an expat FAMILY lifestyle magazine? Yes, yes, I am. Itâs not cutesy or annoyingâÂthe layouts are glossy and beautiful, with travel features, recipes, restaurant reviews, and some really great articles. But still, there is a lot of focus on kids, which is not exactly where I saw my career starting. Itâs strange that Iâll be writing about children when the only one I know is my four-Âyear-Âold nephew, whose favorite thing is to play with my makeup and who once asked for a purse for his birthday. Iâm not sure if this case study can be applied to the general kid population.
The office publishes four magazines, so Iâm also writing features and music and book reviews for the other expat magazines, which keeps me sane. The editorial staff at the office is young (most of us seem to be under thirty), gossipy, and full of Brits, Americans, and a handful of Australians, which means entire afternoons are wasted on arguing about the correct word for swimwear (swimsuit, bathers, swimming costume, budgie smugglers? ) while each nationality declares superiority. Office dress code seems to be anything goes besides budgie smugglers.
The managing director sometimes brings his dog Xiao Xiong (Little Bear), who is currently sitting at my feet.
When I told my editor, Victoria, that this was my first real job, she said, â This is your first real job? Youâre
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