Dolce and Gabriella

Little thoughts from the Big Apple

The beginning and end of my career at Net-a-Porter

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Today, I was sent on a run to deliver copies of domino to Net-a-Porter’s HQ downtown. I was thrilled. Maybe I’ll meet someone I can keep in touch with, I thought. I’d LOVE to work at Net-a-Porter someday!

“LOL RIGHT,” replied Fate. “It’s Monday, remember?”

After a muggy subway ride, I arrived, sweating, at the building on Fifth Avenue. I signed in with the security guard, then frantically finger-combed my hair as the elevator rose alllll the way to the tippy top.

When the doors opened, I found myself in a glass room. Small. No furniture. The only fixture was a set of gigantic, gleaming, heavy doors. Not intimidating at all, right?

I bravely pushed through and walked into the black-and-white waiting room. It was spare, serene, and completely empty, save a girl seated behind a big desk, staring at me from across the room. Clearly, she got the color scheme memo, because she was wearing all black and had the most perfectly sleek head of platinum hair I’ve ever seen. We’ll call her Lemon Chrome.

“Hi,” I said nervously. “I’m here to drop off magazines…from…domino magazine.” Wow. Nice.

“Ok,” Lemon Chrome whispered. Her whisper tone indicated I should also be whispering.

“Where should I leave them?” I whispered back apologetically.

“Here.” Lemon Chrome looked pointedly at the counter in front of her, yet made no move to reach for the magazines.

Uneasily holding her gaze, I put the package on the counter and slid it toward her. I let go.

“Thanks,” she whispered. Still no movement.

“Um, yeah,” I whispered back. “Have a nice day.” I tiptoed back across the office to the big black double doors.

On the doors, I noticed a discreet metal plaque that said “pull,” so I reached out and pulled on the left one. It was locked. I pulled on the right. Also locked. I could see Lemon Chrome staring at me in the lacquer reflection of the doors and started to panic. Oh my God I am locked in Net-a-Porter. 

“You have to push the button,” Lemon Chrome whispered frustratedly from across the room.

I looked around. There was a small black button to the right of the doors. Oh, so it’s an automatic door on the way out, I thought. Fancy. I pushed the button and stood back, waiting for the doors to open.

Nothing. I stood there for five seconds and pressed it again.

I heard an exasperated whisper-sigh from across the room. “Push the button THEN PULL,” Lemon Chrome hissed.

I pulled. Still locked.

“PUSH THE BUTTON THEN PULL REALLY FAST,” said Lemon Chrome. She was past whispering at that point.

So I did. I pushed the button, then I pulled really fast, then I scurried out of Net-a-Porter as fast as I could with what little dignity I had left. I did manage, however, to snap a picture of the big black doors before I got in the elevator. The big, black, shiny doors, which apparently serve no purpose other than to mark the symbolic divide between Lemon Chrome’s people and me. After all, when an entire room is glass, a set of big black doors can really only be symbolic.

big black doors


I imagine asking people to open the doors on the way out of their interview is Net-a-Porter’s first defense against incompetent employees. Thank goodness domino has a normal door.



But really, Net-a-Porter, I love you and all your high-class inaccessibility. No hard feelings–I’ll try the doors again someday.


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