Chapter Text
Andy, 2024 (December)
“Runway,” Nigel began dramatically. “It’s not just a magazine. It’s a global icon. A winding road that brings us back together again.”
There was a long pause and then Andy clarified, “us?”
Nigel placed his palms on the table between them and leaned in slightly, to reiterate himself, “us.”
When Nigel called Andy out of the blue to reconnect over dinner, she’d certainly been surprised, but in the publishing industry, old contacts reaching out wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially as her success had risen and she actually represented someone worth reaching out to. She hadn’t seen Nigel in a few years, since bumping into him at some event or another, and she always liked Nigel. In many ways, he set her on her path to success by giving her a much needed makeover when she was only twenty-two, totally naïve to the industry that would ultimately become an integral part of her.
When Andy dramatically left Runway after surviving for only nine months as Miranda Priestly's second assistant, she’d managed to get a job at a small paper, The Mirror, due mostly to her sheer force of will and a letter of recommendation from Miranda herself which read only two sentences:
‘Andrea Sachs is my biggest disappointment. If you don’t hire her, you’re an idiot.’
It was at The Mirror where she first learned what journalistic integrity really means in the professional setting. But history was deemed to repeat itself. She also only lasted there nine months. This time, however, she hadn't technically quit. By a stroke of luck, she’d stumbled upon a lead which led to her uncovering classic white collar crime at the paper’s highest level. Luck had gotten her the lead, but the audacity of being twenty-four and idealistic had provoked her to take her exposé to The New York Times. Her breakout front page article caused the collapse of the paper and the arrest of their CEO on tax evasion charges.
Another stroke of luck meant that her insubordination landed her a job offer for a vacant spot at the features desk at The New York Times, rather than being blackballed from the industry. After two years, she was promoted to a Junior Features Editor, then on to a Managing Editor for digital publications a year after that.
In 2020, she left The Times to freelance. She was, frankly, excellent at the work she’d been doing. Her domain became digital, but she’d created a method to that madness and tried to align digital strategy with the goals of the publication, something that was often lacking in the rapidly evolving industry. All publications had slightly different flavors. Digital content needed to be strategized differently than print. She thought organizations needed someone creating that strategy with nuance and a deep understanding of the vision. It seemed to work and she was seeing success as a strategist, but she missed writing, so she decided to break out on her own. She published articles in prestigious publications like The NYT, Vanity Fair, Time Magazine, Rolling Stone, and even a few politically-slanted stories in The Wall Street Journal, The Huffington Post, and numerous smaller online publications. She even put her editorial skills to work and consulted for several organizations on multi-channel content.
She enjoyed the flexibility of freelancing, especially during that time in her life, but when Vanity Fair came knocking in 2022 looking for a new Director of Editorial Content and Cross-Channel Strategy, they made her an offer she couldn’t turn down. At first, Andy struggled not to feel imposter syndrome at the size of her paycheck. But then again, she’d won several SFJ awards, a few Ellies, among other accolades. She’d made a name for herself and well, they’d reach out to her.
Andy knew she’d worked hard. She knew she had recognition and relevance. She knew she was an excellent writer and an even better editor. Vanity Fair had given her the platform to merge her passions: human interest, politics, art and fashion. She loved her job. So then why did Nigel’s offer make her stomach flutter with excitement? He wanted her to come back to Runway, this time with a big title and likely an even bigger salary. But that’s never what she’d wanted. She’s always enjoyed diversifying her topics. Not to mention, she left Runway fourteen years ago in a spectacular blaze and hadn’t looked back.
“Runway is struggling. Between the two of us, our strategy is inconsistent. Print, digital, and socials are all too separate. They aren’t aligned on the brand or Miranda’s vision. We’ve got these young social media kids and new writers focused on digital that don’t have a respect or an understanding of the magazine’s roots. And on the other end, we’ve got legacy talent that doesn’t have an appreciation for how to integrate technological advancements into our work. We need someone who understands both. I think that’s you.”
Andy couldn’t help it, she laughed. Literally laughed at Nigel’s pitch. Why had she braved the December cold for this farce? “Nigel, I can’t come back to Runway. I’ve never wanted to focus my career solely on fashion. You know that.”
Nigel grew deadly serious. “Don’t pretend you don’t care about fashion, Andy. You and I both know that’s bull. You fell in love with it. I saw it. You know that fashion is more than just fabric and photoshoots. Don’t take the job if you don’t want it, but don’t pretend it doesn’t matter to you.” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and opened it. “Or do you not recall writing, ‘every generation learns to speak before it learns to sew, but some discover that a well-curated jacket can scream louder than a manifest. Fashion doesn’t just respond to revolution, it rehearses it first in fabric,’ on the activists on the front lines of the Black Lives Matter protests? Or your series exploring the intersections of gender expression and sexuality? I’m quoting here, ‘when style steps beyond the binary closet, it doesn’t just reimagine beauty. It teaches us that softness can be a weapon and structure can be care. Each silhouette unstitched is a new grammar for the self’? And ‘we tell ourselves we wear clothes, but society knows better. Clothes wear us into belonging or exile. Every outfit is both a disguise and a declaration, blurring where self-expression ends and society choreography begins’?”
He closed his notebook. “This is a part of you. A part of the way you see the world and it influences your reporting. It’s what I always wanted you to learn and I’m proud of you, six. Come bring that back to Runway. Keep working to show the world that art and fashion are a part of humanity. These things are intertwined, not distinct categories that have to restrict you.”
Andy was touched. She had no idea her old friend had followed her career all of these years. “Plus,” he added, “you always did seem to understand her better than the rest of us.”
–
It was a ridiculous idea, and one that Andy put out of her mind. Or at least, pretended to put it out of her mind. She couldn’t go back to Runway after all this time. Even if, and that’s a big if, Miranda was amenable to hiring her, Andy didn’t think she could face the older woman after the way she’d left. Maybe Miranda didn’t hate her, after all, she’d provided Andy with the colorful letter of recommendation that had gotten her foot in the door in journalism. But then again, they hadn’t seen one another since that day in Paris fourteen years ago.
Surely with Andy’s growing notoriety in the publishing world, they’d have crossed paths at some point. No, Andy knew that it was no coincidence. In the early days post-Paris-catastrophe, Andy assumed she simply wasn’t far enough in her career to be in the same rooms as the great Miranda Priestly. But as time went on, she understood that their lack of contact was intentional. Even when Andy knew Miranda would be at the same event, she never saw the woman. Miranda stayed behind a wall of sycophants or other unknowing participants in her careful concealment. Which is why Andy almost dropped her champagne when she saw Miranda Priestly across the ballroom making eye contact with her. Andy felt her jaw drop and couldn’t seem to find the sense to close it. Miranda’s only reaction was the subtle raise of a single eyebrow before taking a sip of her drink and turning back to the person speaking with her.
It was New Years Eve and Andy had been invited to a party at The Plaza hosted by the New York Publishing Society. It was technically a benefit, the proceeds going to some charity or another. Vanity Fair picked up the tab for her to attend such events on behalf of the publication, so though she was used to squeezing into her Spanx, a ballgown, and heels, she felt immediately off-kilter.
Miranda was… magnetic. Now that Andy had laid eyes on her, she couldn’t help but keep looking. The last time Andy had seen her, Miranda was only recently thirty-four. At the time, she’d still had dark red hair, save for the chunk of white at the front, styled into a bob just past chin length. That was Miranda’s first year as Editor In Chief of the flagship publication and before she’d adopted the iconic hairstyle she’d sported for the past decade. Despite being across the room, Andy felt transfixed by her ocean blue eyes and quickly sunk back in time.
Andy worked for the enigmatic queen of fashion in 2010, hired just after Miranda was promoted to EIC of US Runway. At the time, Miranda had been a young mom to her three year old twins and still married to their father, James. Andy became her second assistant during a time of transition for the magazine and for Miranda herself.
Fourteen years. Fourteen years without seeing the woman who once occupied the majority of her waking thoughts and she was immediately drawn back in.
–
The following week, Andy was still thinking of that night at The Plaza. She started dreaming of Miranda’s blue eyes staring back at her, of the subtle quirk of her eyebrow, of the smize Andy was certain she’d imagined receiving.
Andy: So about this job…
Nigel: I thought you’d never ask
–
Andy looked up at the Elias Clarke building from the street, counting up to the seventeenth floor. She took a deep breath. “I must be crazy,” she muttered to herself. Pushing through the revolving door, she crossed the atrium to the security desk. Nigel told her they’d be expecting her and would provide her with a pass. Slipping it into her back, she entered the elevator and pushed the number. She pushed the oval Chanel sunglasses atop her head and took a steadying breath, rolling her shoulders back.
The doors opened and Andy was greeted with a familiar scene. Though it had changed with time, the walls of Runway and its sleek lines, brightly lit rooms, the silver letters of the publication etched on the wall above reception, were oddly comforting. With the confidence of a woman who’d built herself and her career up over the past decade and a half, Andy walked past reception without stopping and down the hall where she knew Miranda’s office suite was.
There were two assistants sitting in front of her glass office, exactly where she and Emily had once worked together. The computers were newer, the phones wireless, and of course their clothes were different. Skinny jeans replaced with wide-leg trousers, bright colors replaced with muted neutrals.
“Miranda’s expecting me,” she announced confidently to the one on the left.
Without looking up, the one on the left, a young woman, probably in her early to mid-twenties with a dark brunette bob said, “Miranda’s busy at the moment.” And just like that, the wind had been taken out of her sails.
“Oh, okay. I’ll just, uh… I’ll just wait then.” The one on the right, an equally young looking woman with long blonde hair styled in a perfect blowout, looked up at her sympathetically before returning to her work.
After about fifteen minutes of uncomfortably standing while looking at her phone in an attempt to look less affected by the delay than she was, the brunette assistant called out, “Miranda, your 4 o’clock is here.” It was a power move. It had been a while since they’d worked together, but she knew Miranda.
As she entered the office, she felt Miranda’s eyes on her immediately. Those azure orbs trailed up and down her relaxed navy Hugo Boss suit and matching Manolos. They paused on her Celine belt bag and again at the gold Cartier tank watch. Andy swore they even flickered down to the cheeky suit vest she wore in place of a shirt that showed perhaps a touch too much cleavage for the workplace. It had been a long time since she’d had Miranda’s appraising gaze on her, and she used the time to assess the older woman as well.
Miranda looked different, but also entirely the same. Her eyes were exactly as she’d remembered them. They were striking and looked lighter in the daytime than at night, enough so that Andy could see the small golden flecks if she focused. Her nose and mouth were just as she’d recalled: perfectly proportioned with elegant aquiline features and plump with a cupid's bow, respectively. If Andy looked closely, she noticed Miranda had the faintest crows feet, but her skin had largely maintained its youth through a series of potions and maybe even subtle procedures over the years. Miranda’s hair was all white now, of course, she knew that. Before the New Years Eve benefit, she hadn’t seen the woman in person for many years, but saw her in tabloids all the time. Otherwise, very little had changed. Miranda was still petite and thin, obviously dressed impeccably, and commanded a room as easily as breathing.
“Hello,” Andy greeted with a hesitant smile.
Miranda said nothing.
“Well, well well… look what T.J. Maxx dragged in,” Nigel said from where he stood near the window. Andy hadn't even noticed him and felt embarrassed about her tunnel vision. He was smirking at her, as if he could read her thoughts.
Miranda’s gaze subtly shifted from curious perusal to detached confusion. The older woman held up her hand and turned to Nigel. “Sorry, who is this?” Her voice was steady and airy. She was exacting in the way she asserted utter control over the situation. She was bluffing. Andy knew it. Miranda knew it. And if the way Nigel quickly rolled his eyes was any indicator, Nigel knew it too. “Do you know her? Do I know her?”
Nigel looked like he was gathering the strength to go along with this charade. He nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’m Andy Sachs,” Andy reminded her. “Andrea,” she clarified, saying her name in the distinct way only Miranda Priestly ever had.
“She was one of the Emilys,” Nigel reminded her.
“One of the… what?” Miranda looked at Nigel in confusion before looking back at Andy.
“Oh for christ’s sake,” Nigel muttered.
Before the conversation could be further derailed by Miranda’s reaction to that remark, Andy jumped back in. “I’m here to discuss the editorial position.”
Miranda crossed her legs, folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, sizing Andy up.
“What position?” She again looked at Nigel, “I don’t recall asking to hire a job hopping second rate journalist with a savior complex.” She looked back at Andy and continued, “at least you’ve managed to learn how to put together an outfit that’s halfway decent, though the raged-reporter look is a bit trite.”
Andy scoffed and refrained from telling Miranda exactly where she could shove her Prada heels. No, she’d come here for a reason. She would make her case, get the job, and then she'd have options. She wanted that control, the ability to decide for herself, the kind of power she didn’t always feel she had before, when she was just an assistant.
She took a deep breath and began, “Miranda, I know your time is very valuable, so I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve spent the past decade and a half building editorial experience. From a junior reporter at The Mirror to features desks at The Times to managing editorial content and channel strategies at Vanity Fair, I’ve done everything from investigative work to, most recently, launching a digital campaign that drove a 40% subscription growth for Condé Nast. I have a history of providing results for publications, regardless of my role within it, and I intend to bring that to Runway.
“Runway isn’t just a magazine. It’s a cultural pulse. You both taught me that when I started here as your assistant all those years ago. Your head of editorial content and cross-channel strategy needs to help maintain Runway as the cultural heartbeat no one can ignore. It’s not just some magazine people flip through once a month. Runway has print, website, app, socials, podcasts, newsletters, and partnerships. Right now, these feel disconnected, like separate fiefdoms. I want to unite them under a clear vision. Under your vision.
“I have no intention of allowing Runway to become another publication that forcefeeds the masses with content for the sake of content in an attempt to stay relevant in our evolving world of publishing. It’s not about volume. It’s about intention. Curation.
“Under my direction, print stays king for prestige pieces. It’s important to honor the legacy you’ve built. Concurrently, I want to explode digital and short-form video series tied to runway coverage, utilize socials for trend breakdowns, interviews with tastemakers and moment makers.
“Fall fashion features shouldn’t just land in print anymore. They should spark TikTok series breaking down trends for Gen Z, an Instagram Live with designers, and Spotify playlists our critics curate.
“This is how we’ll drive the conversation of views and clicks to print and digital subscriptions. It’s true, holistic engagement with the brand we’re after, not just likes and comments. Engaged viewers become subscribers. The prestige of print builds desire for an ideal, like it always has. Builds loyalty across engagement channels.
“I’d sync everything with data collection tools: track all that works, kill what doesn’t. That’s what I bring to the table. I’d aim for 15% growth across platforms in year one without cheapening the Runway name using clickbait and overinundation of content like other publications.”
She placed her hands in her lap and stared calmly at Miranda. Silence.
Finally, Miranda asked, “is that all?”
Andy smirked. “No. I’d like to talk about my strategy for artificial intelligence.” She plowed on, “AI matters hugely right now. The cultural significance of technological advancements in our society cannot be underscored. I’m all in on using it smartly.” Miranda, predictably, narrowed her eyes at her, but Andy carried on. She’d spent hours researching not only Runway, but Elias Clarke’s movements over the past few years in preparation for this interview. She had a suspicion this part of her speech would land with the older woman. “With that said, we can differentiate ourselves in the market by limiting its use as much as possible. AI fatigue is on the rise. Awareness of the environmental impacts of AI is trending. And it’s increasingly unpopular, particularly with our target demographics. We can set ourselves apart as an ethical publication focused on using technology when it benefits our audience and ignoring it when it hijacks our soul. We can use it to accelerate grunt work, scanning trends, suggesting headlines from A/B tests, summarizing raw data to make faster decisions. But using it for producing creative content? Absolutely not. That remains human only. Essays, interviews, photography, vision. These should come from journalists who live the culture, chase the story, feel the pulse of society. Because we are the only ones who can do what we do. Runway thrives on authenticity and I intend to preserve that.
“I’ve proven myself over the past fifteen years. But you already know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked me to come here today.” She allowed the corners of her lips to upturn slightly before concluding in an unmissable impression of Miranda, “now, that’s all.”
–
Andy was on her second drink by the time Nigel arrived at the bar across the street. They’d agreed to meet after her interview for happy hour. He was, predictably, late.
He sat next to her at the bar and waved two fingers to flag down the bartender. “I’m impressed, Six. Facing down the Empress of Elias Clarke? Very bold.”
Andy rolled her eyes, “yeah, fat lot of good that did. Was this some kind of humiliation ritual? Get me to care, come back here and pitch myself to her without her knowledge? Or was she in on it too? I bet you both had a good time laughing at my expense after I left.” She groaned into her hands.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. You impressed her,” he assured.
She peaked at him. “Really?”
He nodded once and hummed. “You’re all grown up. I think this is going to be a very interesting journey for us all, Six.” He clinked his glass against hers.
She drained her glass and said, “well this was fun, but I’ve got to get home. I need to relieve my nanny.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Nanny? I didn’t know you had kids.”
“One,” she clarified. “He’s three and has more energy than a copy editor on too much caffeine.”
She hopped up from her barstool and playfully saluted him on her way out.
She was about to hail a taxi when she saw a flash of white across the street. Miranda was exiting the building and heading for her towncar, now a sleek black Audi instead of the silver Mercedes she’d ridden in herself countless times. Perhaps it was the adrenaline or the two cocktails she’d had on an empty stomach, but she quickly ran across the street. Just as the door to the car was closing, she grabbed it, stopping its trajectory.
“Andrea,” Miranda said, shocked at the disturbance.
“So you do remember me,” Andy commented. Miranda didn’t say anything, seemingly rattled by her behavior. Andy scoffed, “but of course you remember me. Obviously.” She rolled her eyes and was about to leave when she asked, “why would you do that today? Why would you bring me here to pretend like you don’t even remember me? I’m an award winning journalist, you know? I am someone now. But even if I wasn’t, that’s no reason to treat someone like shit.” She scoffed and finished, “you know, Runway and Vanity Fair play in the same sandbox. It’s a part of my job to keep tabs on you guys. Respectfully, you need someone like me on your team.”
Miranda’s nostrils flared and she asked indignantly, “oh, do I?”
“Yes,” Andy bit back. “But unfortunately for you, I wouldn’t take this job for a million dollars. Goodnight, Miranda.” She closed the door to the car and it drove off immediately.
–
Andy was in her kitchen in her Park Slope apartment cleaning up from lunch the next day. She tried not to work on Saturdays. That was her day reserved only for Luca. Her son sat in the adjoined living room watching a show, mercifully quietly for once.
There was a knock on the door. “I’ve got it,” she called out to Bella, her live-in nanny, who was somewhere in the apartment enjoying the calm.
“Andrea Sachs?”
“That’s me.”
“I need you to sign for this, ma’am.”
“Sure thing.” She signed on his tablet and took the packet from him. Once inside, she opened it. Her mouth fell open in a gasp.
Elias Clarke
1221 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
January 17, 2025
Andrea Sachs
327 Garfield Place, Apt. 2F
Brooklyn, NY 11215
Dear Andrea,
We are pleased to extend a formal offer of employment for the position of Executive Director of Editorial Content and Cross-Channel Strategy at Runway US, reporting directly to the Elias Clarke Board of Directors, and day-to-day to the Editor-in-Chief of Runway. In this pivotal editorial leadership role, you will shape the brand’s multi-platform editorial vision, drive audience growth across print, digital, video, and social, and spearhead tentpole content franchises that define luxury culture.
This offer reflects our commitment to attracting top talent to lead Runway into its next era. Your proposed start date is March 1, 2025 (or mutually agreed). Below are the key terms of employment, contingent upon satisfactory reference and background checks, execution of standard employment documents, and compliance with company policies.
Cash Compensation
- Base Salary: $500,000 USD per year, paid semi-monthly
- Annual Target Bonus: $100,000 USD, paid annually based on individual and brand performance
- Signing Bonus: $50,001 USD, paid on your first payroll after start date, subject to 12-month clawback if you resign voluntarily within the first year
Equity Compensation
- Equity Award: In accordance with the Elias Clarke 2025 Omnibus Incentive Plan, as amended (available in the Company’s SEC filings), you will be granted Restricted Stock Units (RSUs) with a target value of $250,000, based on the closing price of the Company’s common stock on the Nasdaq on the grant date. The number of RSUs will be determined by dividing $250,000 by that closing price, and the RSU Award will be evidenced by a Notice of Grant and RSU Agreement provided post-start date.
Retirement and Standard Benefits
- 401k Plan: Company match of 100% of the first 3% of salary contributed, and 50% on the next 2%, vesting 100% after 4 years
- Health Benefits: 100% employer-paid medical, dental, and vision for employees; 75% for dependents
- Life & Disability: Company-paid basic life and long-term disability, with optional buy-ups
- Paid Time Off: 25 vacation days, 10 company holidays, and 5 personal days
Executive / Role-Specific Benefits
- Wardrobe / Representation Allowance: $100,000 USD per year for clothing, styling, and professional appearances
- Travel: Business-class air for intercontinental trips and select domestic; premium hotels during Fashion Weeks and major events
- Fashion Week Access: Priority seating and backstage at NY, London, Milan, Paris as a senior Runway representative
- Event Access: Invitations to high-profile industry events and select gala functions, as assigned
Support and Resources
- Team: Dedicated editorial strategy team (5-8 staff across audience, analytics, content packaging, cross-platform)
- Executive Support: One full-time executive assistant; shared chief-of-staff access for major projects
- Group Transportation: Black-car services for late nights, Fashion Weeks, key events, and ride-share reimbursement to and from work-related activities before 6am and after 7pm daily
Other Non-Cash Value
- Speaking / Media: Employer-approved external appearances permitted; honoraria retained by you, subject to conflict guidelines
- Intellectual Property: Rights to future memoirs or non-competing books retained by you, subject to approval
- Freelance Publishing: Right to produce and publish freelance content in print or digital publications non-competitive to Runway, or any of its affiliate channels
This is a full-time exempt position governed by New York employment law and our standard at-will employment agreement. Please sign by January 31, 2025, or contact me to discuss. We look forward to welcoming you back to the Runway family.
Sincerely,
Miranda Priestly
Editor-in-Chief, Runway US
Global Editorial Director, Runway Int.
Andy pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket and opened the calculator app. After performing some quick math, she laughed in disbelief.
—
Miranda, 2025 (January)
Andrea: Really, Miranda??
Miranda: You said you wouldn’t take the job for a million dollars.
Miranda: I offered more.
Andrea: ONE dollar more???
Miranda: If you’d like to negotiate the terms of your offer, I suggest we do this through the appropriate channels.
Andrea: Be serious. You know this offer is already insane.
Miranda: Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. I wouldn’t offer what EC couldn’t afford. Don’t underestimate your value.
Dots indicating Andrea was typing appeared and disappeared several times.
Miranda: So?
Andrea: My contract stipulates I need to give VF at least a month's notice.
Miranda: Then I’d get on that.
Miranda: You’re coming to Paris.
—
Miranda strode out of the lift and into her kingdom. Her first assistant, Leah, greeted her at the door, tablet in hand ready to receive instruction and take notes.
“Make a reservation for tonight at Nobu. Get them to give us the table that the twins like. And for gods sake, no sake menu on the table this time. They’re still only eighteen. Tell Nigel I want to see him before he leaves today about the wardrobe I asked him to pull. And pick up the blouses from Dior before the runthrough. Move the runthrough up to 2:00 and tell Matthieu I’ll stop by the studio at 3:30.” As they approached her office, she dropped her purse down onto the second assistant, Suzanna’s, desk and then draped her jacket over it without ceremony.
As she sat down at her desk she asked, “where’s my coffee?” In an instant, Suzanna was at her side, placing the Starbucks cup on her right.
“I’m so sorry, Miranda. There was an issue with-”
“Despite what you may think, the details of your incompetence do not interest me, Suzanna. Get me Annie,” she instructed swiftly. “Call facilities and remind them that Andrea’s coming in tomorrow ahead of her first week officially back and I expect her office to be in order before then. Honestly, the ineptitude of whomever moved that garish furniture in.”
“I have Ms. Leibovitz on line two,” Suzanna called out from her desk.
“That’s all,” Miranda said, excusing Leah from her side before picking up the phone.
It was the Thursday before Paris F/W Fashion Week and she had a hundred things to do before their plane department Saturday night. Among them was welcoming Andrea Sachs back into the fold.
Admittedly, it hadn’t been her idea. Nigel had badgered her for months with the thought of reeling the brunette back into their pond. Time had been good to Andrea. She was older now, in her late thirties, and more self-assured. She had the faintest laugh lines around her mouth when she smiled. Her long tresses were carefully styled in smooth waves. Her outfit choice had been, though somewhat predictable, fitting of her stature with an appropriate level of flair matching personality, as Miranda had remembered it.
Andrea had impressed Miranda when she’d come in for her interview. Of course she had. Andrea had always been different, better than the rest of her assistants. Miranda knew she’d make a name for herself and she had to admit that she felt a sense of pride seeing Andrea strut back through the doors, as confident as ever in herself.
Once she’d given in to the idea of considering Andrea for the position, Miranda knew she wanted Andrea back at Runway. And Miranda Priestly almost always got what she wanted. Almost. While the decision required consideration, it hadn’t required much research. No, she was already well acquainted with Andrea’s CV, having followed her career closely for the past decade and a half.
After making a name for herself with her explosive investigation into The Mirror’s financial woes, leading to the arrest of their then-CEO (Miranda rolled her eyes fondly at the memory. Leave it to Andrea to risk sinking her own budding career by directly exposing the crack which led to the demise of her employer. Always the bleeding heart, that one), Andrea had caught the attention of several publications and ultimately landed as a Features Writer at The Times.
From there, she’d worked her way up, initially garnering attention for profiling celebrities she’d no doubt formed connections with during her time at Runway. Or at least, connections with their assistants. Gaining notoriety, she turned to political figures, and ultimately found her niche in a blend she seemed to favor: the intersection of human interest and cultural trends.
Everything Miranda read was distinctly Andrea. The younger woman never simply covered politics, fashion, or art. She covered the underbelly of society. She drew attention to the previously ignored or misunderstood.
Miranda was never more proud of Andrea than when she weaved fashion into her writing. Like in 2013, when she’d written an expose profiling survivors of a factory collapse in Bangladesh, layering stories of resilience with scathing critiques of global supply chain fueling runway trends. Or in 2017, when she she published a human-interest dive into DIY gender-fluid suiting among LGBTQ+ protestors, redefining tailoring at anti-Trump rallies. Or in 2020, when she’d examined custom riot gear crafted by artists for Black Lives Matter protesters from Ferguson to Portland. Or in 2022, when Andrea had covered the underground vogue community, exploring how Black and Latinx queer performers in Harlem ballrooms repurposed thrift-store finds and DIY couture into high fashion, challenging mainstream luxury.
Miranda had been the one to teach Andrea that fashion was more than a bunch of stuff. But these stories were all Andrea. They were filled with compassion and rage and displayed depth of understanding of an industry, much like society at large, more complex and influential than any one of us alone. Andrea’s career was Miranda’s greatest accomplishment that she would never claim. No, Andrea had certainly proven herself time and time again. But Miranda privately liked to think she played at least a small role in setting Andrea on that path.
Thus, she permitted Nigel to reach out to Andrea to gauge interest. After Nigel reported back with a skeptical no, Miranda allowed herself to be seen at an event she knew Andrea would be in attendance at. No, she wouldn’t debase herself by talking to Andrea, trying to convince her to come back. That would be humiliating. But she hoped to at least remind Andrea of what she had left behind. If this didn’t work, she wouldn’t try again. If it did, she’d take it as a sign.
And Andrea had reached out. And a few weeks later, she found herself interviewing her. Or, perhaps not so much interviewing as receiving the brunette's compelling pitch. She pretended not to know her, mostly because of her own nerves. No, their history was too confusing, too contentious to address yet, especially in front of Nigel, so she simply pretended not to remember Andrea. All three of them knew it was a lie, but no one said a thing.
That is, until Andrea ambushed her on the street. Oh, her Andrea was just as passionate and hard headed as she remembered. To feel that heat, even if directed at her, was a blessing. To bask in the sun that was Andrea Sachs after so many years was more intense than she’d recalled. For about thirty seconds, Miranda revelled in the warmth of righteous indignation radiating from the writer. She recommitted to her decision then and there. Runway needed that passion. She’d simply have to make Andrea an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Once ordering her driver to take her home, she pulled out her cellphone and got to work receiving approval for a slightly sweetened deal for the younger woman. Yes, the offer was a bit high for someone with Andrea’s youth, but she knew she wouldn’t regret the investment. The clause about retaining her freelance rights was unorthodox, but Miranda had argued with one of her allies on the Board, “Andrea has already left Runway once in pursuit of her writing career. We won’t be able to keep her if we’re holding her back.”
Hopefully this Paris Fashion Week would prove to be more successful than the last time she’d attended with the doe eyed younger woman. Signs pointed to success, but that was only if Miranda ignored the way they’d left things after Andrea’s first tenure with the magazine. Miranda lived on hope.