Field Trip

Did I ever happen to mention that although I'm officially on medical leave from journalism school, I'm actually still attending one of my classes this semester?

Well, I am.

The class is one of several Magazine Writing Workshops offered at Columbia, and I was getting so much out of it that I decided to audit it for the balance of the semester. Because most of the work involves reporting and writing multiple drafts of one long-form piece, plus editing the work of other students in the class, I'll still be able to take it for credit when I return to school next spring—I won't do my long piece until then, and there will be an entirely new group of stories to edit. In the meantime, I am learning a lot from attending class, doing the reading, and editing this group of classmates' work.

Today, instead of a regular class, we had a field trip to Glamour magazine, where my professor is a contributing editor.

Now, there are two important things you need to know about the class:

1. All 12 of the students are women.

2. Our professor is a man.

If you're interested in gender issues, as I am, this makes for a rather fascinating setup even before you throw in the visit to a women's magazine (but that's a topic for another blog entry—or another blog, really).

In any event, I confess that life seemed extra-surreal when I left the house today.

First, it's just a funny concept to be going on a field trip when you are in striking distance of turning 40. Chaperones? Permission slips? Lunchboxes? Anyone?

Second, if you know me at all, you know that I am not exactly the most fashion-savvy person in the universe—at least when it comes to my own attire. (I can—and do—critique the outfits of strangers on the street six ways from Sunday, it's true, but that's a very different skill set.) And, well, Glamour is, at least in part, a fashion magazine.

Third, there's no getting around the fact that I am, in fact, bald.

Fourth, the temperature topped out at 81° today. It still being, you know, April, my feet and I were not remotely prepared for sandal season.

So, I ask you: What does a bald, almost-40-year-old woman with little fashion sense wear on a field trip to a fashion magazine at which she is supposed to be making professional contacts on an 80-degree mid-April day?

Talk about a Glamour Don't. (Think big black rectangle across my eyes.)

Actually, I think I might have pulled off the right head-to-toe look—as long as you don't count my head or toes, that is. I think I was OK from neck to ankles. It's just that my bright green hat didn't exactly mesh with the rest of my color scheme (brown and black). And I'm pretty sure that clogs with knee-highs weren't the right way to accessorize my attempt at an upscale casual look.

But they didn't bar the door when I showed up, so I guess that was a triumph.

And the visit was actually really cool, despite my initial misgivings.

Moral of the story: Don't judge a magazine by its cover. (Even if the cover touts features like "His and hers hot list: 12 sexual experiences every man & woman should have" and "Your dream swimsuit!" and "Major swimsuit dos & don'ts: Wedgies, bad thongs and worse!") Because the three top editors we met were all really interesting and intelligent and dynamic and savvy and well spoken—the kind of people I'd want to have as colleagues and mentors and friends.

And editors.

And it's a long shot, but you know what?

It could happen.

My professor had us tell one of the editors a little bit about what we're working on. While my classmates had specific stories to pitch (the ones they're writing for the class), he asked me to talk a bit about my personal story—the one you've been reading about here.

So I did.

And she asked a question or two and then suggested a couple of possible outlets in the magazine—and not in an I'm-being-nice-because-you-have-cancer kind of way, but in a hey-that-could-totally-fit-with-what-we're-looking-for kind of way.

So I've got some following up to do.

Pretty cool, huh?