What I learned after The Face made me redundant

By Eni Subair

Like most of the fashion industry, ironically or not, I found myself watching The Devil Wears Prada 2 in April. For those who resisted the temptation (or simply never had the urge), the sequel picks up years after the original, with Andy Sachs now working for a newspaper as a features editor. Early on in the film, Andy and her entire team discover they’re being laid off.

Immediately, I turned to my left, to find my sister already looking over to gauge my reaction. Three weeks earlier, I’d found myself in a similar predicament, having lost my job as a fashion editor, along with the rest of my team, after The Face folded. What I thought would be an evening to switch off and find some reprieve from talking about my job status became the opposite. Spoiler: while Andy eventually finds herself back at Runway magazine, I was still at square one. It felt like a stark reminder of everything I’d spent the last few weeks trying to process.

After the film ended, I bumped into a few editor friends. I felt compelled to talk about the closure of the magazine, and put on a brave face. Dinners with friends and work acquaintances over the following weeks were a welcome distraction, but conversation inevitably drifted back to work. Where I’d normally chime in, I noticed myself shrinking inward, unsure of what I wanted to say or even how I felt. The public nature of it all also made it feel beyond my control to define my own narrative. Yet I also knew this was a symptom of an industry in decline, and not a personal failure. So why did I feel the need to shy away?

“Psychodynamically, losing a job is rarely only about employment. It’s often the loss of a way of organising the self,” says Julia Bainbridge, a psychotherapist and host of The Lonely Hour podcast. “I mean that both in terms of the structure that work provides – without it, some discover anxiety that had previously been contained by routine – and in terms of identity. The loss of a job can be the loss of a place where you reliably experienced yourself as capable and valued.”

For Jade Wickes, former Senior Editor of The Face, losing her job – her first since leaving university – became a real moment of reflection. After seven years, she had the space to sit with how comfortable she’d become with routine. “I’d worked my way up from being an intern, so when the magazine shut down, I had to reckon with the fact that it had become a big part of my identity,” she says. It also made her question how she’d be perceived, and how that might change without a magazine co-sign at the end of her emails. “Our industry is all about who you know, where you work, the cultural credibility and cache you have, and the outlets you contribute to. It forces you to think, ‘Who am I without this?’ I think I’d gotten too comfortable in some ways. It was a crutch.” Although the past few months have been admittedly difficult, with moments where she’s questioned her next steps, reframing that experience and examining her self-worth proved pivotal in overcoming mental hurdles. “As soul destroying it has been to lose a job I genuinely loved and was good at, looking in the mirror has been healthy. It forces you to pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Everyone I spoke to who had been made redundant – and that was a lot of people – said that it led to better things. Although the experience was horrible and unfair, there’s an element of the uncertainty which feels kind of exciting. I’m so lucky to have had that job in the first place. I will find another!”

Over the next few weeks, I established a routine: getting up at the same time each day, creating an organised schedule and firing off emails; picking up a coffee from my local shop, or simply going for a walk to clear my head. Still, I couldn’t escape what felt like the stages of grief: the peace you feel before you fully wake up and remember the reality of what’s happened. Then, at the end of May, a single cryptic post appeared on The Face’s now-wiped Instagram account, accompanied by an Instagram story and newsletter: it would be relaunching once again.

The feelings I’d spent weeks working tirelessly to process came rushing back to the surface. One friend sent an inquisitive but polite message: “Does this mean you’ll be going back?” Soon, I received variations of the same question across different platforms. People wanted to know what was happening and whether I’d be returning for this new era of the magazine. Instead, I muted my messages and booked a session with my therapist. But how do you know whether you’re processing something like this in a healthy way when you’re in uncharted territory?