A Fashion Intern’s Secret: The ‘Slideshow Method’

^{Dearest Readers,}

^{When my adorbs intern Imogen Notaro told me that she had a fashion internship this summer in London with one of the chicest fashion houses in the world, I was thrilled for her. When she told me that she knew of co-interns who dress ‘like it’s their first day on planet earth’ for such roles, and that in order to avoid such a grave error she was creating PowerPoints for her outfits for each day, I said, Sweetie! That’s a story! She wrote it up and it is the perfect guide for anyone about to launch into said sartorial territory. Imogen, thank you for such a brilliant piece. Readers, do please let Imogen know how you like her story, which is below.}

^{XO P.S.}

Dressing for an internship for a fashion house is a uniquely intimidating exercise in pretending you have not thought too hard about getting dressed. The office was in Mayfair, and before I had even started in July, I was consumed with the most important question of the internship: what was I going to wear? I wanted to look sophisticated, but not corporate, interested in fashion, but not as though I were cosplaying as an extra in The Devil Wears Prada. A disproportionate amount of effort went into this, involving countless photos, many conflicting opinions, and more deliberation than was reasonably required for getting dressed for work. My most useful hobby has finally revealed its professional application: I take photos of my own outfits whenever I especially like what I’m wearing, save references from Pinterest and Instagram, and arrange everything into a slideshow—part catalogue, part packing list—with possible outfits assembled slide by slide. I make one for almost any trip or event where I care about what I am going to wear. Is it obsessive and slightly unhinged? Yes. Is it extremely useful for planning five days’ outfits? Also yes.

I have always felt I was meant for office dressing. A ‘professional’ dress code felt less like a restriction than a long-awaited opportunity. At my New York City high school, where plenty of students arrived in pyjama bottoms and sweatshirts, I was often in a blouse and trousers. More than once, a freshman mistook me for a teacher and asked for help with his schedule or the grading policy. I was sixteen.

The real challenge was summer: hot weather is fundamentally at odds with looking chic. Each morning, I left my flat attempting to channel Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy’s particular brand of effortlessness: clean lines and smooth hair. My fear was that by the time I reached Mayfair, I would arrive red-faced, with my hair in a greasy ponytail and bearing a closer resemblance to Erling Haaland.

These are the five outfits that survived the internship, and the London heat. By the end of the week, I had it down. Forthwith: My Five Very Subjective Rules of Fashion-Internship Dressing. (If I wore any of this to a J.P. Morgan internship, I suspect I’d have had one day and one day only before I was out.)

Rule 1: Don’t Dress Like It’s Your First Day on Planet Earth

My main objective was not to look as though I had invented a new personality for the occasion or had mistaken the internship for a costume party with a business-casual theme. The safest option was to wear things I already knew I loved. I chose a black cotton-poplin button-down from Suzie Kondi, white Levi’s Ribcage jeans, and Chanel ballet flats borrowed from my mother—older than I am and still going strong after being resoled.

The shirt was easily one of my best purchases of 2025. I wear it with trousers, throw it over a bikini at the beach, and reach for it almost every week. The clothes I love are practically hermetically sealed to my body, and in less than a year, this shirt has joined their ranks. For the first day, that familiarity was useful: I already knew I liked how it looked and would not spend the morning wondering whether I had made a terrible mistake.