And...I'm Out.

We have all had times in our lives when we desperately wanted to be close to those who really epitomized glamour and social know how. In middle school it was wanting to emulate the girls who broke the dress code, the ones who played spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven with acne faced and sweaty palmed pre pubescent boys. The same girls who would deny you the time of day unless you had something truly fabulous to offer, or played with you out of boredom and monotony. An abrupt desire to makeover the dork would whip the "populars" into a frenzy, but there was by no means a guarantee of staying power in the group so exclusive, it was not allowed to grow past a membership of five or six.

In the world of Entertainment and Talent Agencies, the people you feel the need to be close to are replicas of the uniformed girls but all grown up, and in my particular office, grown up men in suits and swanky linen. Yet the desire to be liked by one of these psuedo human's is juxtaposed by the constant desire to throw them out of the window's of their loft offices in the bustling meat packing district when they lambaste you for using the wrong paper stock when composing a letter.

The most interesting thing about the people who meticulously obsess over details unrecognized by the average individual is the fact that they are all but composed as people. The messes that I deal with on a regular basis have a proclivity of having control, which I have learned allows them to compensate for the sadness and isolation most of them truly internalize.

It's interesting as well as frustrating to witness a social popular crowd manifest in an office. The forty year old CEO's allowing their place of business to be run synonymously with high school mores.

As I sat at the front desk of my Talent Brand Management company fielding calls, composing proposals, and alternating between celebrity blogs and the Times online, I was re introduced to the feeling of being an outsider. Working in an office of inflated male egos and misogyny lent themselves to the environment that was subsequently created. The feeling of being reduced to the size of a pinkie finger when menial tasks were required of the only two females in the office became regular occurrences behind closed doors.

I always ponder to myself whether abandoning a situation that caused such trauma to my self worth and confidence was the right decision. Yet as each day of the remaining two week period of my employment dwindle down, and the feelings persist to no avail, I find comfort in the fact that there are industries that don't demand a hazing period in order to "break in" or succeed.

Perhaps I did give up prematurely, but I like to think that I may just see through the perfection of the pristine desks, glossy art books, and precocious technology that exist in the world I no longer want to be a part of. The fact that I desire to utilize any part of my brain in an industry that would appreciate it makes the fight in me stronger.