Interning: The most potent of all white girl problems

Oh the things one must face in a field where sometimes real world experience is more valuable than contact hours.

Decked out in Jeffrey Campbells, a carefully sculpted donut bun and the constant sweaty palms of a life long over achiever, we media and comms interns have a lot more in common with the humble tradie than the heroines of our girlhood (for me, Bobbi Fleckman from Spinal Tap). Though King Gee might merely be a nickname for John Galliano to us, we put in more hard yakka in a real life environment than we probably ever thought we would after getting that idealised ATAR (note Jamie King wants to do my exact course).

If we are lucky, we are paid for our days work.

I don’t make an argument for hologram tote sporting asos nymphs suffering the slings and arrows of life financially more than people who really deserve our sympathy. I am merely saying that though we might be tasked with menial residual tasks appropriate for the lowliest and least qualified ‘practitioner’ of the office, sometimes we actually run media campaigns, get abused by a regional south australian radio personality, enjoy the cacophony of shrieks of a mainstream print journo pressed for time and perhaps soon a job….. we organise people, we ground creative people’s amazing ideas in reality and we act as intermediary punching bag between talent and media outlet.

Honestly, as an intern more appropriate office wear isn’t something funky/cue-esque from your Mum’s wardrobe (preferably cowl necked or with a pussy bow), it should be workman’s boots and high vis gear and perhaps ear muffs for the journos.

It’s a little unsettling how well it has been instilled within us that we are lucky to have a job, any job, regardless of how well we are treated there, or compensated for time which could be spent earning money that exists and could help set us up once we leave uni and are flummoxed by life’s harsh possibilities.

We have very low expectations, and sometimes these represent a major killer of ambition. Would Roxy Jascenko have taken a job reorganising the office alcohol supply as a minor or stamping envelopes for 8 hours? I’m not quite sure, at least it’s so difficult to see someone like that ever being the lowly intern with a run in their stockings.

I guess we are told to believe that Roxy did have to do crappy things to get to where she is today, and to be so grateful for even being bestowed the honour of stamping those envelopes or being abused by Wally from the Wyngeree Community Broadcast service for stealing him away from his commitment to quality agricultural journalism.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about all this a lot and I’ve gotten cocky.

I put forth this argument to myself, “well I’ve done media relations on two campaigns so far, and have gained an unprecedentedly thick skinned approach to liasing with regional journalists, surely I deserve better in my final year”…. and I usually sign off with something like “dahhhling” and then “btw fetch me a Jarrah underling” and then “christ, this chunky conceptual jewellery really isn’t that practical, I can’t feel my neck”.

But then I have the furry rug made up of my late pet polar bear pulled from under my JCs as I stare down the humbling, yet terrifying barrel of interning for a few more years and not getting paid to do what I want to do with my life, and sometimes not even getting sought after positions involving things like pay or a well loved familiar environment.

I think interning is one of the most potent of all white girl problems but at that same time, these girls aren’t just bobble heads with an obsession for fro yo. They are hopefully the future’s answer to Bobbi Fleckman, with high IQs, excellent ATARS and a bit of charm. I just wish we were taught to respect ourselves and our potentials a little more, so we don’t end up metaphorically settling with that high school boyfriend who wore socks with sandals on your one year anniversary.

It’s so easy to visualise the scenario I put forth as, “you guyssss, make me feel special… I’m a gen y which means I can’t do anything without validation or praise….I need money for my dip dye retouching”

We shouldn’t expect to be running Artist Relations for Polymer Records overnight, but we deserve to at least expect to be treated well in the first experiences of what our career will look like.