Diary of a Protestor: London Fashion Week

Pay Your Interns: London Fashion Week Protest

I have encountered many fashion dilemmas in my 20 years. Are sequin wellies a good idea (yes) how many novelty jumpers is too many novelty jumpers, and what do you wear in the snow when all you own are dresses and skirts? But on Friday I was faced with a fashion first:  how to accessorise a t-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘PAY YOUR INTERNS’ that I would be wearing to London Fashion Week.

On Friday morning as fashionistas slipped on their stilettos for the start of fashion week, I pulled on my t-shirt and headed to the University of the Arts London’s Students Union. I was meeting up with the team there that had been working for days packing ‘PAY YOUR INTERNS’ tote bags with information for interns.

“I’d say it’s probably the first time that London Fashion Week goody bags have contained information about National Minimum Wage Legislation…” said Fairooz, Culture and Diversity Officer at SUARTS, as we grabbed armfuls of bags and ran for the bus to Somerset House.

As we stepped off the bus and approached the London Fashion Week flags flapping in the breeze, I began to feel incredibly conscious of the slogan printed across my chest. ‘Unpaid internships’ and ‘fashion’ are phrases that seem to roll off the tongue together in the same breath. Yet to question the system, and to raise the question right in the face of the industry like this at London Fashion Week… Well…

My ears rang with the clicking of heels and the silence of stares.

“This is a bit scary, isn’t it?” I said to Fairooz as we approached the entrance.

There was little time for fear though as we gathered with Intern Aware and the rest of the protestors and headed together through the stone archways. We assembled in the courtyard and watched as the faces turned.

Then a moment later: “are you giving out those bags?” and, “Pay your interns. Yes. I completely agree,” and we were off.

Throughout the morning we handed out tote bags and talked to hundreds of people about the campaign. Most people were overwhelmingly supportive. I felt a rush of excitement watching the bags disappear with people into the crowd, our message carried on their arms.

When I first came to London Fashion Week it was as an eager unpaid intern. It is safe to say I am somewhat jaded now, and that coming back this time felt very different.

Despite my initial fear on turning up at London Fashion Week dressed like I was, I am not really scared. As protestors we may have been outnumbered by bloggers, editors and buyers who were far more fashionable than us, but I know that the messages on our baggy white t-shirts were right. And I know that we were representing thousands of people who feel the same way, people who dream of working in industries like fashion but just don’t have the means to work for months at a time without a wage. People who are no less determined or talented than those who get the breaks, but who just can’t afford the price of a future in fashion.

There may be a way to go but I am hopeful that one day we won’t need to wear these t-shirts because interns will get a wage, not just because it’s the law, or because it makes long term business sense for companies to have the widest possible pool of talent to choose from, but because it is right.

Suddenly some stilettos and stares seem a lot less frightening when you realise you are right, and you are not alone.

All I Want for Christmas is a Job that Pays

Dear Father Christmas,

When I wake up on Christmas morning I will not be looking for any packages under the tree. All I want for Christmas is a job that pays.

I value my future more than any gift tied up with paper and ribbon. But is it wrong that I want to feel valued too? I have been good this year. I have worked hard; both at university and on the internships I have done in the hope that they will get me ahead in my career. But I have never been paid for my time, I am tired, and I cannot afford to work for free anymore.

I am told that if I want a successful career internships are the passport into the land of the employed. My CV should be full of them, they say. I am also told that I should not expect to be paid, even after I graduate. Does that mean I should not expect to eat or pay my rent either? Because without a wage how can I afford to live?

The only Christmas present I want this year is the knowledge that 2013 will bring me closer to my future, and that I will not be held back by my inability to work for free. I want to have the same opportunities as those with wealth to support them and send them on their way. I want to apply for a job where the criteria will be my skills, not the number of places I have interned, or effectively the number of months I have managed to scrape by on zero income.

I want to see real graduate jobs instead of six-month ‘internships’ that I could never afford to do. I want to see the government support young people like me by enforcing the National Minimum Wage laws they created that say workers, interns included, are entitled to a wage. In the vast majority of cases unpaid internships are illegal yet they are as abundant as glitter at Christmas.

I understand that times are tough and jobs are scarce, but the current system of unpaid internships set only the rich up to succeed. Does that mean I deserve to fail?

It may sound like I am asking for a lot but it doesn’t really require Christmas magic for my wish to come true. All it needs is the government and employers to accept their moral responsibility and the law.

Could 2013 be the year that my dream becomes a reality?

Yours hopefully,

The Unpaid Intern

P.S I sincerely hope your workers are paid a decent wage. Because we interns are like elves; they may not be as glamorous as Santa Claus, but Christmas would fall apart without them.

Coming home for Christmas

The sky is the colour of wet tarmac as the train sighs and pulls out of Waterloo. The towers of Battersea power station pierce the low fog that rolls as silently as a shadow across the city. A jigsaw of terraced houses and a web of streets flash past the window, then the train shrugs off the final suburbs and bursts into countryside. A forever of fields and sky.

I am sitting on the 11:20 train from London in a Christmas jumper with reindeers leaping across my chest and snowflakes falling from my shoulders. It is the 20^th of December, five days until Christmas.

My suitcases are heavy with presents and jumpers. A roll of gold wrapping paper pokes out of the corner of one bag.

It has been a long term. When I started the first week of my final year at university I was still shaky with the memories of glandular fever. I realised it had been nearly six months since I was last in class and working at my full capacity.

September was only four months ago but so much has happened. Perhaps most notably I have gone from being an unpaid intern to becoming a campaigner for fairer internships. In January I will start a new job at Intern Aware, the campaign I have been involved with for the past few months. My work so far has taken me to the Houses of Parliament and seen my name in the Huffington Post, the Guardian, the Independent and the Observer. I have met some incredibly interesting people and feel fulfilled doing something I believe in. The more people I talk to and the more campaign work I do the stronger I feel about this issue: it is not fair that young people are excluded from jobs just because they cannot afford to work for free. I am looking forward to an exciting 2013: joining Intern Aware in January and graduating in the summer.

But for now I am heading to the Dorset countryside and to the small town where my family will be waiting for me behind a wreath bedecked front door. As I sit on the train I can nearly smell the pine of the Christmas tree and feel the warmth of the Aga. I think of my mum, my sister and my step-dad and my heart glows like a street full of Christmas lights.

I may be looking forward to 2013 and getting my teeth stuck into a new job and my final university project, but now it is time to pause. Christmas is family time.

I am coming home.

Libby