How I accidentally became a freelance interiors journalist
Failure, a breakdown, and a breakthrough (it's a long story)
*Cover illustration by brilliant Alexis Bruchon.
Hi all, I want to start with a sincere apology as I didn’t mean to go radio silent and I’ve been feeling mad with myself for letting you down. I’d put a few afternoons aside especially to write a new post but my clarity of thought has felt like a thick stew for most of February. I don’t know whether it’s my hormones or the moon or what but I started a few different drafts (my list of future posts won’t write themselves) and I couldn’t get into the right headspace to focus. I’ve been answering emails in my head but not actually sending them, barely sleeping or sleeping for too long (there’s no in-between) and my heart has been pounding nervously for no particular reason. I don’t know where the last two weeks went but I’ve felt increasingly guilty about my accidental vanishing act, so thank you for sticking with me. I appreciate you all!
I’ve always planned to write about careers here because I’m nosy and I like to hear about what people do and what it’s really like (i.e. interior designers don’t spend all day choosing fabrics and florists don’t just arrange flowers). I’ve had a couple of emails recently asking for advice about getting into journalism, so I might as well kick things off with my own story! However, this isn’t a tale of nepotism or the classic route of English Lit or Art History degree followed by internships, coffee runs, crying in the toilets, etc. There has been plenty of crying about work but most of it happened on my own sofa.
Before I became a freelance design writer/shopping editor/stylist/lampshade peddler, I’d never worked on staff at a newspaper or magazine. I’d also never worked in interiors. I didn’t know a soul in the decorating or publishing world when I decided to change careers in my early thirties. I’d worked in fashion and travel e-commerce for over a decade, so I came to it with no contacts and no clue.
As an untrained journalist who learnt on the fly and still types with two index fingers (quickly, in my defence), I’ve had to Google things that might seem obvious to everyone else. I used to come across acronyms, processes or phrases that I’d never heard of before and I’d note each one down so I could check later. Most (but not all) writers only switch to freelance once they have enough experience and contacts. They’ve already worked on staff somewhere and they understand how everything works. Having never been through this rite of passage, I can’t join in with their reminiscing about days with X editor or what it was like in the trenches at Y magazine. At first, that made me feel like an outsider who shouldn’t be invited to the same events as them, because what did I know? Other journalists would be so kind and friendly to me, so I was never made to feel unwelcome, the problem was my imposter syndrome. I’d say it took a year of feeling awkward before I came around to the idea that I deserved a seat at the table just as much as anyone else.
I didn’t understand the nuances of the relationship between writers and PRs when I started, I didn’t know how to craft a successful pitch email (I’m still not hugely experienced at this) and I didn’t know what the done thing was in certain situations. I’d had no one to learn from, so I was winging it as I went. I still couldn’t tell you what goes on in a newsroom or what it’s like to be fearful of a Miranda Priestly type. I don’t benefit from the daily laughter, Pret sandwich runs, office gifts and editorial meetings, there’s also no team chit-chat to spark the idea for a new story. I’m sure I still get things wrong because I’ve never watched other journalists at work, but I’ve never once been made to feel like an idiot.
I say ‘accidentally’ in the title of this newsletter because I never wanted to be freelance. I really, really didn’t want to be freelance, so it took a while to accept that I’m self-employed and not merely earning money while I job-hunt. When I consciously decided to change careers, I wanted to work with other people, not only for structure, accountability and general high jinx but also to learn from them. I’ve ended up as a team of one, feeling my way around in the dark. Absolutely classic.
I appreciate the earnest questions about getting into magazine journalism but my story has been an unusual saga, so you probably won’t need to take notes. It’s a tale of not getting jobs and eventually breaking into the interiors world through a side window, because knocking on the front door wasn’t working.
The mini version goes something like this: a fashion degree (I realised my mistake as soon as I bought a Terence Conran book in my first term), fashion copywriting jobs, some time as a fashion styling assistant where I embarrassed myself constantly, six happy years managing the content team at an online travel agency, a sabbatical of sorts, two and a half years of soul-crushing failure, a wild ride with my mental health, and – finally – a chance in interiors that I never thought I’d get.
I’m a chronic oversharer so I’ve mentioned parts of this story before but I’ve never told the whole tale at length, with all of the emotional and can’t-believe-that-really-happened bits (like the job interview I had at 2am, having just woken up).
I feel able to publish this here because the Substack community has been so supportive and I’ve loved reading other people’s honest writing. I’ve never judged them for sharing, so I hope you won’t either. However, the internet is a big place and you never know who’s reading or whether their intentions are kind (as evidenced in my recent post about a troll). Because of that, I’ve added a paywall below and I hope you understand why I’m setting boundaries with particularly vulnerable writing.
Also, you might want to make a coffee because this is by far the longest post I’ve written so far. I’ll try not to make a habit of it because I know our attention spans are short, but there was a lot to cover and I wanted to get it off my chest in one big cathartic reflection. After today, I don’t think I’ll discuss this period again because replaying the memories of a time when I was unhappy and unfulfilled keeps me stuck in the mindset of not being good enough. My career change had a rocky start but the main thing is, it started. Now I want to keep moving forward.
The story began when I decided to move on from my last full-time job. I was the Managing Editor for an online travel company and I managed a full-time team of five, plus remote freelancers. I got the role because when the company was in its infancy, I sent an email out of the blue (they weren’t even hiring) saying how much I wanted to work there and confidently outlining what I could bring to the team. God bless my youthful optimism because it actually worked.