Thread by @JMatthiasFord

Now seems like as good a time as any to talk about the time I sneaked into GQ's editorial office at Condé Nast HQ to ask for an internship.

I haven't told this story yet online though I think back on it often and fondly, so *YouTuber voice* STORY TIME!

Right, so I fly up to NYC from Alabama over senior year spring break without any interviews set to *hopefully* secure some kind of media internship.

Thanks to a combination of friends' professional connections and luck, I get interviews at the end of the week for GQ advertising and Architectural Digest editorial.

The true apple of my eye, as someone who read the magazine since age 11, was GQ editorial. But BITCH I WAS NOT COMPLAINING.

So the day before I leave New York, I wind up at 4 Times Square in a horribly ill-fitted suit. I take a deep breath and go through security for the first time, living my full Devil Wears Prada realness.

Both interviews go fine and I'm thrilled, though I'm still thinking about that dream internship with GQ editorial. And it dawns on me, as I'm waiting for the elevator to take my back down to the lobby, that this is my one shot to try to make something happen.

(At the old Condé building in Times Squad, GQ advertising was on a different floor from edit. And you could control the floor you went to after security — no automated elevators.)

I feel my stomach tie up in knots and know I can't let this chance pass. I get into the elevator and, heart pounding, hit the button for GQ edit's floor.

I get out and see the black and gold "GQ" letters on the wall behind the foyer's secured glass doors. This is happening. I feel like I'm on autopilot.

I play coy on my phone in the foyer and wait until someone opens the glass door to leave. I make my way to enter; the exiting person smiles and holds the door open for me. I slip inside.

Holy shit. I've done it. I've successfully sneaked inside GQ's editorial HQ.

I start making my way down a random hallway, trying to act like I've been here before.

I come across a woman at a mail cubby checking her letters, and an assistant editor's name flashed through my mind from too many times scanning the masthead. We'll call him John Frost.

I walk up to her and ask if she can point me to Mr. Frost's office. I'm playing it cool on the outside but may vomit at any moment.

She looks a bit bemused but tells me to follow her.

We're walking. I'm sweating.

She leads me to a square of open, low-rise cubicles where four people are working at their desks.

"John, someone's here to see you."

They all look up. I recognize John from cyber-stalking the edit staff. He looks equally confused and alarmed.

The other staff look like they're wondering what the hell a kid in a black suit four sizes too large is doing here. (Fair question.)

I march up to him, shaking, hold out my hand, and out comes: "Hi-Mr.-Frost-you-don't-know-me-but-my-name-is-Matt-Ford-and-I-was-in-the-building-and-was-wondering-about-any-available-internship-opportunities."

I think I blacked out for a bit then because I don't remember the immediate reaction, but I remember him getting up and gesturing to a nearby conference room. I'm like 98% sure security is probably getting called at this point.

We sit down. I hand over a copy of my résumé, physical clips I wrote and magazines I edited, and an iPad with digital versions of it all and my website pulled up. (She was prepared! And maybe needed medication!)

John briefly scans my résumé and says, without looking up, "Who should be on the cover next month?"

Me:

I say Leonardo DiCaprio.

"Why?" he immediately shoots back, still not looking up.

These sound like normal interview questions, but they were rapid-fire. I see this is about to be a grilling, and yours truly is the steak. I had asked for an interview, and I had gotten one.

I goes nonstop from there. Thankfully, I had training for intense interviews, but I stammer through a lot of answers and my hands don't stop sweating. It passes in a blur.

We conclude, John thanks me and awkwardly walks me out. It's only after he's left and I'm waiting on the elevator that it all hits me. I start to laugh.

I also assume there's a burly security guard waiting in the lobby to escort me out, but I leave the building with no issues.

The quick ending: I leave New York and follow up via email with John. (I figured out the Condé email address format and accurately guessed his. Idk why my therapist hadn't intervened at this point.)

Though John was impressed with my hustle, I didn't get the edit internship.

But I DID get the GQ advertising internship.

I never saw John again, but I spent an amazing summer in New York working for some of the most incredible bosses I've ever had. And though it wasn't my original "dream" internship, it was still a fever dream and introduced me to wonderful people still in my life today.

So that's the story of how I scammed my way into GQ edit and nicely accosted an editor at work to ask for an internship. Please don't do this to me at BuzzFeed. (Though I would be mad impressed.)

Fin.

lmao