FHC’s resurrected blog : THE ASSASSIN OF FHC’S INNOCENCE

As we were having brunch in Alexandria on Sunday discussing job search, I remembered one of the first interviews I went through. I was a gorgeous, innocent and fragile 20 years old and met with an evil woman strangely named Patricia Turck-Paquelier (let’s call her PTP, her name is too ridiculous), at that time Emporio Armani Perfumes International Brand Manager, for one of this underpaid internships we were supposed to aim at. As soon as I got in her office and saw her dressed in an outfit that screamed ‘Imperial Bitch’, I knew she was a tough menopausal killer (not unlike my mother when you think about it). If she had been able to sing or act she clearly would have been a gay icon/gay men abuser. Instead she happened to be an intern's killer… worse than Gary C. or Ted K. Quickly I understood that she was the kind of little girls that spends hours collecting live cockroaches to put them in glass containers and stares at them. I was terrified. Even Margaret Thatcher looked warmer and more welcoming than her. After I introduced my “background” briefly and some awkward silence, I think she said something like “I have nothing more to ask you and better things to do [NDLR: which probably included kidnap 99 Dalmatian puppies] so if you do not have any question you can leave now”. As I insisted in finishing the interview she angrily lashed at me explaining to me that I obviously did not have the caliber nor the maturity to make it at L’Oréal, that I was foolish to have applied and refused to discuss it further. I was young and instead of replying "Have you tried Celexa ?" I just left shaken and traumatized. Little did I know that I just had been robbed of more than my innocence and would never really recovered from it. No doubt I was technically-incompetent, completely lacked personality and creativity and was obviously a corduroy-wearing closeted gay (only in France, can you apply to be a marketing assistant in the cosmetics industry and still be closeted and wearing corduroy). Yet PTP could not have been meaner or less courteous. Later on, in my brief career in the business, I came to understand that all marketing people in the luxury industry are uptight elitist snob f*ers, that L’Oréal is a highly competitive unkind place (even worse than the DMV I believe) and that Marketing Directors are gods to some japanese people but I never really forgave the villainess. PTP, now 50 years old and obviously still a ruthless bitch became President of L’Oréal’s International Prestige and Collections Division through vile plots and evil schemes. She even made it to Time magazine in August 2003 just to annoy me, typical of bitchy Pat. So Pat, wherever you are, I just wanted you to know with this entry that you are still very high up on the shit-list and that I know what you did last summer.