In the biggest meeting room there is a huge space with a wooden floor, a bar and colourful patchwork pouffes like rectangular bales of hay where all the big events and company announcements are held. It’s also the place Maya goes once a week for her Monday morning inventory of new stock, so she can rummage amongst scarves, shoes, dresses, skirts, hairbands, tops, trousers and bags to come up with names for each and every one of them before they are shot in the studio on a schedule run with military precision. If the clothes are really good, they’ll then be packed up into enormous suitcases to be photographed in glamorous locations by the fashion team led by Zara. Maya goes through every item to make it something more than a SKU number. Sometimes Maya is inspired straight away. The Nena skirt was easy. Multicoloured like a Frida Kahlo-inspired creation. It screamed of her best friend Nena. The beige bag that was shaped like a square and Maya called Boxy was a little less inspiring. When Zara talks Maya through a collection that’s about to be shot in Miami or LA or Cape Town, Maya has to come up with a name for that collection, a tone, a trend, and the writers will write stories for the website based around it. When the pictures are back from the retouchers, the clothes are at the warehouse and the collection is ready to drop, Maya’s words bring the whole look together. The lace dresses and high-neck blouses of ‘Ten Ways To Rock Baroque’ all started in that room. Perhaps Maya’s new managerial career is about to as well.
Sam and Maya pull up a patchwork bale and perch on it. Maya wonders if Lucy ought to have warned her in case she has to prep a speech. Why leave it to a big reveal in front of most of the department heads? She looks around the room. It’s a daunting collection of FASH’s most senior people. Maya’s legs feel weak for the second time today. In the two years Maya has worked at FASH she has come to recognise these powerful faces, even if they wouldn’t recognise hers. There’s the executive team, five of whom she presented to last week: the CEO Rich Robinson, dressed like Bobby Ewing in a blazer, white shirt and jeans; CFO Rich True who is tall and stringy like a green bean, but he does actually count beans for a living; editorial director Lucy; head of customer experience, Geri, a pint-sized powerhouse of a woman; head of legal, Andy, with a high dome-shaped bald head, reminiscent of the Planetarium Maya walks past twice a day; head of the international sites, Sarah, who always looks like she’s asleep, probably because she crosses the International Date Line at least once a week; head of womenswear, Zara, whose jet-black hair and gap-toothed smile make her look like a seventies rock chick, and head of tech Sam. They’re joined by the other six members of Maya’s editorial team, who have all been invited to find out who their new boss is.
At the front sit Rich and Rich, who founded FASH as the Fast Accessible Style Hub at the dawn of a new millennium, when everyone said online shopping wouldn’t take off. Within ten years FASH was selling all over the world. Mums might have stuck to the high street so they could see, feel and try on clothes in poorly lit dressing rooms, but their style-savvy daughters cottoned on fast and now twenty-somethings from Milan to Paris, Madrid to Moscow, New York to Sydney turn to FASH for their outfits. Women’s clothes have made Rich and Rich very rich.
Lucy got on board soon after FASH launched, when Rich and Rich realised that forty-something men dressed as oil tycoons know more about retailing than they do about style. And Lucy is the most stylish woman at FASH.
She stands up ready for the big reveal; her black halter top exposes Pilates-perfect arms on a sinewy, powerful body. Her shiny butter-blonde bob falls into place to frame brown eyes, and she dusts down her immaculately ironed silk palazzo pants. You would never guess Lucy has two preschoolers.
‘Thanks for coming, I’ll keep it brief because you’re all super busy,’ says Lucy, north-west lilt still there despite years of living in London. That’s what Maya admires about Lucy. She could so easily have got caught up in an overblown fashion bubble that comes with her style nous and her salary, but she’s a fiercely proud Lancashire girl at heart. ‘But I’m delighted and honoured to reveal our new site editor to you this morning and want you to congratulate her on this amazing role.’ Eyes dart around the room. ‘We interviewed some of fashion’s editorial elite but when it came to the crunch, this person stood out for her brilliant word wizardry, her knack for spotting the next big trend, and her ability to translate that to millions of customers around the world – while also having the people skills to keep an overworked team working happily and passionately.’
Maya’s face flushes. Sam gives her a gentle nudge with his forearm as he leans into her ribs.
‘She is such a bright spark, I couldn’t resist poaching her from Walk In Wardrobe…’
Oh my god.
Maya pictures replacement double-glazed wooden sash windows shining bright in the gleaming sunlight on her first-floor maisonette.
‘So please put your hands together for Cressida Blaise-Snellman!’ Lucy cranes her head towards the door. ‘We’re so happy to welcome you to the FASH fold, Cressida, come on in!’ Hands clap. Cressida, a blushing willow of a woman, walks in with a coquettish pout. Razor-cut cheekbones, long, thin honey-blonde hair tucked behind her ears, and the exact same outfit the model in the smart black dungarees and bandeau bra top wears on the big screen behind reception, only Cressida styles hers up with a neat black blazer resting on her shoulders like a cape.
‘Cressida?’ Maya says, aghast, a faintly freckled nose crumpling. Fortunately no one hears among the applause because FASH is a place where triumphs are to be celebrated. Maya worked with Cressida at Walk In Wardrobe and she definitely doesn’t remember her for her people skills.
‘Bad luck mate,’ says Sam apologetically, although his crinkled eyes make him look like he’s laughing. ‘Back to work.’