Condé Nast Discontinuing Internship Program -
Condé Nast has decided to discontinue its internship program starting in 2014, WWD has learned. The end of the program comes after the publisher was sued this summer by two former interns who claimed they were paid below the minimum wage during internships at W and The New Yorker.
Condé is just one of several media companies facing similar litigation from summer interns. In February 2012, a former intern at Hearst’s Harper’s Bazaar sued, claiming the magazine violated minimum wage and overtime laws. A judge threw out the case, but the intern appealed and the suit remains unresolved. In another case that was settled in June, two interns who worked for Fox Searchlight successfully sued the studio for similar reasons.
For a bit more context on the situation, we suggest referring back to Ernie’s post on the Black Swan unpaid intern case, which is still winding its way through the court system as we speak.
Interesting development. Flawed as the system may be, how much harder will it be for interns to break into the workplace if more companies follow this lead?
More importantly, how do we fix the problem? A lot of companies only offer unpaid internships for college credit, which is great until you graduate and still can’t find a job. In another twist, it’s being noted that some companies only offer jobs to those with “paid experience,” which in present times seems like it might be hard to acquire unless you work your way up from intern to employee.
Not being categorized as an employee leaves you vulnerable without many civil legal recourses*. However, sometimes unpaid internships are valuable stepping stones to long-lasting networking relationships and careers. And, for the most part, the T&Cs of unpaid internships are laid out pretty clearly when one starts. It will be interesting to see how this all plays out; whether more companies ultimately follow Condé Nast’s path.
*although for some offenses, like sexual harassment, you can file a criminal charge and still get justice.
My boyfriend has always made it a point to open the door for me when we get in the car. At first, I would try to rush and get ahead of him, so he couldn’t do it, or ask him not to. He couldn’t understand why I was being so weird about it.
"I can do it myself," I’d say.
"I know you can do it yourself," he would sigh, "but it’s something I want to do for you."
A couple of weeks ago, we had dinner with another couple. The guys both agreed this kind of behavior was weird on women’s part. Basically, women should know that men are just trying to be polite; they’re not trying to pass judgment on women’s capabilities or sensitivities.
I never explained why I feel so strongly about it.
The problem is that for every man like my boyfriend and our friend, there’s many others who define women in a different, lesser sense. Men who approach women on street or at the subway late at night to pass judgment on their appearance and berate them when they’re not interested. Men who take to the internet to criticize women’s hair and shoes. Men who get defensive when women are strong, who call for them to return to their “ladylike" days. Men who get offended when women don’t respond to their flirtation at bars, labeling them as ‘bitches,’ they have never experienced the shit that comes with being a woman in 2013 and thus are so ignorant of the fact that maybe a well-intentioned ‘hi’ is the 14th unsolicited comment that girl received that day. Men who open car doors and carry boxes for women because deeply engrained in their minds is a belief that WOMEN ARE LESSER.
For every man like them, there is at least one who vigorously follows google links like, “Women should know their place,” “Women cannot be trusted,” “Women need to be controlled.”
For every man who will really think about this UN advertising campaign are countless others who will dismiss it as nothing more than another shrill noise from the feminist brigade.
I totally want to buy something from the Ready for Hillary store but apart from the onesie everything SUCKS
On a related note - via
Unpaid interns cannot bring sexual harassment claims as they are not employees -
I am sort of a firm believer in unpaid internships. I was lucky to have two extremely fruitful internships, one that landed me a full-time job after admittedly some soul-sucking months of working for free. I learned a lot at both my unpaid internships and put a lot of effort into absorbing as much as I could. Whether I had to photocopy mindlessly or do the work of two people while an employee was out sick, I juiced each opportunity like a big orange.
Working for free is an emotional mindfuck. Every dollar you spend seems like an awful lot (I once almost cried in public when I realized I’d lost a $5 daily metro card) and your self-esteem diminishes as quickly as your savings. At the very least, you deserve to be toiling in an environment where your contributions are valued and you are learning something you can later use of value.
So what if you get subjected to sexual harassment at your internship, and the court finds you’re not an employee? You can’t get any civil damages under workplace prohibition of sexual harassment, although you could press criminal charges against the individual.
Some states, like Oregon, have already started to pass laws to protect unpaid interns (from, among other things, sexual or racial discrimination.) Should all states do the same? It’s hard to know where to draw the line on this issue. Would too much regulation lead to the demise of the unpaid internship? And, if so, just how much harder would it be for twenty-somethings to land positions after college?
And of course, they hadn’t really thought of me as a person. Why should they? These images are throwaways, little bursts of amusement to get through a long workday. You look, you chuckle, you get some ridicule off your chest and move on to the next source of distraction. No one thought about the possibility that I might read those words. Far less, that I would talk back. —
My embarrassing picture went viral, Caitlin Sedia, Salon
"and I am OKAY with that because her friendliness should not make me believe I am entitled to dance with her."
- my Spanish lesson
Birdy is polite in a “Can you please help me find my rain boots?” and “Thank you, I’d love another deviled egg” kind of way. But when strangers talk to her, she is like, “Whatever.” She looks away, scowling. She does not smile or encourage.
I bite my tongue so that I won’t hiss at her to be nice. I tell you this confessionally. Because do I think it is a good idea for girls to engage with zealously leering men, like the creepy guy in the hardware store who is telling her how pretty she is? I do not. “Say thank you to the nice man who wolf-whistled!” “Smile at the frat boy who’s date-raping you!” I want my daughter to be tough, to say no, to waste exactly zero of her God-given energy on the sexual, emotional and psychological demands of lame men — of lame anybodies. I don’t want her to accommodate and please. I don’t want her to wear her good nature like a gemstone, her body like an ornament. — Catherine Newman - I Do Not Want My Daughter To Be Nice. http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/07/31/i-do-not-want-my-daughter-to-be-nice/?smid=tw-share&_r=2
Poll: is it weird or proactive to pay to join a group where I would be set up with other women looking to make friends?
And, why I am so entrenched in my own normality that I assume everyone who would pay to join this would be kind of weird and incapable of making friends on their own? Everyone except me, that is.
Confession: I have, at various points in my life, googled How to Make Friends in Los Angeles.
By ‘at various points in my life,’ I mean ‘several times in the last few months.’ None of this searches have really been very fruitful.
Join a club! Take a class! Hang out at your local park! Join the gym! Be patient! Get a hobby!
I could tell you about the times I’ve tried each of these things.
How about the time I went to French club at my local Starbucks. I was the only female there, and the only one below 35. One man was about 60, and spoke barely any French, just English with a French accent. He confused Oui and Je suis. The second guy spoke Québecois, but only when he did speak, which was rarely, and the moderator of the group owned a local French school, and spent most of the time showing us the Facebook page for his school, and reminding us to Facebook friend him when we got home. I stayed for thirty minutes and excused myself as soon as it was polite. 0 for 1.
I joined a gym. A worthwhile endeavor for the sake of my love handles and my thighs and my dream of someday (never?) running a marathon. But as a place to make friends? Not really. Weirdly, I’m not really at my best when I’m gasping for breath, my hair is curling into trellis plant tendrils around my face, held into place by a sheen of moisture, induced by the freakishly-warm room (seriously 24 Hour Fitness, sort out the a/c.) 0 for 2.
Sometimes I go for walks in my local park. Sometimes I go running there (see point #2.) But I like to live my life by the golden rule, and so I think that accosting a total stranger in the hopes of starting a conversation that will blossom into a meaningful friendship - where we’ll meet for yoga or spinning class on Saturday mornings, then pop to Starbucks for something pretentious with soy, before working up to weekend trips away together to Vegas - would actually be kind of weird.
There’s always this weird process when making friends in any situation outside of high school or your office. It can be difficult in scenarios where you have to make your own fun. You meet someone, maybe in line at a coffee shop, or in a class you have together once a week. You chat, maybe swap a compliment or two,
"That’s a great iPhone case!"
"Thanks! I like yours too. Where did you get it?"
"Oh thanks, I just got it on Amazon. Only $9!"
and then there’s this real awkward part where one person has to make the first move by asking for the other person’s number or last name so they can find each other on Facebook. This is the part that can make you look stalkery and weird.
The normal progression of friendships that will turn out to be real and important is slow, and usually rooted in things you have in common together for a period of time. With some of my closest graduate school friends, our friendship didn’t really progress from greetings in class until we were thrust together on a school night out. I wonder how long it would have taken us to get over our fear of being the weird clingy one if we didn’t have a school-organised night of debauchery to help us lose our inhibitions around each other?
Which is why it’s so hard to make friends now, especially in this huge, crazy city, where it can take you an hour to drive four miles, and your area code and closest freeway has a damning effect on the number of social activities you can partake in. It’s hard to get into situations where familiarity can develop.
I’ve tried a lot of things - Spanish classes, yoga class at Lululemon, meetup.com (you have no idea how many groups exist for people to discuss the Law of Attraction.) Nothing has stuck yet. In part because I think I’m not really sure about how to make the leap between random occasional acquaintance and tentative-maybe-BFF.
Being in LA was particularly hard for the first few months, because I didn’t have a car, and spent up to five hours a day on public transport. When I got my license and my car stopped breaking down every time I drove it, I was much happier, and convinced my renewed vigor for life and Los Angeles would lead to making friends. It hasn’t really, yet. The girls I communicate with everyday live in Chicago, Seoul, Buenos Aires, Cork, Dublin. My friends at work are in Orange County, a lifetime away on the weekends, and are sadly unavailable for froyo and spin class in Culver City on Saturdays. I’m not sure why my friendship fantasies always involve spinning classes, but they do. But I’m more than ever grateful for having made such great girlfriends, and for being able to communicate with them across oceans and timezones and various modes of communication. I’ve always been grateful for my girls.
I’ll keep trying. I will keep talking to people at Zumba class, or Spanish class, and keep forcing myself to go to events at meetup.com, even though the thought of it makes me want to gouge out my eyes. In the meantime, if you like feminism, fashion, and froyo and you live in my area code, hit me up. I’m cool.