From the fashion cupboard to the front row: learning to live with imposter syndrome
Chapters
On her first day at ELLE magazine, Eni Subair felt like she’d slipped in by mistake. Years on – via Vogue and now The Face – she reflects on imposter syndrome, representation and learning to trust that she’s earned her place.
Eni Subair
Walking into the ELLE UK fashion cupboard in 2017 in a yellow frilled jumper and dark-wash jeans, paired with the tiniest kitten heels, I was a ball of nerves. I’d barely slept the night before for fear of sleeping through my alarm, and breakfast was a laughable notion.
My family and best friends knew I’d got a job as an intern at ELLE magazine, but I was scared to tell anyone else in case it was some sort of mistake. It was the first time I can vividly remember experiencing imposter syndrome – feeling like an outsider, without a sense of belonging. Not the last, but definitely the first.
Even getting that far felt like a fluke. After graduating with a degree in journalism and media, I relentlessly emailed editors in the hope it might somehow lead to work experience at one of my dream publications – Vogue, the Evening Standard, edgy independents. I stumbled upon the email for Lila, ELLE’s fashion cupboard manager, after days of guessing addresses and taking punts on domains. I was lucky. She replied quickly, asking me to intern for four weeks.
“When I got a job as an intern at ELLE magazine, I was scared to tell anyone else in case it was some sort of mistake.”
So there I was, one month later, standing at the entrance of the Soho office in awe.
A group of interns huddled around a table in the fashion cupboard, sealing packages and reading out return addresses for Chanel, Loewe, Valentino and McQueen samples. It was far from the chaotic scene I’d imagined. Rows of luxury garments lined the room, music played from Lila’s computer and, despite my Devil Wears Prada expectations, everyone was chatty and kind.
That didn’t stop me from feeling like I had something to prove to Fashion Editor Felicity Kay – now Paul Mescal’s stylist – who hustled in and out prepping a big shoot, or to Donna Wallace, Fashion and Accessories Editor, in her army-green Acne Studios bomber and signature black Converse. She hung samples on a rail, piecing together looks for her next editorial.
The ELLE fashion team in Soho
The clothes I’d reblogged on Tumblr and marvelled at on Instagram were suddenly within reach. Handling samples that cost more than six months’ salary at my previous retail job, tracing embellishments set with real crystals, wrapping up handbags I’d only seen on Vogue Runway – it was surreal. I was out of my depth. I’d never set foot in a fashion cupboard, nor did I know how to send out a fashion request, which was basically the job. Making a decent cup of tea felt like a test. But slowly, I began to find my place.
It was everything I’d imagined and more. Growing up in North London with five siblings, a full house was a given. Books and magazines were my escape hatch. I’d fill pages of my Pepto-pink diary with stories.
“Close bonds with other interns began to erode the feeling that I didn’t belong because I wasn’t white, middle-class or privately educated.”
As the internship weeks passed, I formed close bonds with the other interns. We’d talk about our weekends while wrapping Prada in tissue paper or hunting for lost samples. There was a lot of comfort in our shared inexperience.
It also began to erode the feeling that I didn’t belong because I wasn’t white, middle-class or privately educated. There were few dark-skinned Black women or brown women starting out alongside me, and when we crossed paths at fashion week presentations or dinners, we gravitated towards each other. It was calming to look across a room and see someone who looked like me.
I found a wider community, too – peers starting out as fashion assistants. We’d WhatsApp if we didn’t have a PR contact or needed help sourcing a dainty bra from a Gucci look. We’d sit together during early shifts blasting out look requests. It made the industry feel less isolating. Even if our paths would diverge, that shared starting point mattered.
Eni and her team at the ELLE Style Awards
Donna and the now Editor-in-Chief of ELLE Kenya Hunt became mentors. They taught me to tackle imposter syndrome head-on: ask for help, admit what you don’t know. Telling Kenya I’d never transcribed an interview – let alone one with Maria Grazia Chiuri after her Dior appointment – was terrifying. Full disclosure: I didn’t even know what “transcribing” meant at the time. But my first attempt didn’t have to be perfect. Over time, I sharpened the skill. Admitting I was struggling wasn’t shameful. It was how I learned.
After ELLE, I became Editorial Assistant at Vogue Global. It might look seamless on paper, but I worked flat-out. I networked, built relationships, kept up with fashion news. I was ambitious. There’s always luck involved, sure, but talent and hard work played a huge part, I’d like to think – until imposter syndrome starts nipping at my heels again.
Swiping my Vogue Global pass at the iconic revolving door of Vogue House had never featured in my fantasies – partly because I wasn’t sure I was Condé Nast’s “type”. But I soared there. My mentors created a nurturing space where I could figure out the kind of writer I wanted to be.
During lockdown, I worked on an article about comparison culture and the internet slowly rotting our brains. It was a beast to write. It meant exposing my own social media habits and insecurities, weaving together multiple voices, making it coherent and relatable. Finishing something that vulnerable and that hard felt euphoric. It was a real career breakthrough for me.
Still, even when you “arrive”, imposter syndrome might still resurface. In 2020, when it was hammered home that Black lives weren’t seen as enough, important or visible, I ruminated on my place in the industry. How could I use my voice better? How could I quiet the whisper insisting it was all luck? Writing about the mental load of the world’s performative humanisation of Black bodies became a form of solace – for me, and hopefully others.
Joining The Face as Senior Fashion Features Editor was another curveball. Was I expert enough? Well-read enough? Cool enough? Working at a small, tight-knit independent title felt different. But it’s ended up being where I’ve felt most at home (and most out of my comfort zone).
I’ve experienced growing pains like never before. Some weeks I’ve questioned my work constantly, seeking reassurance from fellow writers. In the same breath, I’ve been asked to host fashion industry Q&As with leaders I admire – always slightly bricking it. This can feel like whiplash. Would they still offer these opportunities if they knew I’d laboured over a short commission for more than a day, too scared to send it?
The biggest lesson I’ve learned at The Face is that persevering through fear – and sharing it with friends, mentors and family – has made me a better writer and listener. Moderating panels has made me more attentive. Edits aren’t the enemy. Admitting when something is harder than you expected isn't a weakness.
Saying yes when I’d rather hide, leaning into roles I’ve earned, aren’t acts of arrogance. They’re rooted in self-belief. I never thought anyone would read my work, let alone see my byline in print interview my heroes like Michaela Coel and Issa Rae.
"The biggest lesson I’ve learned at The Face is that persevering through fear – and sharing it with friends, mentors and family – has made me a better writer and listener."
I never imagined owning a print column speaking to fashion’s forward thinkers, interviewing creative directors, attending Paris Fashion Week multiple times, or watching a fashion show in Disneyland (as surreal as it sounds). Spearheading panels and hearing people relate to my late-night thoughts will never get old.
Imposter syndrome still sneaks up on me at random moments. But it also reminds me that I care. And that I’m capable of more than the whisper in my head suggests.
Eni’s top five tips for interning at a magazine:
1. Don’t wait for the perfect contact – find a contact
It doesn’t have to be the Editor-in-Chief. It might be the fashion cupboard manager, the editorial assistant, the features coordinator. Be resourceful. Be polite. Keep it concise.
2. Make your email feel human, not desperate
Editors can smell copy-and-paste a mile off. Mention something specific about the publication. Reference a recent feature, a shoot, a columnist you love. Show that you read the magazine, not just want the name on your CV. Keep it short. Clear subject line. No life story.
3. Know your stuff before you walk in
When I started, I made sure I was across the latest fashion news, campaigns, appointments, trends. You don’t need to pretend you’re an expert, but you should understand the world you’re stepping into. If it’s a culture title, know the cultural conversation. If it’s fashion, know the season.
4. Ask for help – it’s not embarrassing
People respect honesty and willingness to learn far more than silent panic. Internships are for learning. You’re not supposed to arrive fully formed.
5. Build your peer community
The other interns and assistants are your future network. Share contacts. Swap advice. Sit together on early shifts. The industry can feel intimidating, especially if you don’t see yourself reflected in it. Finding your people makes it feel navigable — and those relationships often last far beyond the internship.