Shira Hirschman Weiss: Beyond the Pale
Huffington Post - about 4 years
In a time before Tanning Mom, "tanorexia," obsessive SPF application and the over-saturation of self-tanners on the beauty market, I was a naïve intern at a major television station. It was the summer following my senior year in high school and the dawn of a new decade, the 1990s. My supervisor, Eric*, was a good 20 years my senior, auburn haired, tall, broad shouldered, jovial and seemingly powerful (though today, I cannot recall his actual job position). Eric walked me through the various accounting procedures that I would conduct in a monotonous daily fashion. He also made it a point to walk me through the halls where we occasionally met friendly, quasi-celebs like Maury Povich, who informed me his Hebrew name is "Moishe," as well as popular athletes of the day.
Feeling obligated to take a sheltered all-girls high school grad under his wing, Eric told me what type of hairstyles and makeup men preferred, as well as how much leg I should be showing (blatantly, more than
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