The Vanity Fair Notebook

I had a podcast, a boutique, and absolutely no business being here.

On April Fool's Day 2026, a luxury fashion insider walks into the administrative office of a residential care home in Niort with a crimson Vanity Fair notebook and a six-week internship to survive. She has spent fifteen years reading rooms in showrooms and PR agencies. Nothing has prepared her for a waiting list of four hundred names, some of them three years dead. Or for karaoke erupting next to her desk mid-phone call. Or for the colleague everyone calls Dior, the supervisor who does three jobs for one salary, and the self-appointed hall monitor she privately christens La Mère Ténardier.

Told through the pages of the notebook itself — sharp, funny, switching languages whenever the truth needs cover — The Vanity Fair Notebook is a short autofiction about what happens when a woman who has built her life on being seen spends six weeks among the people nobody photographs. Croque-monsieur week. Loto with the Bees. A princess card and a bouquet on the last day.

The work nobody photographs is still work. The people nobody writes about are still people. And sometimes too much administration kills the administration.