I sent ZRT a letter, and soon, we received an answer that indeed, we were welcome to visit her in her office and make a presentation. There were five of us who went there, including my boss Catherine Ching; the editor of Power Play. Jimbo Gulle; and our advertising director, Janet Manarang. They were all in their best outfits while I was in my usual collarless t-shirt, smug and confident that my imagined talent sufficiently spoke for my credentials. Those were the days when I hated dressing up like many other journalists and writers, although I failed to realize that ours was a glossy magazine and I had to project a "prosperous and stylish" image. I didn't care about stylish grooming, not even when I worked briefly with the glossy mag that purports, and rightly so, to be the spirit of high society, much to the consternation of our editor-in-chief Anton San Diego who, out of dismay, once covered his nose while we were together in the car because my long-sleeved shirt reeked of naphthalene balls (to be properly dressed, I rummaged through my baul of hand-me-ups and hand-me-downs from my fashion-conscious relatives, who gave me their discards from 10 seasons ago).