I think I have been living in a little bubble – ok fine larger than normal sized bubble. One that has sheltered me from this phantom 'real world' and all it's...realness. The reason I haven't blogged in such a long time is because my beautiful little bubble has been burst, BIG TIME. This is not necessarily a bad thing, I just thought when I would finally enter the big bad real world I would have my shit together maybe a little more (a lot more) than I actually do. When I think back to what I wanted to achieve by the time I was 24 (speaking from my 9 year old self) I can't say I have crossed much off the list.
When I was 9, 24 seemed a very long time away and people that were 24 were OLD. Like really old. I had envisaged being a hugely successful 'something' (poignant, I know.) I hadn’t decided which of the conventional Asian routes to follow yet doctor/lawyer/dentist the possibilities were endless. Air hostess was ruled out when I realised rolling down the aisle wasn't an option. But anyway by 24 life would have completed sorted itself out: I wouldn’t be far off marriage, I would have a great job, being living in London and going to the Natural History Museum every weekend (my 9 year old self anticipated I would still be really into dinosaurs). How wrong I was.
From that list – I have ticked one box. One. But that’s ok because I’m only 24 right?! And living in London is definitely the only attainable thing on that list.
I have protested for quite some time that I am not made for the working world, but I may just have found the industry that suits me. We don't officially start until 10am, which means I don't have to get up until 8am, macaroons/cakes/treats are sent to the office daily, I get to play with clothes and shoes and bags that I can't ever afford.
After a couple of weeks I was asked to interview Rosie Huntington-Whitely. I think maybe ELLE were under the impression that I had actually interviewed someone before. I hadn't. I mean my cross examination as to who had the last chocolate hobnob is pretty impressive but a real life interview with a real life supermodel was terrifying. I accepted the challenge and proceeded to call Geeta and squeal down the phone that I was doing an interview, Baz was less impressed he asked why I couldn’t interview Jason Statham instead – because he wanted some fitness tips…
The day came and I put on my best black on black on black chic outfit. Baring in mind it was July this was already a huge fail. Sweaty to meet the glowing goddess was less than ideal. So I arrived 20 minutes before my allocated time like a keeno and was offered some Prosecco (told you the Champers was a lie), I refused thinking keep a straight head and straight face and I might be able to say some words in the correct order. Howeevvvvverrrr. The guy who was serving the Prosecco was really, really hot so I was swayed. We got chatting and it turns out he owned his own cookie company at which point I had convinced myself I had definitely met my soul mate. Obviously realising that I was visibly shaking and taking pity on the only non sample size girl in the room he ditched the tray and whizzed me round the side of the room to neck a large glass of fake champagne with me - he was quite literally the dream. Newly found strength in alcohol I let my mind wander to the best and worst case scenarios from this interview:
Worst case: I forget how to speak or I forget to press record on my dictaphone, or she refuses to speak to me or I ask her about Jason Statham and why she pouts so much in Transformers – ‘is there really time for pouting and lip gloss when the world is on the brink of destruction?’
Best case: We became bessies and then I flew all around the world with her drinking Champagne and partying and become the new Hilton/Richie combo, but with less convictions and sex tapes. Through this now budding friendship she would introduce me Olivier Rousteing – he would dress me in Balmain. I would be his new muse, replacing Kimmy K. Who then realizes she needs to befriend me and boom I’m a Kardashian.
Before anymore Kardashian dreaming was allowed, time was up. So I finally met her, and she was absolutely lovely. I remembered my questions, I remembered to turn on my voice recorder, I remembered to breathe - all was good. Then it came the photo time. Everyone in front of me had had their picture taken with her, but why would you do that?! Why would you stand yourself next to one of the most beautifully breathtaking women in the world?! Je ne comprends pas. So I picked up my phone ready just to get a shot of her for my article and then the PR jumped in, snatched the phone away and pretty much pushed me into her. Excellent.
So here it is... my face smiling so much I look like a smushball.
|Obvs this was instagrammed and facebooked instantly.|
Fatty BB xxx