Monday, 6 April 2015


I have become that person that has dedicated their life to a box set. I count down the hours at work not because I am bored or because I don't want to be there, but because it is eating in my time that could be spent watching Scandal: agonising over the aching love story between Olivia and Fitz, lusting over her array of Prada bags and most importantly taking note on how to become the next Directory of CIA, President's Chief of Staff or a crisis fixer. My lack of Green Card is the only hinderance I can think of for any of these positions.

I blame Annie for all the above. This is her revenge for Gossip Girl, I'm convinced...or I could be so sucked into Scandal I am now coming up with my own conspiracy theories. I have even started talking like Olivia, I command people to do things in a fast paced kind of way and then end it with either 'handle it' or 'it's handled'. And right this very minute I have just been added to this whatsapp group...(honestly this was not planned)

The Scandal struggle is real. 

But I have decided, having watched 2 season in under 2 weeks, I need to step away from Congress and the Constitution of the United States, maybe focus on a real life election or even better, make this Bank Holiday slightly productive by writing this.

Aside from the obvious addiction the reason I have not written in so long is that once again the fashion world has taken over my life. I'm sensing that this take over doesn't ever really end. It was Fashion week - which is actually 4 weeks, in 4 different cities. Each one needs organising and each one there is a different set of people that needs organising and because fashion is a cruel mistress they very kindly leave 12 hours in between each city.

I become a monster during this time. I wake up in cold sweats in the middle of the night thinking 'shit, shit shit did I organise that meeting? Did I book that car? Did I request that ticket?' I am that wanker on the tube in the morning that despite how full it is and that someone's nose might very well be  touching mine, I will still be talking on the phone. I walk into people down Carnnaby Street because I can't peel my eyes away from my emails. I live off Popcorn, Popchips and anything else pretending to be low carb but when you consume entire boxes, which I inevitably do, it just becomes mass carbs. There is no time to think about what to wear so every day is a funeral procession of all black (also good for hiding the stains of the porridge I have dribbled down myself when trying to eat my breakfast on the move).

But this time it wasn't only London Fashion Week that was on the brain, it was also the ELLE Style Awards. The closing party to London Fashion Week and also the night before half the team were due to fly to Milan for the next leg of shows. No pressure. The question on everyone's lips during fashion week wasn't 'What shows are you seeing?' 'Did you get a Burberry ticket?' 'Have you spotted Anna yet?' No. It was 'What are you wearing to the Style Awards?' As previously discussed when it comes to dressing for awards ceremonies I do not do well. I didn't have the head space to think about what I was wearing until the night before the party. So whilst everyone else had called in a killer dress, I was once again left with the dilemma of which ASOS dress has not seen the light of day in a while.

The day of the Style Awards came and it was a military operation of hair, make up, nails, outfit change for all of the team as we all had a job to do -  mine was chief instagrammer. So to my absolute delight I was to be positioned on the red carpet to snap the night away - the dream. What was even more dreamy was when I found out who was coming - Taylor Swift, Rebel Wilson, Jennifer Saunders, Sam Smith the list went on. So instead of focussing on shows my mind shifted to solving the more imminent problem of how was I going to make them all have selfies with me?

And Rebel was at the top of the list. Ever since Fat Amy burst onto my screen and Pitch Perfect and became a staple Friday night viewing I wanted to meet her. But if I ever did what would I say? What would I do? Play it cool and pretend like it wasn't a big deal? Or completely fan girl out -  hyperventilate and profess my undying love for mermaid dancing and horizontal running.

My moment came. I could hear the paparazzi next to me shouting her name and my colleague Emma who was interviewing her was mouthing 'breathe' to me before I 100% lost my shit. She came over and I froze, I couldn't move,  I couldn't say anything I was completely star struck. Then Emma - the wonder woman that she is - seeing that I might pass out, turned to Rebel and said 'Would you like to meet Billie she's a big fan'. My muted bubble was burst and I introduced myself, we exchanged compliments on our dresses and then she asked me...'Do you want to get a photo?'

I was bounding off the walls so much so I didn't even notice the brownies everyone was handing around (I made up for that later). I was jut shoving my phone in anyone's face that would look. My night was made even better when I was told that (after some hardcore grovelling) I was allowed to go on set for the cover shoot with Rebel the next day. If you haven't seen the should pay more attention to my instagram game.

I arrived just in time for lunch (obvs) and when I opened the door Rebel was stood on the other side of the studio and she waved at me. SHE WAVED AT ME. SHE REMEMBERED ME. I didn't get too involved on the shoot, I was too busy eyeing up the pavlova. I strategically sat myself down where the only obvious place for Rebel to sit was next to me. We talked over lunch like gal pals. We chatted about her house that she's building, what she has been doing in London and most importantly about how after meeting Jennifer Saunders at the Style Awards they are going to do a film together, and in the end we both agreed I would be part of this venture too.

When I finally read the cover interview in this month's mag (total plug, go buy it now) my love for Rebel was cemented. She is brilliant. Clever, witty, funny and her siblings are called Riot, Liberty and Annarchi - enough said. What I did learn from her is this: her size is not a hinderance to her, nor is it even an issue, because right now she is the best at her game and the way she looks has absolutely nothing to do with it. She has inspired me to #BeMoreRebel, to maybe step away from the box sets for a while and basically...crush it. I won't become the President by sitting on my arse.

Here's to you, Rebel.

Fatty BB xxx

1 comment: