London


One of the most ‘high powered/ important’ fashion journalists just came into the office today. He walked in as if he ruled the world, which I suppose according to him, and the rest of the fashion industry, he does .He had on jeans as tight as Karl Lagerfeld’s, an even tighter fuchsia tee (”its all about Fuchsia darling”) and funky Ray -Bans that he was wearing despite the typical grey and rainy London day and which he kept on for the entire appointment, that was held inside a showroom. He was fabulous. I would like to say I took the appointment, or showed him around the collection discussing key trends for the season and suggesting ‘must have’ pieces for his shoot, but who am I kidding – I followed him around holding the clothes, and picking up hangers as he selected his pieces while the head of the company, who had gotten dressed up, talked him through our latest garments. I was introduced, I’ll give them that much, but as an intern I did not get the air kisses- which I felt I deserved. He looks; my boss talks and I follow. Suddenly he turns to me and says in his ever so fabulous way ”poppet pop this on, I want to see”. So I took the top and started walking towards the door, to the bathroom , to ‘pop’ the top on, but he says with utter disgust and surprise, ”no, no, no poppet just do it here, quick quick, pop it on” . So right there I had to ‘pop’ my top off and ‘pop’ his top on, while sucking in as much as I could, thanking my lucky stars I was wearing a gorgeous bra and hoping like hell that nothing ‘popped’ out!

As an intern at a fashion house I have had my fair share of ‘firsts’, and ‘lasts’ for that matter and I am always over hearing interesting coversations about love, fashion, men, women, diets, clothes and everything in between. The latest conversation was about dieting, which I suppose isn’t a surprise since in an office of over neurotic fashion industry women a discussion on dieting happens as regularly as cigarette and coffee breaks or trying on each other’s shoes.

Listening to these women at work talk, apparently the ‘new’ diet is ‘THE COMPETITIVE DIET’. You find someone, for example your sister, and you see who can lose more weight , Quicker. Its quite simple, there are no rules and no limits to the extremes one can resort toone woman has starting smoking ‘Id rather live thin than die fat’ is her explantion . Another is only eating Miso soup for two weeks. Then you agree on a reward, for example (as in my boss’s case) a weekend at a spa resort and the loser pays! Many woman resort to this, not only because ‘really everyone is doing it’ but also because ‘it is the best way to loose weight, and if you the winning type (which apparently my boss is) you are guaranteed to look better than you relative at Christmas, which, lets admit, is better than any reward or Christmas present’.

I thought about this concept, thinking perhaps a partner in dieting, like a partner in crime, may be a good option, but I think of my sister as a ‘wingman’ who would spur me on or share the chocolate in the middle of the night binge… not as my enemy. I suppose it ultimately comes down to the fact that this sort of diet, or in fact (who am I kidding) any diet, would never work for girls who collectively call themselves ‘koeksisters’.
Heavens now I am hungry!