If you thought my life as a fashion journalist was super hard, then, well you’d be right. Aside from daily beauty parcels delivered straight to my desk from the fairies at Lush, Bobbi Brown and St Tropez to name a few, I also get to swan around brand new high street fashion stores before they open.
Last night was, well, it was a night. A night of many wonders. Now, there are many things worse in the world than having an entire four floor Primark store (untouched by the messy public of course) at your beck and call. I’m talking champagne on tap, £100 gift vouchers, canapes and approximately four shop attendants to every one member of press. For everyone out there, yes, drinking champs whilst in an empty fitting room is as totally increds as it sounds, and yes, paying at the till with another glass tottering in your hand does make you feel ever so gloaty and fabulous.
I’m enjoying gloating, because let’s be honest, my job is one of those things that makes me sound horrendously lucky and privileged and above everyone else, even when deep down it’s not like that. Whilst everyone else can post revolting couple photos and collages, and photos of their flash holidays in exotic places, and show off their hot bikini bod in teeny tiny bodycon dresses, I can rest assured that my job allows me a level of pretentiousness.
If we’re all being honest, if it not for my beloved job at LOOK I might not have achieved my lifelong dream of being Facebook stackable. I’ve learnt how to wear make-up, how to do my hair, and how to dress, but it’s the glamour that people think surround my job that really makes me look quite cool.
I won’t try and change that perception – what I do is tremendously cool, and to prove it, here’s a few snaps of my pretty little Primark buys. That I totally didn’t pay for.