|"ahhh, Louboutin, how I love thee"|
Some people might think I’m shallow*, they may call me superficial, they might think my interests are flippant, silly and unimportant. But hey, at least I’m loyal to my cause, consistent in my views and easy to please when gifts are required? Put a designer name on it, put high-end store vouchers in my card, make it twinkly and expensive and I’ll be truly excited and grateful about it. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. I reckon that’s the only reason Nick married me – he knew birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries and Valentine’s Day** would be reasonably stress-free so long as he threw enough money at them.
I read fashion and beauty magazines, not current affairs ones (sorry Diana, but at least they’re not gossip ones). I lust after shoes, handbags and jewellery not letters after my name. I seek out conversations on makeup and skincare rather than political issues. I get excited about meeting people that can pass on a staff discount at Selfridges and MAC, rather than grant me access to the upper echelons of my company for a promotion.
And I have NEVER been ashamed of that. Ever. Those are my interests. I have knowledge and experience of, can talk authoritatively on most things related to and a genuine passion for all areas of fashion and beauty.
Today, however, I reached new heights, or in fact new lows, and I feel a little sheepish about it!
This morning, whilst eating my breakfast (kiddie cereal – another thing I’m not ashamed to admit I love) in my pyjamas (cute penguin print ones from Primark, so proud) on the sofa (when I should have been doing household chores, naughty). I should have been experiencing all kinds of shame. But I was quite content. Until I discovered the programme Love/Lust on Sky Atlantic HD.
Normally I would have been catching up on something trashy like X Factor, Strictly, TOWIE (see, no shame here, I’m totes blush-free), but this morning I had nothing to watch as I’d watched it all last night. So I spent some time flicking through the channels looking for something suitable to veg in front of. Now that I’m nearly 30, I mean something like Something For The Weekend rather than the Hollyoaks Omnibus, but not quite as grown up as that thing on BBC1 where they talk about politics and religion.
So anyway, I found this programme on Sky Atlantic that was looking at the history and social story of the bikini. So I watched it for a while. There was a question in my A Level General Studies paper about the history of the bikini, so, you know, it’s not too low-brow. Maybe…
I flicked through the listings in the ad break and there were two more in the run. One on shoes, and one on makeup.
I love both of these things more than I love bikinis. Obvs. So that’s me sorted for the morning: Rice Crispies, Primark Penguin Pyjamas, a kitchen full of washing up and three hours of “documentary-style” telly whereby an overly-dramatic, male, American voice makes bold statements about the obvious (“the high heel started as a unisex shoe in Europe” GASP! “the bikini was once socially taboo” NO WAY? “at the beginning of the century makeup created a generation gap between mothers and daughters” OH MY DAYS), looking at the history of the bikini, the high heel and makeup.
And then I thought about what I’d tell my parents/colleagues/anyone when they asked what I got up to at the weekend and I thought that perhaps I should lie. And buy a copy of the Economist en route to work.
I really think I’ve reached new depths in my shallow-ness, and so what better way to hide it than to write about it on my blog.
Feel free to judge me.
* Mainly my family!
**although apparently there was some hidden clause in my marriage vows that says we now no longer celebrate Valentine’s Day or any anniversary other than our wedding day. Hmph.