27 December 2014

The predictable 2014 round-up

I hope everyone has had a very Merry Christmas, full of mince pies, bubbles and merriment.

22 December 2014

16 December 2014

It's beginning to look a lot like broke-mas


The one thing that actually makes me feel quite sad this year is that I'm not buying anyone Christmas presents.

6 December 2014

Victoria's Secret Angels: the backlash, the bodies and the hypocrisy

Unless you've been shying away from online and print media this week, there's a chance that you've seen an article (or two... or twenty) on the Victoria's Secret show.

1 December 2014

Life as a beauty intern: the debrief

My month as a beauty intern at Marie Claire is over. So, that happened.

23 November 2014

So, you want to work in media?

Now, I know this post won't seem very legit, since at present I don't have a permanent job in the media. Let's gloss over that... But what I do have is almost one and a half year's worth of experience job searching, so I like to think I know what's what, especially when it comes to the job hunt.

11 October 2014

Why it can't ever be as simple as "F**k you"

I'm absolutely fuming. As in, I don't remember the last time I've been this angry.

6 October 2014

Broke girl tricks of the trade

In my 6th week of living below what is classified as "living wage" in what has recently been announced as the most expensive city IN THE WORLD (interning + London = pain), I have learned a few budget busters; my broke girl tricks of the trade, if you will.

26 September 2014


Having finished the fourth week of my internship, I'm feeling quite positive.

17 September 2014

It's a bittersweet symphony, this life

I've been doing a lot of thinking. Dangerous, I know, but I've had a lot of time.

29 August 2014

Nepotism is the new black

This post might be a little controversial, so I apologise if I step on anyone's toes or seem to make generalisations (which if I do, is/are completely unintentional).

20 August 2014

The Sick-Bed Edit

Now, you might scoff at this, but I have a fear of getting ill.

16 July 2014

Smile like you mean it

I'm writing this from my balcony. I don't think that phrase will ever get old (or make me sound NOT like a dickish person, but hey).

16 June 2014

There ain't no rest for the wicked

honestly can't believe it's been almost a month since I last blogged - I well and truly fell off the blogosphere, didn't I?

Life is moving pretty fast at the moment. It's quite scary and kind of sad, in a way. There have been lots of stressful times, but that's only made the chilled parts seem all the more wonderful... But there hasn't been enough time to sit and absorb these *moments* (if that makes any sense at all!)

I'm know I'm not the only one who adores the summer, but I really do bloody love it. When the sun's out I feel a lot more free and willing to get out and savour the weather. Lighter, longer days are a blessing, especially when you're in full-time work - there's nothing quite like spending a well-deserved Friday evening in a pub garden with friends, drinking pimms and enjoying the balmy weather. Nothing seems as rushed and everything seems a little easier.

There have been some big changes in my life, this month. Last week marked the end of my time at The Body Shop, where I'd worked for nearly a year in the UK PR team. It was my first proper, lengthy insight into the world of PR, and although I often found myself in difficult, overwhelming situations (99.9% of the time because of my mistakes, admittedly), I was so sad to leave all the amazing people I met and consider really good friends of mine. It was only today that it struck me just how much time you spend with your work colleagues - more time than anyone else - and how important they are in shaping your experience of work. The great thing about TBS is that even though my colleagues were all in different teams, we were always there to help each other out.

I went home for Father's Day the following day, which was definitely needed. I went sailing for the first time and even though I spent most of the time screaming "It's going to capsize!" and "Am I meant to be Port or Starboard?!", it was a good laugh, and pushed me out of my comfort zone.

I find that now that I live closer to home, I go home a fair bit. It's not because I don't like London as much as York (when I studied in York I'd only go home every few months) but I find that in London you can easily lose your head, and it's often difficult to stay grounded. I'm constantly surrounded by excess, luxury, and things I want, but can't afford. When you're here, you feel like you can have them, should have them, because everyone else seems to be living a (reasonably) lavish life. I don't know - it was easier to be sensible in York because I wasn't surrounded by possibilities and temptations, whereas here it's easy to trick yourself that you belong in a world that isn't sustainable on a modest salary. Getting out of the city gives my head a more-than-welcome break.

But back to reality. Today was my first day of my new (permanent) role at a PR agency. It hasn't really sunk in that this is my life now - that as long as I don't really screw up and I pass my probation - that I'm in a role where I can learn and progress and become involved. It's amazing! When I woke up today I wasn't even nervous because I had no idea what to expect, so didn't know what to be nervous about... After my first day I can tell that I have lots and lots to learn, but so far everyone has been lovely, smiley and welcoming, and I'm pretty happy.

And once I'm settled with my job, in a few weeks I'm moving from my beloved West Hampstead to - gasp - south of the river. As much as I adore where I live, and hope to end up somewhere as nice as NW6 in the future, my money doesn't stretch far enough for what I want. The house (yes, I'm moving from a flat to a HOUSE) will be newly refurbished and I have a balcony (my mother is already trying to convince me to buy tomato plants and the like for it... It's not even that big) and I'm really quite excited to have a view out of my window that isn't the local esso garage.

So... That's me! For those who are interested, here are a few awful quality photos that capture my life over the last month. 

                         Loving life at Kensington Roof Gardens

            Pancakes at Sofra, St Christopher's Place

I just really liked this poem.
                       Goodbye card from my Director, hand-made by his wife.
                         Leaving drinks!

                           Lunch in the sun with some of my beautiful (ex) colleagues (sob!)

                       Leaving gifts. Very excited to put my a Selfridges voucher to good use!
            Hangover brunch. Will I ever choose something except Eggs Royale? To be continued...
                                        Happy to be alive (and relatively dry) after sailing.

Until next time :)

For more (if rather inane) updates on my life, follow me on twitter @sofie 

19 May 2014

"I got 99 problems but you won't be one of them" and Paris, je t'aime

Hold the phone! Contrary to my nagging doubts that I'd remain unemployed forever, I've somehow managed to secure a job. And not just any job - a job in beauty PR, of all things. Thank sweet baby Jesus and all those people who supported me, encouraged me to keep applying and reassured me that I wasn't a loser reject every time I was rejected (which was a lot, both the reassurance and the rejections). Phew. It means I can stay in London and buy myself a few more bottles of wine than I can afford now... At least calling off the job search is one less problem to deal with.

The news couldn't have come at a better time, as the following day I had my city break to Paris with a close university friend. God, I loved Paris. Even in the wind, rain and cold, the city was outstandingly beautiful. I'm a lover of admiring beautiful things, which might sound a bit weird, but when I see something that I find aesthetically pleasing, it makes me giddily happy. And that's how I felt, wandering down the Seine and exploring Monmartre and staring up, absolutely gobsmacked, at the Sacre Coeur.

After blitzing all the typical touristy attractions - you name it, we probably did it - we were both ridiculously excited to experience a Parisian caberet. So many people, including my parents, had recommended we go. They are pretty pricey, but we managed to get tickets for €42.50 due to the fact we're under 26, and that included seats at the bar and a glass of champagne during the show (the barmen gave us a second, I think they felt sorry for us!) and it was SO SO WORTH IT. Oh my word.

Before I went I was a little apprehensive. The show we were going to - The Crazy Horse - had been reviewed as especially risqué, with loads of emphasis on how little the women wore. I was worried I'd go and feel a bit uncomfortable, thinking the girls were forced to dress in that way for money rather than out of choice. We were seeing a live porno - albeit classed up for public consumption - after all. Right?

Wrong. These girls were amazing. Uh-maze-ing. Watching them was so liberating and brilliant, and my friend and I often found ourselves turning to each other and saying "Oh my god, they are so cool!"

The show was split into different sketches and dance routines, some more serious than others. Some incorporated the entire cast, and some girls had a "solo". Most sketches were absolutely barmy. There was a reoccurring sketch with a French maid who kept getting more and more drunk, hiccuping and tickling the audience with her feather duster. There was also a weird UFO scene where two girls ended up kissing (the sensuality was lost on us, I'm afraid). At first we thought, oh my god, what on earth have we stumbled into?! But as the show went on, we just got more and more into it. 

The fact the girls were topless (and often sans-knickers, with only tape covering their modesty) was empowering, not demeaning. They absolutely owned their bodies and everything they did was classy, elegant, and sexy as anything. It was also apparent that the girls loved what they did, and loved the reaction they received from the audience. The girls weren't to be sympathised with (as I ignorantly believed beforehand) but admired. I mean, Jesus, there was no hiding their bodies. No spanx, no push-up bras... Just kick-ass wigs and staggeringly high heels. Who wouldn't want to be that body confident? 

In the context of Paris, it was perfect. I just don't think England could carry off caberet in quite the same way... We somehow manage to make everything sleazy here. Such a shame.

I also strongly recommend doing AirBnB if you go to Paris. Staying just down the road from the Sacre Coeur was fantastic, and it was so nice to have an apartment to come back to for some recuperative cheese, cake and red wine after a hard day trekking up and down in the Metro (can someone please explain why there are so many STAIRS in Paris? They almost killed me). If we'd had a hotel room, we would have felt more obliged to be on the go 24/7, but an apartment meant we could dock the iPod, blast some tunes and potter around tea and coffee as if we were Monmartre locals (I wish).


Coming back from Paris was a bit of reality check, and I've realised how much I missed being around friends. I've gotten used to being by myself a lot, but that doesn't necessarily mean I enjoy it, or that it's a good thing. So I'm making more of an effort to see them, even if sometimes I find it difficult. And recently they have been especially important. I'm pretty lucky to have the friends I do, to be honest. But what's also come out of it is that I want to live in a more sociable place, or possibly with friends - so the flat search is back on!

à bientôt :)

2 May 2014

"I want you to want me" or, a fun little analogy

Trying to secure a job post-internship is currently the bane of my existence. I've lost count of the amount of times people have given me their words of wisdom/consolation...

"It's their loss, Sofie! They don't know what they're missing"
"It wasn't meant to be"
"Something will come around, just you wait!"
"Don't lose faith, keep going"


The whole business is demoralising, to say the least. I'm starting to think it was a crazy stoke of luck that I even managed to get onto my internship.

I feel like I've done everything "the man" has told me to do. I worked hard at school, got good GCSEs, A Levels, went to a decent university, did an academic subject, got a good degree... And now I'm getting experience. But it's still not enough.

And then when I was talking to my friend a few nights ago about how exhausting it is, the whole process of searching and applying for jobs, I realised something: applying for jobs is rather hilariously similar to dating.

Lost? Humour me.

Okay, so the responses I receive from job rejections, as shown above? They sounds scarily similar to the kind of responses you'd give a friend if they'd just been dumped or ended things with someone they'd been seeing.

But let's start from the beginning (the best place to start, I find). The job search. You ask yourself what you want, the kind of things you'd like in a job, what you want from it, and what you're willing to compromise. And once that is established, you start searching.

And then you realise this "search" is actually quite tricky because often the roles that seem too good to be true, are too good to be true. Pretty exterior, great benefits, a title you'd enjoy throwing around and boasting about to your friends at the pub. But then you realise you're not compatible. You don't fulfil their criteria, or maybe the other way around.

Or, you find the perfect job. Brilliant! So you apply, telling the company all about you - your experience, your background, what you can offer them, how you enjoy spending your time. And it's exhausting, but you hope he outcome will be worth it. Then you click "Send application", and sit tight. But then the agony begins. When did they say they'd respond again? Did they say they'd call, or email? Am I being paranoid? Why are my palms sweating? Refreshing my emails and checking my phone every two minutes is totally normal, right?


Then comes the interview. The nerves kick in, and you have to reiterate everything you said on your application, but this time, you have to jazz it up and hope that you're voice isn't monotonous and you don't say anything that could mess up your chances. You smile at the right moments, attempt to make a light-hearted joke (if the situation allows for it)... And the manner in which you part is everything. Everything. Did they like you? Did they sound sincere when they said they'd be in touch? Was that a "see you later" or "see you soon" and what the heck is the difference? Please don't say I had food in my teeth/coffee breath...

God forbid there are two interviews involved. You just want to cut the small-talk and get to the point, for goodness sake. You've given time, effort, maybe a few tears, stalked the hell out of them, and quite frankly, you're exhausted. The question is - do you want me? Or do I have to put this down to experience?

And brave yourself for the rejection. The rejections that, unfortunately, come at you (me) thick and fast. Sometimes I don't even make it past first base (ooer), and even when I do, I'm constantly on edge. But it's the rejections that knock you back, dent your ego and confidence. "What's wrong with meeee?" I wail to anyone who's willing to give me sympathy, "What if no one wants me, and I end up with nothing?" 

Because it's bloody hard, this whole application business. It's not like you can send your CV and expect a million job offers to come your way. Sometimes, if not always, you have to tailor a cover letter to the company and/or role. And sometimes you have to make your CV more appropriate. The forms, if they have application forms, make me want to face palm repeatedly, and all I want to do is send them a YouTube link of that song at the end of "10 Things I Hate About You" with the lyrics that go along the lines of "I want you to want me, I need to to need me..." And of course they'd find that so witty and not at all desperate, they'd hire me on the spot. 


Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my job application-dating analogy, and I hope you all have a lovely bank holiday weekend. If like me, it will consist of yet more job applications, you have my strongest sympathies.

26 March 2014

"I'm just a f***ed up girl who's looking for her own peace of mind"


Hi, my name's Sofie, and I suffer with anxiety.

This post, essentially, has been 12 years in the making, because I've lived for 12 years with mental health difficulties. And quite frankly, it's been shit.

Writing (and sharing) this post has been and is very terrifying, as a lot of people aren't aware that this aspect of me exists... Which is understandable, as I don't like to shout about it. "But why write about it?" you may be thinking. Well, rest assured it's not for attention or sympathy (neither of which I need). It's because I'm aware there's still a stigma surrounding mental health, and it's a stigma I despise. I also want to make people aware that anyone could be suffering with mental health difficulties, and there's not a "type" of person that can suffer with them. 

People are aware that sometimes I'm smiley and happy and upbeat, but they are aware that equally I have days where I am very, very down. I'm useless at hiding my emotions - I'm a heart-on-my-sleeve kinda girl - but I'm sure they'd never assume it was anything serious. For me, this post is more about working through my feelings, and I hope that no one judges me too much. Maybe even people will relate, which would be fantastic.

A lot of the time, I like myself. I do. Despite the fact I may not conform to society's expectations of "beauty", I know I'm not ugly. I'm also thoughtful, caring, empathetic and sometimes funny.

But sometimes... Sometimes I hate myself. I hate my mind. I hate it so much I want to scream and cry in frustration and not be myself anymore. I just want to remove my brain and pretend I don't exist. Because sometimes it's really, really difficult to stop feeling like my mind is suffocating me; feeling like it's against me and not letting me be "normal".

I want to be my best self, without my worst self. I want freedom from the bad parts. But I can't get it.

Recently, things have been bad. For the last few years I've been able to coast by without many problems, mental health wise. But life has caught up with me and been like, "Hey, remember this bit of your mind? The bit you've been ignoring? Well, it's back with a vengeance, and it's here to stay unless you sort it out."

So that's what I need to do. Instead of running away and consequently compromising my happiness, I need to confront my anxiety, learn how to deal with it and, ultimately, live with it. The simple fact is: no matter how much I may scare myself, frustrate myself, hate myself... I'm stuck with myself. There's no escape. Unless I choose to shut myself away and let my mind defeat me, which I refuse to do.

This is because, external to my current issues, my life isn't as bad as it could be. There is simply no point letting my issues define me, because I am so much more than being anxious.

I am a girl on a mission to not merely be okay, but to be happy. And somewhere along the way, I've lost a bit of perspective. It took a hiccup (or relapse) to realise how much easier things are when you're not feeling so rubbish. As clichéd as it sounds, you really don't know what you have until you realise what you could lose, if only you decided to just give up.

Okay, so let's take a step back. Fair enough, by London standards I am not paid too well. But you know what? I'm paid enough to rent somewhere half decent and live in one of the best cities in the world (although I may be slightly biased). I have a load of cultural, brilliant experience literally on my doorstep... Or at least a tube ride away. The only thing stopping me exploring is myself, and that's frankly an awful excuse. I have a fantastic support network of family and friends who I know (despite low moments where I think they don't care... even though they do) are there for me through thick and thin. I've also somehow managed to meet a nice guy. Who would have thought it?

This week I had the fantastic opportunity to go to the Teenage Cancer Trust comedy night at the Royal Albert Hall as a guest sponsor. It was easily one of my top London experiences so far. I laughed so much I could hardly breathe and actually felt in pain. My mouth was dry, and my stomach was permanently tensed... I can't remember the last time I laughed so much. It felt brilliant. It felt brilliant to be so removed from my reality and escape into the comedy world and reminded that even though life can be exhausting and painful, it can also be outstanding and hilarious. And then at the weekend I spent time with loved ones, and saw War Horse, and just generally had a lovely, lovely time.

So not only am I so much more than my anxiety... Life is so much more than my anxiety. Sometimes it's oh so easy to become tangled in your own issues that you manage to forget that life is happening. I don't want life to happen and pass me by because I'm too scared to face my demons. Facing them will be simply awful at times, I know, but I have to do it for myself. I hope that if anyone reading this can relate, that they are inspired to do the same and help themselves and not let their mind defeat them. Because as I said to a close friend at the weekend "Everyone has their own shit going on, don't they?", to which she replied "Yup". And that's life, and that's okay.



1 March 2014

"I'm happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time"

Oh, I do love a bit of Taylor Swift. I really do. Her ability to capture an age in such an accurate, catchy song... And the fact she's dated Harry Styles #dontjudgeme

In her song "22" the general message she puts forward is that it's okay to not have everything in life figured out by your early twenties. Which is great, y'know? I mean, if Taylor Swift hasn't got it figured out, of course it's okay for us mere mortals to be in the same boat.


But the one thing I can't shake as I sing along, is that I can't really compare myself to Taylor Swift. Taylor Swift is a talented (say what you like, but she's a multi-platinum artist. Call it success, call it talent, whatever), beautiful woman with legs up to *here*; girls want to be her, and guys secretly want to date her. Bless Tay-Tay - I know she tries, but she can never be down with the average 22 year old. Because she was never a typical 22 year old.


My first weeks as 22 have not been plain sailing. The day of my birthday I found out my brother had broken his arm skiing, my Mum had to leave work because she was ill, and my cat had found himself in the cone of shame again (don't ask). I was pretty shattered from Fashion Week (I'm not complaining - it was absolutely fantastic, just exhausting) and I woke up on my birthday feeling quite... Lonely.

My previous birthdays had been spent in the company of family pre-university, and in the company of friends during university. This was the first year I'd been without either, and as I opened my birthday presents and cards (with "22" on repeat, natch) I realised birthdays are nothing without the people you care about around you. N'aww. 

22 also brings an element of panic, as do most things in the life of a worrier like myself. A year older tends to mean another year wiser, but this year I find myself feeling more lost than ever.

I blame this on societal expectations of age. These expectations tend to extend to love, work, family and friends. Then, to top it off, the over-arching question: Are you happy? The expectations are that in life, you should gradually get closer to the ideals of being *in love*, satisfied at work, and retain close ties to family and friends.

With this in mind, here's how I currently stand on the above elements:

Love: If I want to pull, I can go to a club. The online dating world is slowly becoming more depressing and boring to me. Aren't cats great?

Work: I am doing a terrible job of balancing everything, which probably explains why I was a terrible waitress and barely managed two plates at a time, let alone 4. Job applications are going out, with rejections coming in thick and fast. Enthusiasm is being worn down as quickly as my prospects.

Family: Lovely, but unable to understand why I am single, worried that I will indeed become a mixture of crazy cat lady and Miss Havisham (although to stand a chance of being a latter there would have to have been a male involved in the first place). Also confused as to why I cannot secure a permanent job. I share their concerns.


Friends: Scattered around the capital, the country and as we speak, the world. Not ideal, but always on hand if I'm in need of comfort in the form of food or a few glasses (read: bottle) of wine.

Am I happy? Is a question that I really don't understand, as I'm starting to realise that people see happiness as a tick list (i.e. Expectations of what it means to be happy) when actually I find happiness in moments and gestures more than anything, anyway. So with that in mind, I can't really answer that one.

Amongst all this, I've realised that having to deal with the ups and downs of being 22 will be an absolute nightmare if I have to do it alone. But luckily I have some absolute star friends who will simply not allow me to a sad loner, wondering why I don't have more matches on "Tinder" and wallowing in the fact London's first cat cafe is fully-booked until the end of March (!!!).


So although Taylor Swift's life is a world away from mine, lines like "Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you" and "Tonight feels like one of those nights we ditch the whole scene" is a good reminder that even though we don't have it figured it out yet, we're not alone, and there's always dancing the night away to keep us sane.


19 January 2014

Can we please stop body shaming? Thanks.

Scrolling through Millie Mackintosh's Instagram comments makes me die a little inside.

At the time of writing, here is her latest image

(Courtesy of @camillamackintosh. I do not own this image. Please don't sue me, I'm poor)

This image, like so many of Millie's, sparked some pretty dire comments such as "Too skinny", "Too much salad, eat a pie" and my personal favourite (sarcasm, btw) "How did you manage to put on a few pounds in the hour? You look better for it".

Now, I'm guilty of this judgemental attitude, too. And I hate myself for it. I saw a girl on the tube the other day with a really prominent thigh gap. Not having a thigh gap myself, and having been conditioned by the media to think "thigh gap = underweight", I felt a little bit threatened by it. Yes, you read that right... I felt threatened by a few inches gap between this stranger's thighs (... Don't be vulgar, people). 

But when did it become okay, this judging? I can't describe how much I hate the covers of certain weeklies where they plaster "IS SHE PREGNANT, OR HAS SHE JUST EATEN A BURGER?"-type garbage all the time. And the hypocrisy of it all! At the beginning of January it was all about getting fit and shaming celebs who weren't a size 10, and now it's all about avoiding the gym and wearing baggier clothes to hide your wobbles. Neither are promoting a healthy attitude. Can we just stop?

In the last week Cosmo has been slammed for its #StopThighGap campaign, and a really eye-opening article has been written by one of my favourite online magazines Vagenda.

And Vagenda's response is here (I strongly recommend reading it): http://vagendamag.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/why-cosmos-wrong-about-thigh-gap.html

While Cosmo has taken it upon itself to try and convince us all that the quest for thigh gap is impossible for most people because it relies on the way you're built (very true), as Vagenda points out, this suggestion doesn't suddenly stop those who have eating issues have said eating issues. It takes more than saying "Starving yourself won't make you Cara Delevigne, so you can stop being mentally ill" which is an unfortunate nuance Cosmo has ignored. Oops.

It's all very sad really, isn't it? A rather pathetic statement, but it is. I feel bad for Millie that people shame her for acting as a pro-Ana role model. When she learnt this she was utterly horrified (understandably). What people forget about celebrities is that they are people, too... Just people who are able to obtain amazing figures through hardcore personal trainers and bespoke eating plans, which the vast majority don't have access to. I'm pretty sure Millie doesn't have the 3pm slump that has her reaching for anything that contains excess sugar and calories. I'm also pretty sure she doesn't have to debate between catching up on "Take Me Out" or working on her abs. She has the time to look great, and she does look great. Deal. With. It.

But anyway. My point (yes, there is one somewhere. This is why I always flailed with my Lit essays: lack of focus) is that some people are naturally slim. Some people have to work really hard to be slim, and some people will never be slim. Some people have junk in their trunks. Some people have thigh gap (I personally like to rock "the mermaid". Very exotic). Whatever. We need to stop looking at everyone and judging them for something we have no business judging them for.

You have no idea about a person just by looking at them. Some people with thigh gaps may be perfectly healthy and they were just born that way. Equally, some people with them may be ill. It's not fair to condemn them, or anybody. If you were worried about a friend, you'd address the issue oh-so sensitively.  You wouldn't go on their instagram and say "Ew, you're skin and bones #eatapie".

From now on I'll make a conscious effort to stop being judgemental and appreciate that everyone is different and unique, etc etc. And you know what? Being different and unique is what makes us all semi-interesting as humans. Great, eh? I just wish the haterz in Millie Mack's instagram would make the same effort, too.

Rant = complete. Over and out.

1 January 2014

Change what you can, accept what you can't. Hello, 2014!

First things first: happy new year! I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season. 

Mine involved copious amounts of eating, drinking, Made in Chelsea book madness, a wine-throwing incident (not thrown by me, or received by me, thank goodness) and my parents making inappropriate comments about my not knowing what a knob of butter is, nor how much counts as "a knob". Hilarious. My helping out with Christmas dinner was a not-so-subtle attempt for my parents to extend my culinary skills to make me "wife material", and I do know what a knob is now, so I'm surely on my way.



Saucy measurement names aside, I have had a great week off spending some quality time with family and friends. The highlight for me was finally getting the chance to see Matilda: The Musical, and we were treated to a VIP-esque theatre experience. This involved us being ushered between a reserved table in the theatre bar and our seats, some free wine, sweets, and ice cream during the interval. And, of course, great seats. All of the actors were superb, and the little girl who played Matilda took my breath away. The girl couldn't have been any older than 8, and she stole the show! I also had a lot of love for the music, apparently written by Tim Minchin. Is there anything that man can't do?


My New Year's Eve consisted of some overpriced garage wine, a particularly excitable game of ring of fire (when will student games become unacceptable? hopefully never) and a bit of Gangnam style dancing, so fun was had all around. And today consisted of a brain-melting amount of Friends and hangover food. I can't complain. Although clubs are fun to celebrate new year, you can't beat a good old-fashioned house party with some not-quite-set jelly vodka shots and that person who's desperate to push Tequila on everyone (you know who you are).

As you can probably guess, my motto for the new year is in the title. I stayed over in a friend's sister's room the other night and she had stencilled on the wall "Let us change what we can, and accept what we can't" and I couldn't stop thinking about it. Anyone who knows me KNOWS I love myself a good quotation, and this one stuck. It just makes so much sense! If you're not happy with something and you have the power to change it, do it. But on the other hand, if there's something in your life which gets you down but there isn't a darn thing you can do about it, the best thing to do is to learn to accept it. Of course, it's a very idealist quote, and idealist I'm not (I prefer to see myself as a realist, but often get called a pessimist), but it's something to aspire to. And I'm always aspiring to be better.


Acting on that motto, where do I go from here? What can I do to make 2014 a happy balance of change and acceptance?

Firstly, body image. I will change the fact I'm not feeling too jazzy about myself by hitting the gym (membership courtesy of my parents. I asked for it, in case you're wondering. It wasn't a suggestion by them). BUT I do accept that there's some things I can't change about myself *cough* MY NOSE *cough* my (lack of) chest... Unless I suddenly become rich. But let's face it, that's not going to happen.


Secondly, myself. My personality. I can't change myself. In the last year I've noticed I'm either super uptight, or absolutely crazy, often at the wrong times. Also, I constantly need reassurance of my ability/image/attractiveness. So, whilst I will accept that I have my weaknesses, I will try and change the way I handle things. I'm just not sure how to yet. It will be my 2014 personal project.

And finally, my job prospects. Whilst I'm very lucky to be secure in my internship until July, there is no certainty whatsoever that I will land a job afterwards, whether that be a graduate or entry-level role. This is terrifying, and could potentially leave me in a very sticky situation because I need a salary to pay my rent. In this case, I can only try my best and hope to god that my applications appeal to companies, and although it would suck beyond belief if I didn't get a role, I will (somehow) accept that what is done is done, and I can't change that. Don't be fooled, however; in between being rejected and becoming an enlightened being, I will be sobbing over the phone to my family/friends/anyone who will offer sympathy... I'll just have to hope it all works out in the end.

Enough from me. Tomorrow is back to work and back to reality. This month I'll be involved in a launch, and next month is Fashion Scout again (it seems like only yesterday I was working my first fashion week!) amongst catching up with friends and trying to keep my finances under wraps. Not to mention trying to keep warm in this generally grim weather. Is it summer yet?? Sigh.

Until next time :)
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