Get a job?
Deal with my family
I finish and read it back while the train makes grinding noises. So, to point one – Cassia. This is going well so far – since the WULT® Woman Instagram account went live, timed with theLusciousmagazine article, it already has 81.5K followers. Still a fair few to go to beat Cassia, but at this rate it won’t be too long, and I can finally beat her at something for the first time since she stole theBeautiqueassistant editor role from me. The followers themselves, who appear to have usernames like@Cotswold_Lady73and@Cheshire_In_Stilettosor similar, seem really friendly, leaving comments like ‘Incredible! My hubby would love me to get this!’ accompanied by a fire emoji, or ‘I want this treatment – when is it available to the public???’ or ‘You look gorg – you’re very lucky, WULT® Woman!!’. Guided by Channing, I’m now in the habit of replying to them with‘Thank you so much!’ and ‘Link in bio to subscribe to WULT® updates!’ with copious amounts of heart and star emojis.
Lucky I may be, but the videos themselves are a steep learning curve and a far cry from the thirty secondBefore and Afterlash lift reels I used to do on my own account. I was so nervous when I did my first live#popquiz. Peach Jumpsuit came on as the immobile face of Yuvana Labs and played snippets from Eighties and Nineties pop songs, which I had to name in an attempt to prove I am nearly fifty and not an imposter. I didn’t know how this was going to pan out given my track record for remembering the names of songs, and the fact that Gen Zs seem to be really into the Eighties anyway, so I’m not sure it proves anything. But I didn’t do too badly, apart from when they playedViennaby Ultravox and I shouted out ‘ZURICH!’. In my defence, they hadn’t got to the chorus yet and Zurich is also a European city. And I erroneously called that Patrick Swayze song ‘She’s Got Wind’, but it didn’t seem to matter and Peach Jumpsuit hissed ‘Yessssssss’ every time I got one right. The reel even got more likes than Cassia’s ‘Mango Jeans Try On’, which she posted on the same day. Wonder what Cassia thought about that – if she’s even spotted the WULT® Woman account yet, that is.
Channing is happy, partly thanks to the new background for filming that I’ve created since I moved into Devon’s flat. After the initial hassle of working out how to cart all the equipment up the M4 – Merlyn mercifully got this all sorted for me – my vibes were declared thoroughly ‘on point’ and apparently all the better for the lack of a fake Ikea plant. Devon has a monstera the size of a small car in her living room, which I am slightly nervous about killing, and huge Banksy prints on the walls. Channing said, ‘Can you even handle it?’, which it turns out (after I had said ‘Yes’, then ‘No’, then ‘I don’t know’) is a good thing, and not something that needs to be replied to. He also said that the lighting is somuch better than in my ‘dark little cottage’ – to the point where I don’t even need the ridiculous coastguard lamps.
Could it all be coming together, I wonder as the train announcer apologises yet again. I exchange eyerolls in solidarity with a young couple opposite me, but ignore the middle-aged woman with shopping bags who looks really miserable. She reminds me too much of my old self.
Next on the list is the whole making new friends thing, which may take a little longer than getting Instagram followers. I don’t really see myself just going out and randomly introducing myself to Gen Zs, but maybe the people I met in the lift could be a starting point. And the blond guy was very dishy. Which, once again, is the sort of thing Mother Pells would say about Monty Don. Not dishy… hot? JEEZ, I sound so dated. Next time I run into them I’ll be more prepared. I might email Channing and ask him for some pointers on the Gen Z vernacular, which probably doesn’t involve using the word vernacular, I’ll wager. Or ‘wager’ for that matter…
As for points three and four, they are all pretty much dependent on point two, so not really much to say about those for the moment, other than I cannot bloody wait, and although I have slight concerns that sex has changed as it’s been so long (might ask Channing that too), I’m glad I didn’t send back the Fuchsia Frenzy bodysuit, which was going to be wasted on Gabe as he’s clearly into older women, like that footballer, what was his name? Each to their own. And although I did like him (Gabe, not the footballer) and we had a few things in common, I’m not interested in someone who isn’t going to support me when I make a big decision like this. He seems so much older than me now too.
The train makes another grinding noise, then jolts. The announcer apologises again, so I turn back to my list. Point five – a job. Now, I know I’m going to be making money from theWULT® Woman publicity, but I don’t want to be stuck at home filming content all the time. Who’s going to see my ultra low-rise jeans and bao bun tits if I do that? And on a slightly less shallow note, this is a chance for a career – one that doesn’t burn out like a defective firework. It’s a do-over. But what could I actually do? I can’t go back into magazines; they’re laying off loads of people these days anyway thanks to AI and nobody buying print anymore. And besides, I know too many people in that industry and there might be some resentment. And for people who don’t know me, my CV might look a bit weird. No, I need a new career, and I’ve been thinking more and more about advertising – being a copywriter. Adverts often have punny headlines and I think I’d be really good at that. Pretty sure advertising agencies are cool places to work too, I know that fromMad Men. Sexy places, with lots of hot men and people drinking hard liquor during the day, which I think with my new young metabolism I could definitely do. I managed wine at lunchtime with Merlyn not that long ago after all. I’m going to see if I can find any job vacancies. This is VERY exciting. I could even work my way up and become a creative director or something. Everyone would be really impressed.
Point six. So, Mother Pells, typically, didn’t even seem that bothered that I failed to turn up for her eightieth. She sent me that perfunctory message a week after about how she hoped I was feeling better, and called the other day (after six-thirty p.m. obvs) to share some long-winded saga about Dinah’s log burner, but that’s been about it. I did tell her I’m in London – ‘I’ve got a big work project on so I’m staying at Nandy’s’ – but she changed the subject and started telling me how she forgot her dentist appointment the other day (The Inevitable).
Which leads me to Simon. I saw on Facebook that, since his quokkas were seized by Interpol, he’s now growing a Lion’s Mane mushroom in a cardboard box that is so high-maintenance with regard to its humidity requirements that he has to come home from work at lunchtime to mist it. It’s this kind of thing that makes me feel more optimistic about showing my family the ‘new me’ – it’s no weirder than anything Simon does. I just need to get it over with – that way, he can stop assuming I’m having a mid-life crisis (and no doubt bad-mouthing me to Mother Pells) and maybe just admire me for making positive changes and being picked for such a cutting-edge experiment.
I didn’t put Josie or Nandy on the list because there’s not really much to say. Josie and I are exchanging the occasional message. I’ve told her I’ve had to go to London to work – she sounded almost relieved. She said she’d keep an eye on my house and also mentioned she might pop by to see Mother Pells with Héloïse. I told her if she does, not to mention the treatment – for now anyway. And as for Nandy, well, she’s been pretty quiet too, but she’s coming round to see me at Devon’s soon. I’m sure she’ll have had time to get used to it all by then. I hope so anyway. I miss her. I miss Josie too for that matter.
Finally, the train begins to move. I put my phone away, and stand up to get off, enjoying the fact that most of the men in the carriage are looking at me.
