‘Shit, here comes Chip,’ says Arnie from behind his cushion. ‘I can’t watch!’
Chip comes over doing an admirable impression of a man who does not know what is going on. He asks if everything’s okay. Violet. . . oh hell. . . Violet. . .
‘Put down the candelabra!’ shrieks Arnie. I giggle, because even though this is awful for my boss, it feels pretty cosy to be on my sofa with him right now.
On screen, Violet has clutched her hand around the last remaining item left on her table. A gold candelabra with (thankfully unlit) candles in it. Thanks to a very strict reformer pilates schedule, Violet has the guns of a Victoria’s Secret model and even she is struggling to pick it up. She’s also got that blind determination look on her face.
‘Run Chip RUNNN!’ shouts Arnie.
Chipdoes not run. Allegra inches her seat back. I do not like Allegra. Chip asks if everything’s okay, as if the mountain of wedding crap at his feet weren’t there. Violet stands up, lets the candelabra fall to the floor with a thud and reaches for her almost full glass of champagne. Then she sloshes it in Chip’s face. I thought this kind of thing only happened on reality TV shows and, it turns out, I was right. Chip and his wet tux look flabbergasted. Violet shouts something about everyone being ‘betches’ and yells, ‘I didn’t even like your fucking tighty whities anyway.’ And with that, the credits roll.
‘That was sooooo good,’ Arnie roars.
‘So awful! Violet told me that she and Chip decided to consciously uncouple after a heart to heart. . .’
‘Conscious uncoupling? More like she wanted to knock Chip unconscious! And that tighty whitey revelation was too much. I did not know that they were still a thing. I’m almost excited to get into work tomorrow so I can talk to everybody about that.’
‘Really Arnie, you are full of surprises.’
Fact: Copenhagen is populated exclusively by models. The bus driver who drove us from the airport into town looks like he should be trotting down a catwalk with a man bag and some statement trousers on. I’ve had my nose pressed against the window for the entire journey, marvelling at the parade of flawless people walking or bike-riding their way through the city. One woman has a gingham midi skirt on with a simple pink tee tucked in, a pair of dusky pink trainers falling just below her razor-sharp ankles as she peddles her battered old bike. She looks like heaven.
I flick through my new travel book in a sudden panic at Copenhagen’s perfect population. Do you have to be beautiful and stylish to visit? I’m in. . . jeans and a t-shirt. AndI’m not beautiful. I’m maybe passable on the days I remember to moisturise my face before bed. Will they even let me into the hotel without the perfect pout and flawless skin? My long legs are literally my only amo right now, if you squint a bit to look past my ample ass.
Thankfully I am allowed past the front door and I feel a huge buzz of pride as I check in.
Don’t mind me, just off to a breakfast meeting. In Copenhagen. You know, for work. God, sorry, I had no idea I’d bethisannoying in Denmark. Forgive me? I’m just so completely excited to have this opportunity and it feels incredibly overwhelming, in a hell yeah kind of way, to finally be achieving some personal work goals. Even if nothing comes from this and I spend my rest of days taking pictures of Violet’s butt getting a spray tan, I will always be able to look back on this trip with proper pride.
This morning I’m meeting up with the guys behind Jump to talk through their hopes for the shoot. I’ve got a whole can ofwhoopassideas to bring to the table, and I think we can all tell how excited I am because of that busy metaphor right there. I need to calm down. I managed to limit myself to one coffee at the hotel this morning but even that seems to have tipped me right over the edge.
Just, be cool, Jasmine.
I check my call sheet for the hundredth time to make sure I’m at the right place, and stride into the café. It’s all spartan tables with jam jar vases in here, huge copper lanterns dangling from the ceiling. The smell of coffee hits me as I walk in, spotting a small group of people gathered around a table in the corner. EEP. Here goes.
‘Hi, Mads?’ I say to a fair-haired dish of a man.
‘Yes, that’s me. You must be Jasmine. Please, grab a seat.’
Iintroduce myself to the rest of the team, Tula and Heidi, and marvel at their beautiful jumpers from the brand’s latest collection. I’m wearing. . . nah, I don’t even need to tell you. Tula orders breakfast for us all after insisting that I absolutely have to try everything on the menu. I alreadyloveTula. The menu seems to consist of lots ofbrød, which I’m hoping is bread, and lots ofkaffe, which I’ve also taken a stab at translating. Lo and behold, our table is soon filled to the brim with things on bread and sweet, sweet coffee. I take a nervous sip and realise that so far, all I’ve managed is to grin manically at everyone here. But it’s not long before we are having a discussion about plans for the shoot, style concepts, and how their Danish fashion philosophy can be translated to the British market. I was getting a bit flummoxed over the last bit, because I’m here for the photos and not for the fashion advice, when Becky With The Clipboard bustles in.
‘Becky? It’s so nice to see you!’ I leap up.
‘You too babes!’ She beams, throwing a couple of air kisses my way. I’m never quite sure how to deal with air kisses. Just offer some air cheek? Make a little ‘mwah’ sound back? I shirk both of these choices and pull her in for a snuggle.
‘I didn’t realise you’d be coming,’ I finally say.
‘What, and miss your chance to shine? Iknewyou were good enough to do this and I’m secretly so relieved that Mads decided against the other photographer we found. So unprofesh. Anyway, now we get to work together on this fabulous brand!’ She says fabulous in a way that Patsy and Eddie would totally approve of.
When Becky suggested having a champagne, I thought she meant a glass. Turns out she meant a bottle. Each. Thankfully, my professional brain kicked in before I let her lead me right up the garden path and I sashayed home after a not-too-terrible three glasses of fizz. Iwas so giddy to see a friendly face yesterday but I also had to get a good sleep last night. So after three drinks in a bar and a late evening dash around some Danish shops Becky insisted I had to see, I tottered back to my hotel room with many drunk purchases in my hands. And boy, did I sleep well. Sometimes if there’s something on my mind, I wake up lots and can’t seem to get my brain to switch off. And even though today is the biggest deal of my career so far (gulp), I’m actually feeling calm about it. I’m prepared. I slept like a slightly boozy baby.
Fact number two about the Danish: they give good architecture. Charlie would be losing his nut right now and I make a mental note to send him some snaps when I can. The shoot location for day one is a block of flats on the outskirts of Copenhagen. I’ll admit that when I first read the call-sheet, I was like, ‘huh?’ But a bit of research revealed that these flats are bonkers. Pulling up, it actually took me a while to realise that I was staring at houses, not a hilltop. There are grass rooves everywhere and a deep, earthy wood frames the building, which is shaped like a pyramid. My fingers are itching to grab my camera before we’ve even got out of the minivan that bought us all out here. And this time I’m not desperate to get away from the shoot and take some photos for myself, like I have been on jobs with Violet. I’m desperate to get to the shoot and do an absolutely killer job.
Becky’s busy organising the shit out of everyone, not a whiff of hangover about her person, while I set up with the help of. . . A PHOTOGRAPHER’S ASSISTANT. That’s right! I actually have one of those! The guys at Jump thought I’d need some help being all brilliant and professional and I’ve got to say, I could get used to this. No scrambling around rigging up umbrellas and cabling for me. Though I can’t help but get involved with it all anyway. This already feels like my baby and I want to be involved with every single process.
Youraverage bang tidy Danish person walks past and I chuckle under my breath. ‘Let me guess, the caterer? Or maybe here to clean the windows? Do some street-cleaning?’
Hunky Danish Man turns to me and blinks.
‘Excuse me?’
