Wednesday, August 01, 2007

in tea and cigarettes

I'm not as glamourous as all of those photographers seem to think I am. Sure, someone bought me this fancy monogrammed tote bag for my birthday, but these shoes are on loan from my stylist. Yes, of course, it's glamourous to have a stylist. But recently, all she's been doing is glaring resentfully at me over our cups of hideous Chinese weight-loss miracle tea, which really resembles water from the salt marsh more than any tea I've ever had. I almost expect some minnows or guppies to be floating around in there, dead from the flavour of the stuff.

I'm not even sure how I got here. One night a couple of weeks ago, a friend who was returning a favour got me into one of those A-list only clubs. I borrowed some designer denim from my roommate, squeezed my ample thighs into it, and sausage-waddled my way out to the club. I breezed by a long queue of mannequins on my way in, and I must have impressed some of them, somehow. An hour later, when they finally managed to get in, a group of these plastic-looking boys and girls (surely no older than my youngest sister!) found me at the bar, where I had wheedled the bartender into passing me extra champagne cocktails in a furtive buy-one-get-one kind of affair.

"You," said one of the boys. He looked like he could have been an Abercrombie model. I'd seen an Abercrombie and Fitch shoot once before, in London. It was like someone had plopped the entirety of a self-contained alternate universe directly into the middle of Trafalgar Square.

"Thanks?" I didn't intend for it to come out as a question, but it did. I downed the last of my most recent cocktails. The bubbly tickled my throat as the bartender pushed a fresh one my way.

"Want to come to the VIP room with us?" he asked.

"Sure," I smiled. "Can I take my drink?"

"Take whatever you want," he said, also smiling, as though he wanted to light the entire room with the glow of his teeth. "It's the VIP room. Enjoy yourself." I picked up the champagne flute and winked at the bartender. Over my shoulder, I could see the small crowd of Barbies and Kens following us.

I partied hard. There were photographs taken. And now I'm an It Girl, I think.

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