Fashion Bible Tells Bag-Headed Blogger 'Pull Yourself Together!'

There’s Victoria Beckham, looking like a stick insect in a concentration camp. There’s Keith Richards’ daughters, looking like… well, alarmingly like Keith Richards actually. There’s Brad and Angelina, apparently displaying ‘no sexual chemistry’. And then there’s me. I’ve finally made it to the glossy pages, where the beautiful people live. Only to be told: ‘Stop whining!’

Well, more or less. Fiona McIntosh, who, according to a friend in fashion, ‘is HUGELY important’, says: ‘It’s not Stan’s unfortunate looks that have women running for the fire exit, it’s his rock bottom self-esteem.’ She goes on to describe the book of my life as ‘Stan Cattermole’s moany old book’. Ouch.

Ouch, but also, wow. Ms McIntosh has clearly read the Daily Mail piece from a couple of weeks ago, but I'm guessing she hasn't read any of my own actual words, yet still she’s managed, with stiletto-like astuteness, to hit the ghastly nail of my griping, bellyaching soul squarely on its self-indulgent head. You’re right, Fiona! And just having a fashion torchbearer like yourself point that out has made me feel so, so, so very much worse. You thought my self-esteem was bad before. You should see what I think of myself now. I’m practically ready to give self-harm another crack. Oh, woe. I am a worm! A turd-blossom! A worthless bag-headed miserablist!

Oh, Fiona. Give me a chance to redeem myself. I beg you. Let me write a column for your illustrious magazine. ‘Beauty Tips for Vacuous Women’. Something like that. Go on. I dare you.



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