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There was a lot of overly fancy stuff. Maybe Mum had a point. We were going to be cooking most days and staying in the villa, so that red Gucci wool skirt adorned with the iconic ‘GG’ gold logo hardware at the top was probably not going to be appropriate.
I took everything out of the suitcase. Time for a rethink.Let’s think casual and simple. I reached into the bag Mum had given me. There were leggings, some comfortable-looking cotton tops/mini dresses—all from the high street. Okay, I’d pop those into aplainblack case. Not this Louis Vuitton one. I went to the ‘casual’ section in my dressing room and pulled out some jeans that only had a subtle logo at the back and a few plain tops.
The organisers had said that sometimes people liked to dress up in the evening for dinner, but maybe Mum was right. Maybe I could allow myself a few days to be ‘off-duty’. I always had to wear fancy clothes for work and have my hair, nails and make-up and everything looking immaculate. For once, maybe I could just relax.
Think about it.I was going away with strangers. They wouldn’t know anything about me or what I did for a living and wouldn’t have any expectations. I didn’t need to impress anyone. I could start afresh. This was the perfect opportunity to just ‘be’. Return a little bit to the old me.
Before I’d started going out with Rich, I’d looked very different. It was the pre-ghd, keratin treatment era, so my thick, curly hair hadn’t been as smooth as it was now, and my dress sense was very simple. I wasn’t into fancy stuff at all. Even when we were at college, he’d always worn expensive clothes. So when we had begun dating, little by little I’d started getting sucked into that world. And of course, once I got into beauty PR, it was all about glamour and projecting the ‘right’ image, so wearing designer clothes became the norm. It was expected. It signified ‘success’. I knew that so many clients said how much they loved my handbags purely because of the designer logo they’d spotted or had gushed about my shoes because the trademark red soles.
I looked down at my toes before I stepped into the shower. Bloody hell. It seemed I’d already started to relax my grooming regime before my mum had suggested I do so. They hadn’t been painted for two weeks.Veryunlike me, but I’d been so busy focusing on getting through everything before I went away that perhaps I’d let a couple of things slide.
I glanced further up my body. It would seem that my lack of grooming had also extended to my nether regions. Whilst my legs and underarms had been lasered and were fine, I hadn’t waxed my bikini line since last month either, which was unheard of, and it was starting to look like an overgrown jungle down there. To be honest, it hadn’t been top of my to-do list. After all, what was the point? No one but my dressing room mirror was going to see me naked, so on a scale of one to ten in terms of priorities, it ranked around minus twenty. I was meant to get a mani-pedi done that afternoon after my blow-dry, but then I’d had an unexpected conference call, so I’d had to cancel, and I didn’t have the energy to sit here at 1 a.m. painting my nails when my taxi would be here to collect me in two and a half hours so I could get to Gatwick Airport nice and early. We’d be kneading dough and making pasta. The last thing I’d want is chipped bits of Chanel Rouge Noir polish getting mixed into the flour. For once, naked nails seemed like the best option.
Yes. I was going to take my mum’s advice and go to this holiday and relax. No flashy overtly designer clothes. No one-hour-plus make-up-and-hair regime. No airs or graces. I was going to chill out and be the me I’d secretly wanted to be for ages. A bit more laid-back and free.
I didn’t quite know whether I could loosen up and let go, how I would cope for four days without my ghds, or if I was going to get on with a group of complete strangers, but I was certainly going to give it a bloody good try.
