Respect the c*ck and tame the c*nt

Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia still lands, I feel better about my neck, and why gluten still has me under its sweet, starchy spell

I fucking hate sports and I’m not crazy about kids either, and yet there I was last Friday taking part in the mother’s race at my son Reuben’s sports day. Hideously unfit and prone to back issues, I ended up doing my back in and basically spent the weekend horizontal. It was still bothering me on Monday, so I decided to get a massage with Suzie, a no-nonsense traditional Chinese massage therapist who loooves to chat and who I’ve seen before. She’d asked me what I’d been up to, and I told her about a shoot I’d done, which in hindsight I now regret.

Suzie: “So you want to be a model, like Katie Price?”

Me: “Um, no, not quite,”

Suzie: “Victoria's Secret? You wouldn’t be able to do that. You’d have to exercise!”

Me: “Oh. Um, yeah, no, of course.”

Suzie: “Well, at least your bloating is better than last time.”

Lying butt naked, face down on the massage table, it was a humbling experience. Thankfully, the week was uphill from there.

Me hiding my lasered face from the sun at sports day

What I saw

I wasn’t really listening when Tom, my husband, told me about getting us all tickets to the Royal Shakespeare Company’s live production of My Neighbour Totoro. I don’t know what it is, but whenever a family member is talking to me, I immediately disassociate, preventing the absorption of any and all crucial and non crucial details. But in this case, it worked in my favour. I had no other information than the time and place we were meant to meet and so had no idea what to expect and was totally blown away.

Based on the animated film of the same name by Studio Ghibli, it tells the tale of two Japanese sisters who move to the countryside after their mother has been taken ill. Here they encounter mystical soot sprites and other strange forest creatures. The story itself is enchanting but what made this performance so good that I almost peed in my pants was the choreography and special effects. Blending theatre, puppetry, music and dance, soot sprites were conceived as pom poms on sticks, which cast members would expertly wield to hypnotic effect, while Totoro was a snoring, roaring, grumbling and rumbling giant beast of a thing, operated by several puppeteers. It was so lifelike it was uncanny. And then there was the Catbus which actually looked like it was flying. Honestly, it was so special. I felt like a kid seeing magic for the first time.

What I bought

It’s time to retire the Miu Miu biker boots. When more than three members of your social group are rolling around in the same hoofs as you, it’s time to rethink and realign. Enter: Isabel Marant’s suede Stania angle booties. Soft and slouchy, they're perfect for throwing on with a long 30s slip or a vulva skimming mini. It’s giving Y2K-era boho without being too on the nose or looking like a dick. There’s also something Brokeback about them, which I like, it makes me think of rugged landscapes, plaid shirts and the earth.

What I watched

I rewatched Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia the other night and I have some thoughts. Firstly, Tom Cruise’s wardrobe - the slutty leather waistcoat over that peekaboo brown fitted shirt and that so-bad-it's-good, only-in-the-90s single leather cuff - is a work of art and secondly, nobody else could have made that character as weirdly appealing as Cruise.

Frank TJ Mackey is a misogynistic cunt. An Andrew Tate style motivational speaker and self confessed master of the muffin, who comes out with lines such as “Respect the cock. And tame the cunt” and lectures his rabid man baby audience on how to pretend to be nice and caring. Granted, none of Anderson's characters are particularly likeable (I have a physical reaction every time I see William H Macy’s character) but Cruise is the most blatantly repellent, at least at surface level.

But Tombo plays it with such charm and elegance - he’s like a slinky black panther waiting to pounce - that you can’t help but respect the cock, especially during the interview scene. And then you later find out about his trauma, how he was abandoned by his father and forced to look after his dying mother who he loved more than anything and you start to feel empathy for him. Which is what Anderson is so genius at, creating this depth of character, an emotional complexity which takes you on a journey. Over 20 years later, the film still lands and it actually made me miss Philip Seymour Hoffman.

What I read

I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron. As far as I’m concerned anything from the chin down is like the back of the Christmas tree, it requires minimal work. But then I actually saw what my neck looked like, and suddenly I was concerned.

I spend my days surgically attached to a screen which means I'm constantly looking downwards. And the receipts are in. Like, Nora Ephron, I too feel bad about my neck and it seems Google read my mind, because while I was shopping for moth spray on Amazon, Nora’s seminal book of essays reared its head. Published in 2006, Ephron’s work is an honest portrayal of the female experience, as it pertains to her. It’s funny and real and heartfelt, but maybe a bit problematic in places :/ . But anyway it actually made me feel better about my neck. So, thank you, Nora.

What I did

I went to the south of France for the launch of the Manolo Blahnik x MyTheresa capsule collection. I have a weird thing about white shoes. I once slept with a guy who was wearing the most hideous white shoes and I couldn’t stop thinking about them for the entire time he was on top of me. Fast-forward over a decade and here I was rocking a pair of white Manolos.

I also popped into the Gimaguas pop-up up which was cute. It’s such a great brand. There are so many brands out there without a clear point of view and which are basically just a vanity project, making landfill, and probably just shouldn’t exist, but Gimaguas is different. The pieces are super easy to wear and style. It’s cool without being pretentious. I also don't feel like mutton trussed up as lamb wearing it even though i know my 20 year old niece is full look gimaguas too.

What I had done

I’m still recovering from my second course of Neogen, which is basically like being slapped in the face with real life lightning, so taking a bit of a breather where my skin is concerned. However, I did pop in to see make-up artist extraordinaire Fara Homidi at the Twenty Two, where she was introducing her new bronzer collection.

I’ve not worn bronzer since I was a tween when I was basically trying to be somebody else. A slave to the Benefit counter, I would cake my cheeks in Hoola, so it looked like I was wearing mud, in a desperate attempt to fit in with all the pretty girls who had highlights and wore push-up bras and had already given their first blow jobs. Bitches.

The phase was short-lived. But bronzer has never been good to me. Or at least I never really knew what I was meant to be doing with it. Fast-forward to Fara and her magic makeup wand, and suddenly I’m all sun-kissed and glowy. I look like I've been bathing in a Golden Hour filter, the picture of health and wellness. Which got me thinking: should I just be a bronzer girlie now? And, have I done this goth thing all wrong?

Best meal

Gluten and dairy, I wish I knew how to quit you. So I’ve been trying to get my gut in a better place so that I don't just do rabbit droppings every three days, and part of that journey includes cutting out dairy and gluten. Which is fine when I’m at home but a fucking nightmare whenever I’m in the field, at a work event, especially when I’m too much of a pussy to give PRs my dietaries. I just don't want to be that gorl.

Cut to Tuesday night and I'm at the River Cafe for a dinner hosted by Elizabeth Salzman for her friend, the designer, Nili Lotan. Ruthie was in the house. There were decorative lemons adorning the table. Was I really going to say no to a ball of creamy mozzarella? Or a humble offering of pasta pomodoro? No, I was not. This is Italian food at its best, where the integrity of each ingredient is honoured. Sensitivities be damned. It's also nothing some digestive enzymes and a black coffee can't handle in the morning, right?

Quote of the week

“I was so tired I fell off my chair.” Reuben, 5.

Random thoughts of the week

• Is it ok to eat crisps at 9am in an airport ?

• Should I get an OnlyFans?

• Did that man just fart next to me?