In last week’s Stylist Magazine, you may have noticed an article entitled ‘UNFORGETTABLE EVENTS: Why we remember historical happenings’. The assassination of John Lennon, the horror of 9/11 and the death of Princess Diana – those catastrophic events that somehow become photographed in the mind. I recall, with sadness, the last event that will stay with me forever.
On an otherwise typical Tuesday, it was the 16th of May that I looked at the newspaper stands, trying to digest the blazing headlines, a solitary tear running down my cheek. I slowly reached for my phone to see how close friends and family were coping with the news, and to ascertain if they were as devastated as I was at this difficult time…
PIPPA MIDDLETON WAS ON THE FRONT COVER OF GRAZIA AND LOOK MAGAZINE?
Oi vey. In one fell swoop it seemed that girl and that derrière had taken over the world – and, worse, the nation’s fashion magazines. In the left corner, Look Magazine announcing: ‘Pippa – endless calls to Harry! / Kate’s shock advice / Marriage proposal dilemma/ How she got that body!’… In the right, Grazia squawking ‘Hellooooooooo your royal hotness! /Pippa wows the world! / Hollywood calling!/ Boyfriend ‘nervous’ as singer bombards her’… And in the centre, yours truly… reaching for her royal sick bag.
You see, apart from doing a fantastic job at walking, yes, walking down an aisle that was at least ooh, perhaps a few minutes long, and wearing a designer dress that was undeniably chosen for her (give this girl the Nobel Peace Prize…) and having the nigh on impossible task of going on more holidays than your average air hostess whilst sporting only a more Tango-ed shade of sun tan, I find it very hard to understand the attraction with P-Middy. And not only because I’m a straight female.
Exhibit A your honour: the dress sense.
Now, if I wanted to style myself like the average 40 year old Sloane Ranger, I’d be friends with Nigella Lawson. At least she’d bake you a nice cake (or seven) after your wardrobe sesh. With the amount of money under Pippa’s Whistles belt and the number of fashion brands offering their first born child (babies are so last season) to dress Middleton Junior, you’d think she’d branch out from the trend I like to call ‘West London Mother of Two’ and move onto ‘World Fancies Me, Girlfriend of Two Million’. Pippa – call me. I promise I won’t set Gok Wan on you.
B: the idea that she’s a ‘career woman’.
No offence, but I only ever hear of Pipps frolicking in rowing boats (oh what FUN!), having ‘intimate’ chats with Prince Harry (well, don’t you on a quiet Thursday evening?) and, predominantly, stealing sister Kate’s thunder on her wedding day (B*TCH). That’s no full time occupation unless you’re appearing in Made in Chelsea. Delve a little deeper, and you’ll discover she apparently works just two days a week… for her parents’ company. A woman of our times? Excuse me whilst I go and burn my degree certificate, delete my LinkedIn profile and print out my current CV just to draw smiley faces and pink hearts on it.
Similarly, if you’re looking for a woman you can relate to outside of the work place, then do think again – apparently Pippa’s hobbies include shooting and playing tennis at The Queen’s Club, a prestigious complex with a £11,000 membership fee. In a shaky economic climate, it might be worth keeping that one under your tennis whites – some graduates have to work (gasp!) full time (double gasp!) on a starting salary not much more than that, so the title P-Middy may be the only evidence suggesting Pippa is ‘keeping it real’.
Newly single (as if there wasn’t enough competition…), let’s be friends and acknowledge that Ms Middleton did, at least, have the rare honour of being awarded Number 1 Society Singleton in Tatler Magazine as far back as 2008. The catch? She won fair and square by pipping – pun intended – James Blunt and Princess Eugenie to the post. Funnily enough, so did my house plant, and I’m going to suggest that’s displayed more personality recently. A derrière that is admittedly a joy to behold, I just hope the door doesn’t hit it too hard when Pippa please departs the public’s fascination as quickly as she infiltrated it. Tally ho!