I definitely haven’t been firing on all cylinders lately. I go through periods where I feel incredibly vulnerable and emotional and shut myself away as much as is possible, and this is one of them. Unfortunately, much as relying on my own counsel is the best thing for me at times like this, I, like all grown up, sensible types, still have to out into the real world of work and interact.
As the type of girl not known for doing things by halves, my upbeat, bouncy work persona has acquired notoriety among coworkers and customers alike. I can’t just turn up to work all sulky and fragile. People notice, ask deep and complicated questions like ‘are you alright?’ and ‘is everything okay?’ that make me lose my shit, so I get duplicitous, and fake it.
The easiest way to feign badassness when your own is in short supply, is to channel somebody else’s. And at the moment, because I’m not feeling great (did I mention that I’m not feeling great?) I am watching a shitload of comedy too try and cheer myself up, including the classic Absolutely Fabulous. What I like about Absolutely Fabulous is that it’s written by women and has enjoyed massive mainstream success. It’s hilarious, and a total middle finger to the notion that women aren’t funny (can’t believe people still think that way. I’m a chick and I’m hysterically funny).
But what I like most about Absolutely Fabulous is Patsy Stone.
‘The last mosquito that bit me had to book into the Betty Ford Clinic.’ –Patsy Stone
Patsy Stone is bloody brilliant. Her big blonde hair is always coiffed, she has immaculate lipstick, and a big thing for dynasty-style tailoring, animal prints, sunglasses and fur. Her only real job is being full time fabulous, and she pulls it off with aplomb, drink in one hand, cig in the other. Even when she’s fall-over drunk she looks fierce. There’s no wallowing with her; she just cracks open the bolly or stoli and carries on owning her shit. That’s the kind of attitude I need in my life right now.
There’s no mincing words with Patsy, and even in awkward situations she handles herself with a dismissive ‘Right. Yeah. Cheers.’. She does a nice line in disdainful sneers and sarcastic smirks, too.
So if I can’t be my usual wide-eyed snow white self, I don’t see why this week I can’t be Patsy. Big hair and a red lip for confidence, plenty of huge pearl jewellery and sharp, tailored shapes, and bring on the wine and cigarettes. Plus Patsy defaults to sunglasses a lot, a useful recourse for the tearful times. The only problem now is finding someone to be my partner in crime for some Ab Fab style hellraising: