D'you Think This Would Suit Me?
Forget summer's mantra of 'sun's out, guns out' and allow me to introduce a bewbtastic bikini and a commemorative ear bandage instead...
Two things happened at almost the exact same moment in the space-time continuum this week. Bianca Censori stepped out for a dinner date wearing nothing but nude Spanx and silver nipple caps bikini top and my eleventy billionth Woolies orchid died. Vrekked. Both elicited an identical response: 😆😆
Riddle me this… How can one be old enough that Bianca Censori’s lack of clothes makes you want to rip out your own eyeballs and scream “whyyyyyy” into the void, but also still not be old enough to keep a plant alive? It is terribly forking vexing. I am clearly on the edge of some existential limbo. I think the medical experts would probably call it peri-menopause. It might explain why my good humour is so quick to roll its eyes too.
Bianca Censori, for those of you fortunate enough to not have a clue who we’re talking about, is Mrs Kanye West. She wears as little as possible but not in a Daisy Dukes and a crop top kinda way – I admit I have been watching a LOT of Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. Can you tell?! No, Bianca’s Wear As Little As Possible Aesthetic leans entirely into the physical and not the conceptual. She quite literally looks like she has forgotten to put on pants. And a top. On her actual body.
She’s been snapped in a flesh-coloured g-string leotard at fashion week, in neon roll-topped pantyhose and heels out on a date and now in this, erm, striking, metallic bikini top and hosiery of a shade that would make a princess proud. Local LA restaurateurs are frothing.
“Even the main supermarkets have signs up in summer advising that tops must be worn for hygiene purposes when shopping as topless men were going in,” one laments. “This is so much worse.”
Honestly, we have now surely reached Peak 2024.
In this same week and breath as the boobs and my plant, Trump’s supporters decided to don matching ear bandages in solidarity with The Don. Truly, you couldn’t make it up. Fashion must be rolling in its grave. Fashun, on the other hand, is whooping and ordering another vanilla vodka Red Bull.
I have an excellent excuse to be turning a blind eye to all this breaking fash news, because I am currently counting down the hours to my oldest (but not oldest, she would want me to tell you) friend’s fiftieth. It’s in a matter of days.
We’re the meet-cute to end all meet-cutes… Especially if you only ask us. And like all besties, we think we are hilarious. If you’ve watched When Harry Met Sally, we’re one of the gnarled old couples on the couch talking about the moment they met. We have yet to get bored of the story - and we met in 1980. It’s safe to say that mannnnny people must be forking bored of this story now that I do the maths. Forty years. Eye watering!
We met on the first day of Grade 1. Our parents got married on the same day. Ended up on honeymoon in the same place. And, lo and behold, when those two unsuspecting bright, young couples rolled into the first day of school with their respective girls in tow, we were introduced. And that, as they say in the classics, was that.
Now I know for a fact – and not just because she is an outspoken little so-and-so – that this bestie of mine would be collapsing with hysterical laughter if I’d ever wandered out of my boudoir dressed for dinner in a pair of undies and half a string bikini. Bianca’s besties, where are you? It must be exhausting. Tell your girl to take a break.
If you’re feeling equally knackered by seeing more of Bianca’s boobs than you have seen of your own outside a mammogram, then you too might be hitting midlife’s strides. And if that is the case, you’re likely to be way more impressed by this fashion moment instead…
Last weekend was the Ambani Wedding in India. Yes, in caps. Anant Ambani - heir to a $1.4 billion fortune - married Radhika Merchant. Their pre-wedding went on for days earlier this year, there have been a series of parties since then and then the traditional weekend of wedding festivities kicked off last week Friday.
I have been slavishly following them - not just for how ridiculously wholesome this entire crazy celebration has been, but also how insanely beautiful. And I say wholesome, but also worth millions and squillions. The jewels that have been on display over the course of this singular weekend are, frankly, mind blowing.
I follow a fantastic woman - Julia Chafe - she’s in the family jewel business (which sounds funnier than I mean it to be if you have a stupid sense of humour like mine). Julia was invited to the wedding. Disclaimer: I adore an influencer success story like this one. Why? Because, yes, there are loads of influencers who are dancing to trending audio in the lingerie in the snow and not knowing that Wales is a country (and not a continent, true story), but there are also women like Julia who are busting their arses to research and record snappy, engaging, informed stories. And they’re turning them around faster and having more fun doing so than all of the traditional media brands.
And I should know - my entire career, until now, was traditional media. But traditional media just seems to be getting slower even when they think they’re getting faster. Julia was posting videos live at the end of the night from the wedding, detailing the jewellery - carats, stones, provenance. It was wild. And brilliant and full of excitement. Days later I read Vogue proclaiming that they had the world exclusive to the wedding.
Erm, no, you bloody didn’t, boo. You aren’t the only person in the room with a story.
And Julia ate, as the kids would say. As I watched her vids and inwardly screamed with joy and gobsmackery (defs a word) at the jewellery on display, I watched her follower count tick up. In a weekend, she doubled her followers to over 600K. Yes, in a weekend. And not because she was in nude pantyhose and a nipple cap. Just good old fashioned gabbing with a fun, authentic (hate that word but Julia embodies why its absolute crack if you get it right) conversational take, that is information-packed, but not up its own arse.
Also she wears jewel-printed pyjamas with matching headband so what’s not to love? If you want to see Nita Ambani’s “emerald bricks” and Isha Ambani’s mismatched earrings and Kim Kardash’s diamonds and Priyanka Chopra’s “Bulgari girlie”, then follow Julia. It will restore your faith in humanity!
I’m now off to sift through my jewels for next week’s fiftieth. Well, not really! It would be a very short sift.
Hilarious 😀
Brilliant Dan Dan!!