Smile like you mean it

I'm writing this from my balcony. I don't think that phrase will ever get old (or make me sound NOT like a dickish person, but hey).

There ain't no rest for the wicked

I honestly can't believe it's been almost a month since I last blogged - I well and truly fell off the blogosphere, didn't I?

Life is moving pretty fast at the moment. It's quite scary and kind of sad, in a way. There have been lots of stressful times, but that's only made the chilled parts seem all the more wonderful... But there hasn't been enough time to sit and absorb these *moments* (if that makes any sense at all!)

I'm know I'm not the only one who adores the summer, but I really do bloody love it. When the sun's out I feel a lot more free and willing to get out and savour the weather. Lighter, longer days are a blessing, especially when you're in full-time work - there's nothing quite like spending a well-deserved Friday evening in a pub garden with friends, drinking pimms and enjoying the balmy weather. Nothing seems as rushed and everything seems a little easier.

There have been some big changes in my life, this month. Last week marked the end of my time at The Body Shop, where I'd worked for nearly a year in the UK PR team. It was my first proper, lengthy insight into the world of PR, and although I often found myself in difficult, overwhelming situations (99.9% of the time because of my mistakes, admittedly), I was so sad to leave all the amazing people I met and consider really good friends of mine. It was only today that it struck me just how much time you spend with your work colleagues - more time than anyone else - and how important they are in shaping your experience of work. The great thing about TBS is that even though my colleagues were all in different teams, we were always there to help each other out.

I went home for Father's Day the following day, which was definitely needed. I went sailing for the first time and even though I spent most of the time screaming "It's going to capsize!" and "Am I meant to be Port or Starboard?!", it was a good laugh, and pushed me out of my comfort zone.

I find that now that I live closer to home, I go home a fair bit. It's not because I don't like London as much as York (when I studied in York I'd only go home every few months) but I find that in London you can easily lose your head, and it's often difficult to stay grounded. I'm constantly surrounded by excess, luxury, and things I want, but can't afford. When you're here, you feel like you can have them, should have them, because everyone else seems to be living a (reasonably) lavish life. I don't know - it was easier to be sensible in York because I wasn't surrounded by possibilities and temptations, whereas here it's easy to trick yourself that you belong in a world that isn't sustainable on a modest salary. Getting out of the city gives my head a more-than-welcome break.

But back to reality. Today was my first day of my new (permanent) role at a PR agency. It hasn't really sunk in that this is my life now - that as long as I don't really screw up and I pass my probation - that I'm in a role where I can learn and progress and become involved. It's amazing! When I woke up today I wasn't even nervous because I had no idea what to expect, so didn't know what to be nervous about... After my first day I can tell that I have lots and lots to learn, but so far everyone has been lovely, smiley and welcoming, and I'm pretty happy.

And once I'm settled with my job, in a few weeks I'm moving from my beloved West Hampstead to - gasp - south of the river. As much as I adore where I live, and hope to end up somewhere as nice as NW6 in the future, my money doesn't stretch far enough for what I want. The house (yes, I'm moving from a flat to a HOUSE) will be newly refurbished and I have a balcony (my mother is already trying to convince me to buy tomato plants and the like for it... It's not even that big) and I'm really quite excited to have a view out of my window that isn't the local esso garage.

So... That's me! For those who are interested, here are a few awful quality photos that capture my life over the last month. 

                         Loving life at Kensington Roof Gardens

            Pancakes at Sofra, St Christopher's Place

I just really liked this poem.

                       Goodbye card from my Director, hand-made by his wife.

                         Leaving drinks!

                           Lunch in the sun with some of my beautiful (ex) colleagues (sob!)

                       

                       Leaving gifts. Very excited to put my a Selfridges voucher to good use!

                       

            Hangover brunch. Will I ever choose something except Eggs Royale? To be continued...

                                    

                                        Happy to be alive (and relatively dry) after sailing.

Until next time :)

For more (if rather inane) updates on my life, follow me on twitter @sofie 

"I got 99 problems but you won't be one of them" and Paris, je t'aime

Hold the phone! Contrary to my nagging doubts that I'd remain unemployed forever, I've somehow managed to secure a job. And not just any job - a job in beauty PR, of all things. Thank sweet baby Jesus and all those people who supported me, encouraged me to keep applying and reassured me that I wasn't a loser reject every time I was rejected (which was a lot, both the reassurance and the rejections). Phew. It means I can stay in London and buy myself a few more bottles of wine than I can afford now... At least calling off the job search is one less problem to deal with.

The news couldn't have come at a better time, as the following day I had my city break to Paris with a close university friend. God, I loved Paris. Even in the wind, rain and cold, the city was outstandingly beautiful. I'm a lover of admiring beautiful things, which might sound a bit weird, but when I see something that I find aesthetically pleasing, it makes me giddily happy. And that's how I felt, wandering down the Seine and exploring Monmartre and staring up, absolutely gobsmacked, at the Sacre Coeur.

After blitzing all the typical touristy attractions - you name it, we probably did it - we were both ridiculously excited to experience a Parisian caberet. So many people, including my parents, had recommended we go. They are pretty pricey, but we managed to get tickets for €42.50 due to the fact we're under 26, and that included seats at the bar and a glass of champagne during the show (the barmen gave us a second, I think they felt sorry for us!) and it was SO SO WORTH IT. Oh my word.
 

Before I went I was a little apprehensive. The show we were going to - The Crazy Horse - had been reviewed as especially risqué, with loads of emphasis on how little the women wore. I was worried I'd go and feel a bit uncomfortable, thinking the girls were forced to dress in that way for money rather than out of choice. We were seeing a live porno - albeit classed up for public consumption - after all. Right?

Wrong. These girls were amazing. Uh-maze-ing. Watching them was so liberating and brilliant, and my friend and I often found ourselves turning to each other and saying "Oh my god, they are so cool!"

The show was split into different sketches and dance routines, some more serious than others. Some incorporated the entire cast, and some girls had a "solo". Most sketches were absolutely barmy. There was a reoccurring sketch with a French maid who kept getting more and more drunk, hiccuping and tickling the audience with her feather duster. There was also a weird UFO scene where two girls ended up kissing (the sensuality was lost on us, I'm afraid). At first we thought, oh my god, what on earth have we stumbled into?! But as the show went on, we just got more and more into it. 

The fact the girls were topless (and often sans-knickers, with only tape covering their modesty) was empowering, not demeaning. They absolutely owned their bodies and everything they did was classy, elegant, and sexy as anything. It was also apparent that the girls loved what they did, and loved the reaction they received from the audience. The girls weren't to be sympathised with (as I ignorantly believed beforehand) but admired. I mean, Jesus, there was no hiding their bodies. No spanx, no push-up bras... Just kick-ass wigs and staggeringly high heels. Who wouldn't want to be that body confident? 

In the context of Paris, it was perfect. I just don't think England could carry off caberet in quite the same way... We somehow manage to make everything sleazy here. Such a shame.
 

I also strongly recommend doing AirBnB if you go to Paris. Staying just down the road from the Sacre Coeur was fantastic, and it was so nice to have an apartment to come back to for some recuperative cheese, cake and red wine after a hard day trekking up and down in the Metro (can someone please explain why there are so many STAIRS in Paris? They almost killed me). If we'd had a hotel room, we would have felt more obliged to be on the go 24/7, but an apartment meant we could dock the iPod, blast some tunes and potter around tea and coffee as if we were Monmartre locals (I wish).

  

Coming back from Paris was a bit of reality check, and I've realised how much I missed being around friends. I've gotten used to being by myself a lot, but that doesn't necessarily mean I enjoy it, or that it's a good thing. So I'm making more of an effort to see them, even if sometimes I find it difficult. And recently they have been especially important. I'm pretty lucky to have the friends I do, to be honest. But what's also come out of it is that I want to live in a more sociable place, or possibly with friends - so the flat search is back on!

à bientôt :)

"I want you to want me" or, a fun little analogy

Trying to secure a job post-internship is currently the bane of my existence. I've lost count of the amount of times people have given me their words of wisdom/consolation...

"It's their loss, Sofie! They don't know what they're missing"

"It wasn't meant to be"

"Something will come around, just you wait!"

"Don't lose faith, keep going"

                       

The whole business is demoralising, to say the least. I'm starting to think it was a crazy stoke of luck that I even managed to get onto my internship.

I feel like I've done everything "the man" has told me to do. I worked hard at school, got good GCSEs, A Levels, went to a decent university, did an academic subject, got a good degree... And now I'm getting experience. But it's still not enough.

And then when I was talking to my friend a few nights ago about how exhausting it is, the whole process of searching and applying for jobs, I realised something: applying for jobs is rather hilariously similar to dating.

Lost? Humour me.

Okay, so the responses I receive from job rejections, as shown above? They sounds scarily similar to the kind of responses you'd give a friend if they'd just been dumped or ended things with someone they'd been seeing.

But let's start from the beginning (the best place to start, I find). The job search. You ask yourself what you want, the kind of things you'd like in a job, what you want from it, and what you're willing to compromise. And once that is established, you start searching.

And then you realise this "search" is actually quite tricky because often the roles that seem too good to be true, are too good to be true. Pretty exterior, great benefits, a title you'd enjoy throwing around and boasting about to your friends at the pub. But then you realise you're not compatible. You don't fulfil their criteria, or maybe the other way around.

Or, you find the perfect job. Brilliant! So you apply, telling the company all about you - your experience, your background, what you can offer them, how you enjoy spending your time. And it's exhausting, but you hope he outcome will be worth it. Then you click "Send application", and sit tight. But then the agony begins. When did they say they'd respond again? Did they say they'd call, or email? Am I being paranoid? Why are my palms sweating? Refreshing my emails and checking my phone every two minutes is totally normal, right?

      

Then comes the interview. The nerves kick in, and you have to reiterate everything you said on your application, but this time, you have to jazz it up and hope that you're voice isn't monotonous and you don't say anything that could mess up your chances. You smile at the right moments, attempt to make a light-hearted joke (if the situation allows for it)... And the manner in which you part is everything. Everything. Did they like you? Did they sound sincere when they said they'd be in touch? Was that a "see you later" or "see you soon" and what the heck is the difference? Please don't say I had food in my teeth/coffee breath...

God forbid there are two interviews involved. You just want to cut the small-talk and get to the point, for goodness sake. You've given time, effort, maybe a few tears, stalked the hell out of them, and quite frankly, you're exhausted. The question is - do you want me? Or do I have to put this down to experience?

And brave yourself for the rejection. The rejections that, unfortunately, come at you (me) thick and fast. Sometimes I don't even make it past first base (ooer), and even when I do, I'm constantly on edge. But it's the rejections that knock you back, dent your ego and confidence. "What's wrong with meeee?" I wail to anyone who's willing to give me sympathy, "What if no one wants me, and I end up with nothing?" 

Because it's bloody hard, this whole application business. It's not like you can send your CV and expect a million job offers to come your way. Sometimes, if not always, you have to tailor a cover letter to the company and/or role. And sometimes you have to make your CV more appropriate. The forms, if they have application forms, make me want to face palm repeatedly, and all I want to do is send them a YouTube link of that song at the end of "10 Things I Hate About You" with the lyrics that go along the lines of "I want you to want me, I need to to need me..." And of course they'd find that so witty and not at all desperate, they'd hire me on the spot. 

                       

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my job application-dating analogy, and I hope you all have a lovely bank holiday weekend. If like me, it will consist of yet more job applications, you have my strongest sympathies.