My time in America is now officially 25% over. Actually, it’s slightly more than that, but we all know that a) I’m a tardy writer, and b) I can’t count.
I made myself a list before I left. A kind of ‘manifesto’, if you will. It was a selection of things I was going to do to ensure that I lived up to my intention of being the ‘New York Fabulous’ version of myself while I was here. I do like making myself a manifesto every once in a while. It’s nice living with the idea that by just doing one or two simple things every day you can completely change the very core of your being and become a much better person. Because that always works. I have to say, many of the things on my manifesto have been completely forgottn, which I suspect does not speak volumes for how well I have kept it up.
Manifesto Item #1: Wear Lipstick.
Uh… No. To be fair, I did do thia for several weeks, but quite possibly not long enough to warrant the 45 minutes I spent in Superdrug on Charing Cross Road the day before I left, trying to choose between ridiculously bright red, and more ridiculously bright red. In the end, I went for the brightest one I could find, with the justification of ‘Maybe New York Nicola’s into this stuff’. And it looked fantastic, it really did. The colour was really vivid as it came off on the rim of my cup every single morning. ‘Long lasting’, my arse.
Manifesto Item #2: Not Be Scruffy Any More.
Yeah… No. On the first morning of work I turned up wearing my super-stylish business suit, and it’s all gone downhill form there. On the plus side, my sleep time in the morning has increased as my efforts to look nice have dropped. On the minus side, the numerous slinky pencil dresses I bought for my new life as a business mogul/authority figure/proper grown-up remain untouched.
I have also never been a natural iron-er, and it turns out that neither is Fabulous, New York Nicola. I have ironed precisely one item of clothing to date, and that was for a wedding. If it’s not the happiest day of someone’s life, I ain’t ironing. And Mondays are not the happiest day of anyone’s life. And so, scruffy I remain.
And, for the record, I prefer the title ‘I’m-too-busy-for-that-shit chic’ over ‘scruffy’.
Manifesto Item #3: Not Drink.
Hm… No. It’s not that I have a particular problem with alcohol (In fact, I’m sure my family wouldn’t mind my suggestion that I probably drink the least out of all of us). However, I’m technically a student again, and I know what comes with the territory. And as a person who not so long ago went all healthy, I thought that might be the easiest route to staying that way. But you know what? Mama had a hard day at work. So, cheers.
Manifesto Item #4: Apply Myself To My Studies And Become The Walking Encyclopaedia Brittanica Of The Business World.
Nope. Because it turns out that I was right and business is not all that. The scruffy, creative life is the one for me, and I’m glad I’ve figured that out.
Manifesto Item #5: Not Go Up A Clothes Size.
In spite of item #3, so far, so good. It helps that I like running and I get to do it along the Hudson these days, using either the Empire State building or the Statue of Liberty as my halfway markers. I’m hoping America’s not going to get me now.
Though incidentally, this is the first place I’ve ever been where my clothes size is a single-digit number and therefore I am never leaving.
I think I’ve forgotten most of the other ones. There were loads. But one could argue that a 90% success rate is no bad thing. Someone else might argue that there’s some thing wrong with my maths. But I would then argue that that person would need to stop pooing all over my dreams and cordially invite them to bite me.
Oh, and I think there was an item about being more pleasant and ladylike…