Every now and then I feel a sharp pang of longing to work in magazines again.
Actually, there have been two pangs in the last week. The first one came during a three-hour brainstorm for a magazine that’s produced for The Drinks Association. I loved talking to the publisher and editor about paper thickness, show through, redesigns, feature ideas, covers …. ah, bliss!
And the best bit was that I didn’t actually have to produce the magazine, I just got to offer lots of opinions about it.
Last night I went out with two of my favourite former colleagues for dinner. We had a fabulous time discussing what the old crowd were up to these days and the current state of play at the major publishing houses.
We got to be all cone-of-silence-can-you-believe-it! It was bulk fun.
Mind you, it sounds like bloody hard yakka working on a magazine in 2019.
I was lucky enough to be mostly there for the good ol’ days and only a few years of the not-so-good ones.
I flew to Los Angeles to do photo shoots with celebrities … and was screamed at by Christina Applegate for playing “Fat Boy Slim is f*%king in heaven, f*%king in, f*%king in” during one.
I went clubbing in Hollywood with Kylie Minogue; I ate Mexican with Portia Di Rossi in Santa Monica; I watched Hugh Jackman get undressed IN REAL LIFE.
I saw a New York Fashion Week show; I straddled a Dyke on a Bike’s motorcycle as it zoomed down Oxford Street at Mardi Gras; I took the kids on a free cruise to Tahiti and Hawaii; I went on other freebies to Bali and Thailand and Disneyworld.
I ran magazines ranging from Singapore Harper’s Bazaar to Woman’s Day; I didn’t buy myself a single beauty product for 20 years, they all came from office “beauty sales”; I had my hair and make-up done for endless photo shoots and special events; and I was paid waaaaaaay more than I am now.
It was a charmed life.
It was also a different me.
This me still enjoys a freebie as much as the next person, but her favourite freebies are the ones that are actually, properly free: my swims at the beach, relaxing on the deck at DD’s, hugging my kids, scratching my dogs behind the ears, taking arty photos on my phone, blogging.
And that’s a blessing since life seems determined to keep serving up expensive dramas to me.
If I was paid waaaaaay more than I am now there are just a few things I would change. I’d get a cleaner, I’d get a gardener and I’d go on an overseas holiday.
I hate cleaning, I hate gardening and I love travelling with DD.
Oh and I might buy the very first new sofa of my life.
But I’ve learned that things aren’t the key to happiness. I’ve realised real joy can’t be bought with a credit card – it’s to be found bobbing in the waves or spooning with someone you love.
Ermagerd, I sound like some crazy, tie-dyed hippie chick.
Never fear, I’m way too pragmatic for that. My acerbic tongue will always resurface from the goop.
I am perimenopausal, after all. And, like the meme says:
They also know themselves a little better.
I wouldn’t go back to those days if a Tardis appeared in front of me now.
Although … it would be nice if I could turn back time on my face and body … I’m feeling a little nervous after reading about early onset vagina neck on Woogsworld.
I’ll leave you to digest those words with your Vegemite toast …
Song of the day: Diana Ross “Upside down”
Oh Alana I love you! I love your honesty and just quietly you don’t have a vagina neck!
I had no idea there was such a thing as vagina neck until last week and now I can’t unsee it!