I appreciate the appeal of the supermodel - especially the Big Five (Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford, Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlingtona and Tatjana Patitz) and what they have historically embodied. The beauty, the presence, the apparent ease with which an extraordinary life is worn. Even the word ‘super’ suggests somebody operating beyond the ordinary. Much like a superhero, there is a sense that this person belongs to a realm separate from our own. This is an analogy, of course, rather than a history of the term. But it captures what interests me about aspiration: sometimes the distance is part of the attraction. You could buy the magazine, admire the photograph and recreate elements of the look. Becoming the person on the cover was another matter.

With that said, I am less convinced that distance should be mistaken for merit. If part of what made the Vogue dream desirable was how inaccessible it appeared, what happens when somebody with a recognisable starting point achieves it? Does the achievement lose its value? Or have we become so attached to exclusivity that another person’s arrival feels like a reduction in what the institution can offer?

Before going further, it is important to establish that there has never been one uniform Vogue. American Vogue, British Vogue and its other international editions have distinct editorial histories. Nor is a print cover interchangeable with a digital feature or an invitation to the Met Gala. The broader conversation about ‘getting into Vogue’ tends to collapse these distinctions, when the kind of access being granted matters. What I am interested in here is how the routes to fashion recognition have widened, and whether that widening has changed who we believe deserves it.

The history also complicates the idea that Vogue was once concerned solely with high fashion before celebrities and influencers interrupted the proceedings. Founded in 1892, the publication covered fashion and society. The lives of people with status were part of its remit from the beginning. Perhaps the question is less about when Vogue became interested in people beyond modelling, and more about how its understanding of status has evolved. [1]

Likewise, the familiar progression from supermodels to celebrities to influencers is too neat to stand on its own. Supermodels became celebrities. Celebrities became fashion figures. Influencers have become models, business owners and celebrities themselves. Madonna appeared on American Vogue’s May 1989 cover, before the decade so closely associated with the supermodel had properly begun. These categories have coexisted, even when we remember them as separate eras. [2]

What changes is the means by which somebody becomes recognisable, and who has the authority to make that recognition count.

The red carpet offers one way into this. We tend to speak about a celebrity’s style as though it emerges fully formed from their own wardrobe. Sometimes it does. Other times, the image we admire is the result of designers, representatives, stylists and beauty teams working towards a particular impression. We see the person wearing the clothes. We do not always see the labour that makes their appearance seem inevitable.

Consider Jodie Foster’s blue taffeta dress at the 1989 Academy Award. Following that appearance, Armani representative Wanda McDaniel approached her about dressing her the following year. British Vogue recounts the episode within the development of Armani’s Hollywood relationships. Julia Roberts, meanwhile, was already wearing Armani at the 1990 Golden Globes. Their stories cannot simply be grouped into one sequence in which both dressed themselves, were criticised, and were subsequently rescued by a designer. [3]

Still, there is something revealing about the relationship between scrutiny and professional image-making. A woman is expected to look exceptional, criticised when her choices fail to meet the standard, and then treated as though the image created to satisfy that standard is entirely her own. I would be cautious about claiming that ridicule on the red carpet caused the rise of celebrity Vogue covers, let alone influencer ones. But it does help us interrogate how fashion authority is cultivated, rather than something certain people naturally possess.

Today, that cultivation can become a spectacle in itself. Zendaya and Law Roach are an obvious example. At the December 2021 premiere of Spider-Man: No Way Home, her Valentino spiderweb gown and mask extended the film’s imagery onto the red carpet. At the London premiere of Dune: Part Two in February 2024, an archival 1995 Mugler robot suit placed her within a different kind of science-fiction fantasy. The first was a direct visual reference; the second connected the occasion to a wider futuristic imagination. Both gave audiences something to discuss beyond the film. [4][5]

Roach’s involvement matters because his creative judgement is part of what people anticipate. Recognising this does not require an entire detour into ‘ghost styling’, though it should prompt us to consider how selectively creative labour is credited. The public image is a collaboration. If an actor can develop fashion credibility through that collaboration, I struggle with the suggestion that an online creator should be disqualified before the process has even begun.

Emma Chamberlain’s September 2022 Vogue Australia and February 2025 Vogue Hong Kong covers offers a concrete example of an internet personality reaching a traditional fashion milestone. One cover cannot establish the priorities of every Vogue edition. It does, however, make a different route to recognition visible. Somebody whose audience knew her through online content could now be encountered within the visual language of an established fashion publication. [6]

My understanding of the appeal is that both parties have something to gain. Vogue offers institutional recognition. The creator brings an audience with an existing interest in their life. The cover gives that audience a new occasion to pay attention, while giving the subject another form of legitimacy. This is an interpretation of the relationship, rather than evidence of a particular contractual arrangement. But the possibility of mutual benefit should hardly surprise us.

Vogue is a publication and a business. The two responsibilities have to coexist. Research by Shiyu Feng, Xinyin Lian and Miaomiao Zhou examines the tension between Vogue’s luxury positioning and the purchasing power and preferences of younger consumers. Their paper proposes ways to engage Gen Z; it does not establish the reasoning behind particular covers. What it does provide is context for a publication considering how to remain relevant to people whose attention and money are being sought elsewhere. [7]

Of course, commercial relevance does not automatically produce good editorial judgement. A large following does not guarantee an interesting interview or a compelling photograph. We should be able to criticise the execution of a cover without being accused of resenting somebody’s success. Equally, dismissing someone because they ‘just make videos’ is hardly an interrogation of the work. What, specifically, makes their route to recognition less legitimate? And are we applying the same scrutiny to the people whose presence we have already accepted?

This is where I think the argument about accessibility becomes more complicated. Watching somebody’s earlier videos can make their eventual success feel close to us. We remember their bedroom, their routines, the period before the designer relationships. The beginning feels ordinary, therefore the destination feels possible. But familiarity tells us very little about the actual conditions of entry.

‘Previously unknown’ is not a class background. Neither is ‘influencer’. We cannot infer somebody’s financial security, family connections or access to unpaid time from the fact that we had not heard of them before. Equally, the eventual status of a supermodel tells us little about the circumstances in which she began. Any serious comparison requires more than a collection of success stories. Without a defined sample and reliable biographical evidence, claims about how many cover stars were working class or benefited from nepotism remain assumptions.

There is a distinction between being able to publish yourself, being able to sustain an audience, and being selected by a fashion institution. Social media can make the first possible without making the others probable. To suggest that creators have had it ‘easy’ because their work is visible online is to confuse the availability of a route with the ease of travelling it.

Julia Twigg’s research on age in British Vogue offers a useful way to think about the terms of inclusion. Examining the magazine principally between 1990 and 2009, she describes strategies through which older women could appear while visible ageing remained constrained. Applied to this discussion, the question becomes whether somebody new entering Vogue changes its ideals, or whether they are made legible through ideals already in place. That extension is my own, rather than Twigg’s argument about influencers. [8]

An unconventional career history can still be presented through conventional standards of beauty, luxury and aspiration. A new face does not, on its own, tell us how much has changed.

Editors matter here. Anna Wintour’s American Vogue provides one history of decisions about who belongs within fashion’s frame. Edward Enninful articulated another emphasis at British Vogue, describing an ambition for inclusion and diversity in which people could recognise themselves. These are distinct editorial contexts, though both invite questions about the relationship between a publication’s authority and the people it chooses to recognise. [9]

The Met Gala makes that authority unusually visible. Yet its transformation should not be credited to Wintour alone: the Metropolitan Museum identifies Diana Vreeland’s earlier tenure as a significant period of change, before Wintour took over as co-chair in 1995. The event provides a parallel to the cover conversation because so much public interest centres on admission. Who was invited? Who belongs? Who has supposedly lowered the tone merely by arriving? [10]

I try to be self-aware enough to recognise that my interest in fashion includes an attraction to its fantasy. I do not need every image to resemble my own life. There is pleasure in looking at something extraordinary, and demanding that fashion abandon that pleasure would miss part of what makes it compelling. Still, I want to interrogate the point at which admiring the fantasy becomes defending the exclusion that surrounds it.

Because if somebody’s success becomes less impressive once their starting point resembles our own, what exactly are we celebrating? The work, or the fact that most people were never expected to get there?

Equally, I am hesitant to turn the influencer cover into a comforting story about everyone being able to make it. The suggestion that we need cleaners and sales assistants does not justify denying those people ambition. But their lives should not require an escape into fame to become worthy of respect either. A magazine cover can be an achievement without becoming a measure of whose existence has amounted to something.

To me, the changing cover star exposes a tension in how we understand success. We want to identify with people who achieve extraordinary things, yet sometimes resent them when their proximity makes the achievement feel less exclusive. We celebrate the possibility of social mobility while becoming suspicious of the people who make it visible. Meanwhile, familiarity can persuade us that opportunity is more evenly distributed than it is.

I do not think accessibility is inherently damaging to Vogue. I do think we need to be more precise about what has become accessible: the content, the personalities, the imagined possibility, or the actual opportunity. Those are different developments, with different consequences.

Perhaps the Vogue dream feels closer because we have watched more of the journey. Whether more people can realistically complete it remains another question. But before we decide that the dream has been diminished, I would challenge us to consider why another person reaching it should feel like something has been taken away.

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Sources

1. Vogue’s origins as a fashion and society publication.

2. Madonna’s May 1989 American Vogue cover.

3. British Vogue: How Giorgio Armani shaped the red carpet.

4. Zendaya’s Spider-Man premiere look.

5. Zendaya’s archival Mugler look.

6. Emma Chamberlain’s September 2022 Vogue Australia cover.

7. Feng, Lian and Zhou: Behind Vogue.

8. Julia Twigg: How Does Vogue Negotiate Age?.

9. Edward Enninful on Vogue and inclusion.

10. The Metropolitan Museum: A brief history of the Met Gala.

When I think of high-profile Black artists whose commitments extend beyond symbolism and into explicit political alignment, Kehlani and Lauryn Hill come to mind. Both have made their positions clear, even when doing so carried professional or cultural risk. For a long time, I placed Stormzy and, in a different way, Beyoncé within a similar category: figures whose public presence suggested a commitment to something larger than personal success. Over time, however, it has become clear that occupying space at scale demands different compromises, and that not all forms of influence are willing, or able, to carry the same weight when principles begin to cost something.

It’s important that I emphasise upfront that going back on your word is not a phenomenon unique to Black celebrities, nor to public figures more broadly. The purpose of this piece is not to moralise selectively, but to examine how the cost of breaking one’s word operates differently for Black people, and the role race plays in shaping those consequences.

To honour your word is not only to keep promises to others, but to keep promises to yourself. While these commitments lead to different outcomes, the ethical principles underpinning them - fidelity, veracity, and integrity - remain the same. To others, keeping your word signals trustworthiness, consistency, and leadership. To yourself, it strengthens self-esteem, aligns you with your values, and shapes your self-image over time.

Some things are abstract and should resist being priced. Yet as a society, we have increasingly treated our word as something negotiable - largely because we underestimate how something intangible can translate into real harm. When promises are broken casually, the damage is not theoretical; it is ethical, relational, and cumulative.

Something that appears to cost nothing often costs the most.

The problem is not the absence of cost, but the type of cost involved. Honouring your word is not paid for in money; it is paid for in character, reputation, and relationships - both professional and personal. When we fail to keep our word, we are not avoiding a cost. We are simply paying it in a different currency.

Because this currency is invisible, it is easy to dismiss. Unlike money, it cannot be tracked, quantified, or immediately reclaimed. Yet it compounds quietly over time, shaping how we are perceived and how we come to see ourselves. By the time the loss becomes visible, it is often already embedded.

Another layer to this conversation is how selectively we honour our commitments.

Some people prioritise promises made to others over promises made to themselves, driven by external validation and concern with how they are perceived. This often produces a fractured sense of self - a quiet unreliability that manifests as chronic restlessness or dissatisfaction.

Others operate in the opposite direction, prioritising personal goals above all else. Promises to others become flexible, conditional, and easily revised so long as they serve long-term self-interest. While this may appear disciplined or strategic, it carries its own cost. Over time, self-esteem erodes - even when the individual refuses to acknowledge it.

In both cases, integrity becomes negotiable. And once integrity is negotiable, trust - in oneself and in others - becomes unstable.

What ultimately drives us becomes clear when integrity starts to cost something.

When money is prioritised over discipline, integrity becomes conditional. When influence matters more than principle, values become performative. Power does not simply test character; it exposes which commitments were solid and which were provisional.

This is where the distance between words and action begins to widen.

Wealth complicates advocacy, particularly when it insulates people from the consequences they claim to oppose.

Stormzy was among those marching publicly in solidarity with Palestine, a form of support that went beyond digital activism and carried visible personal risk. Yet he later proceeded with a commercial partnership with McDonald’s, a company that had made its support for Israel explicit.

Regardless of intent, this was a choice. And for many, it created a contradiction severe enough to undermine the credibility of his earlier stance. The issue is not whether Stormzy cared, but whether his word still held weight in the face of inconvenience. For a public figure whose identity had been built on moral alignment with the people, that distinction mattered.

Beyoncé presents a different, but related case. Throughout her career, she has positioned herself, often powerfully, as an advocate for Black people. Her work has addressed anti-Black violence, celebrated the multidimensionality of Black identity, and offered representation that has been both affirming and culturally significant. That contribution matters, and it should not be dismissed.

However, the question of integrity is not only about who one advocates for, but about the consistency of that advocacy when it encounters other forms of state violence.

The release of Renaissance: A Film by Beyoncé, and the decision to allow it to be screened in Israel, became a moment where that consistency was tested. Footage circulated widely of Zionists waving Israeli flags and dancing to Break My Soul in cinemas. In some instances, the song was sung alongside the Israeli war chant “Yam Israel Chai,” transforming a track rooted in liberation, resilience, and survival into a soundtrack for a military state engaged in the mass killing of civilians, including children.

What followed was not simply misinterpretation by audiences, but a broader moral problem: a work created to affirm Black endurance was repurposed as a celebratory anthem within a context of ongoing state violence - without so much as an acknowledgement from its author.

At a certain level of cultural power, neutrality is not passive. Allowing one’s work to circulate freely within violent contexts is a choice, even when that choice is framed as apolitical or commercial. Prior advocacy does not disappear in moments like this, but its scope becomes visible. When solidarity does not extend beyond the boundaries of one’s own community - even in the face of parallel forms of oppression - its moral weight is inevitably narrowed.

Being “for the people” cannot mean being for some people while remaining silent when others face comparable violence. Selective solidarity does not erase past contributions, but it does expose the limits of what one’s word is ultimately willing to stand behind.

Ultimately, celebrities - and many of us - are not just participants in consumerism, but products of it.

Professor Jiang Xueqin describes consumerism as the perfection of slavery: a system in which people are free only within the boundaries of what they are willing to sell. When public figures consistently choose the cheque over the principled stance, particularly when that stance involves resisting state violence or genocide, their behaviour exposes the limits of their freedom.

Consumerism does not eliminate choice; it narrows it. And it rewards those who remain palatable to power.

The context behind where race enters the conversation matters because the consequences of dissent are not evenly distributed.

We have seen many individuals face professional punishment for speaking out. When those individuals are white, recovery - while difficult - is often possible. When they are Black, the damage is frequently permanent.

Will Smith. Nicki Minaj. Keri Hilson.

The circumstances differ, but the pattern is familiar: moments of resistance followed by careers that never fully recover. This reality shapes how “choice” functions for Black public figures. Silence is rarely neutral, but speaking carries a price that history has shown to be severe.

For Black public figures in particular, the cost of integrity is rarely abstract. It is tangible, historical, and repeatedly reinforced. That reality does not erase the moral tension - it sharpens it.

When a word only holds under favourable conditions, it is no longer a currency. It is a convenience.

And the moment integrity is conditional, it stops being integrity at all.

Previously, I had gone through all the motions that I imagine one feels when betrayed. Shock, hurt, anger. Confusion, frustration, despair. Repeat. Forgiveness?

At the behest of frequently being told that my feelings were invalid, that other people wouldn’t be bothered by the things that bother me, I would be lying if I said that these opinions didn’t have some influence on how I navigated certain situations.

In a bid to be perceived as the chilled friend at the time, I contributed to my own discomfort and my own hurt by choosing to pander to the needs of other people one too many times.

If I hadn’t convinced myself that I was overreacting, that they didn’t mean to hurt me, that they were only human (they are) perhaps I wouldn’t have been quick to say I forgive you, knowing that I wasn’t fully there at the time. Don’t get me wrong, the joy I felt when creating new memories after trying to speed up the timeline of forgiveness, was real. But so was the gnawing feeling that I was still somehow doing myself an injustice by doing things this way.

Maybe if I had stood up for myself the first time I was told how to feel after my feelings were hurt, I wouldn’t have gone around in circles, trying to plead with others to see my perspective and validate it.

A tough pill to swallow is, sometimes we play a role in our own heartbreaks. I’ve learnt that acknowledging this and taking accountability for this is key because it’s only really then that you can move forward to make the necessary changes to prevent history repeating itself. At least, that’s what happened to me.

So, I’ve arrived here, at this little dance. Questioning, am I just being cautious or am I holding grudges?

Is it fair for me to keep changing my mind? Is it fair for me to change my boundaries after saying I could move forward?

How do I give someone the second chance that they deserve without compromising my own needs?

Isn’t the cost of loving people giving them a piece of you?

Isn’t it okay to change your mind?

I don’t think it is quite black and white. I am both holding a grudge and being cautious. Because if I don’t hold a grudge, I may just forget the violation and let it happen again (after all, that has happened before). I’ve convinced myself that one of the ways that I can show up for myself is to remember how hurt I felt at the time and to recognise that as a signal of my boundary point. Going forward, it’s important that I act and speak up the first time any violation occurs. To do it even when it builds knots in my stomach. To do it regardless of the outcome.

It’s not a litmus test of the violation vs my emotions compared to others. It is the violation versus my values.

Maybe I hold a grudge because I can’t keep giving others the power to hurt me repeatedly. To forgive, but not forget.

- Onyi Nwabineli in Allow Me To Introduce Myself

April was laced with warm days, sunshine and plenty of quality time with friends. I emerged my cocoon to reconnect with friends I hadn’t seen in months and celebrate the birthdays of my loved ones. Boy did I have fun!

As I inch closer to my thirties, I can’t help but reflect on what fun means to me today. My early twenties were littered with me being the hostess with the mostest. Any opportunity to bring my friends together was seized. Be it planning a cocktail night, organising a games night or making sure that everyone I cared for had bought their tickets to whatever day party event was on at the time, you can bet that I was behind the call for enjoyment. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun and I have plentiful memories to show for it, but as is the case with everything in life, too much of anything isn’t good for you.

During this transition period of my life, it became more and more clear to me that I was filling my time with company as a means of escapism. The consequences of this included blurring the lines between friends and acquaintances. Over-familiarity cost me greatly as I struggled to put boundaries in place.

Reflecting on the impact that this had on me encouraged me to pause and think about how I wanted to spend my free time going forward. In the past two years, I have severed ties with people who, I now know, did not have my best interests at heart. My devotion to putting myself first meant that I prioritised therapy and overcame my internal battle with setting boundaries in place.

I’ve been more intentional with how I spend my free time. Sometimes by doing nothing at all, sometimes by seeing friends, sometimes by putting my future needs first.

What April taught me is that I still enjoy having fun, who wouldn’t? But fun to me now looks like more dinner dates with friends and less day parties, more evenings by myself and less chasing the night. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a day party here and there, but gone are the days where I can attend three in one weekend. It simply doesn’t align with my financial goals and quite frankly, it takes a toll on my physical energy. I’m far more disciplined than I used to be and believe me when I say this a big deal for me. I used to conflate discipline with punishment but that is far from the case. Our society’s relationship with instant gratification (no doubt driven by the age of social media) means that some of us struggle to see the beauty in and benefit of looking at the bigger picture. We lose sight and it can be costly. But this doesn’t have to be the way.

Everyday is a new day and there is no reason why we can’t start fresh at any given time. Why wait until Monday to start again when you can choose to do so now?

If there’s one thing that March forced me to do, it was to grow comfortable basking in the stillness of life. Although I had initially said that I wanted to rest after recently overcoming some significant changes in my life, I was not prepared for the depths of the silence that came with this.

With that stillness came confrontation too. I was met with the discomfort of reframing how I spent my free time. I used to fill my days to the brim with plans, over time I realised that this was me running away from myself. But this time, when I found myself with a healthy amount of free time for the first time in months, I allowed myself to sit in the discomfort of not having distractions. Which in itself translated to developing healthy habits when the fleeting feeling of boredom visited.

The thing about boredom when you are by yourself is that it can invite feelings of loneliness. In these instances, I was faced with the decision of how I wanted to navigate that loneliness. Did I want the distraction of people's company or did I need to let it lull and interrogate why I felt lonely just for, quite literally, spending time alone. It was the classic battle of your needs verses your wants. I didn't need to be in the company of people, especially if the sole reason for their company was to escape my own thoughts. In the past, chasing the company of others to the point that I found myself spending time with individuals whose presence only left me feeling lonelier was harrowing. I wanted to have a good time and distract myself, equally I could recognise that it's not what I needed. What I needed was to be still. And so, when the opportunity presented itself, I embraced it this time around, instead of scrolling through my contacts to see who was free. I now realise that this is how I ended up befriending people who weren’t necessarily good for me. It’s also how I found myself entertaining romantic interests who did not care for me to the extent that I desired.

So March came and aside from a weekend getaway with the girls, I found myself with some much needed free time on the weekend. Instead of filling my time with people, I filled it writing spells at my local cafe, long walks whilst I explored my new neighbourhood and binging new shows such as Residence. I resisted the constant urge to make plans after work and instead booked BLOK classes. All of these things brought me the same joy that spending time with my loved ones would. And needless to say, they also brought me more joy than what spending time with people who did not necessarily have my best interests at heart would have done.

So, instead of filling the gaps when my loved ones were busy with company that wasn't entirely good for me, I allowed the discomfort of being alone to linger and guess what? I was good for it.

We don't talk enough about that gnawing feeling that you are not doing enough, despite the fact that you may have recently achieved a goal that you relentlessly worked hard for. The stillness of March reinforced the extent to which I was always in pursuit of the next best thing. Always looking to the future and never living in the present. The problem with this is that you could find yourself entering a constant state of ingratitude. As a Christian, the Bible teaches about being grateful with what you have already. How insulting must it be to God that once I receive the thing(s) I prayed for, the thing I worked hard for, that I am already wondering how to get to the next level, not even two months in?

So yes, whilst the fear of becoming complacent plagues me, March taught me that it is okay sit in the gratitude for longer. To remember where you were previously and where you are now.

Despite the bouts of loneliness experienced this month, I am hopeful for April. I know that, as an ambivert, I can spend time with my loved ones and balance it with some much needed me time. I know better than to fill the silence with company that doesn’t serve me. I understand the importance of letting the silence linger because that’s how you grow more comfortable in it. I equally recognise the importance of community, the importance of making time for your people and not hiding when you’re down. It’s okay to ask for help when you need it, even if the help is just a friend’s quality time.

I’m still going to church and have been participating in lent. One of my forms of fasting has been centred around discipline. This, for me, meant creating a more rigorous training plan that required not just my discipline, but my devotion. Aside from one week where I felt low, it is safe to say that I’ve been devoted to closing my rings.

Spring has sprung and I’m excited for what April has in store for me.

Quick ticks: tasks that take 15 mins.

Tasks: things that require more of my time

Non-negotiables: the daily commitments and promises to myself

Structuring my days out like this is crucial to my survival. It helps me feel less chaotic. It is why some of my friends ask me how I have closed all my rings by lunchtime. Or why my colleagues wonder how I manage to get so much done in a day. On the surface, I have my life together, right?

So why do I still feel like I’m swimming in chaos?

When it comes to the practical things, the things that ensure daily discipline, I tend to have little to no issues with the sustenance of this. That is, unless I am feeling emotionally imbalanced. Time, and time again, I have tried to divorce the practical from the emotional, but it seems impossible.

I have realised that you cannot list your way out of self sabotage. The thing about life is that your attitudes towards one aspect of it, and how you navigate it can tend to spill into other areas. The other thing about life, is that sometimes it doesn’t make sense. Because let me tell you, if I could mirror the practical with the emotional, I would be thriving. Instead, I feel friction within, despite the evidence pointing to the fact that I am doing all right.

Or am I?

I often battle with the voice in my head that tells me that I don’t deserve these things that I have worked so hard for. The things that, without my daily to do list, I would not have devoted myself to achieving. But still, it’s the devil on my shoulders.

You don’t deserve this opportunity

You’re going to mismanage this blessing

Love won’t find you

You are too much as you are

You’re never going to be where you want to be

As a Christian, prayer helps a lot when these thoughts plague my mind. As a human, it’s not always second nature for me to immediately turn to God in these moments of depletion. The self sabotage and ultimately, low self esteem, develops into a cycle of poor decision making.

As an overachiever and someone who gets things done, I find myself getting bored easily too. After I close my rings, what’s next? After I complete my daily tasks, what is next? At this point, this is the bare minimum for me.

But by that point, I get tired of being on top form. Which leads to self sabotage. It’s a paradox of feeling like my mind is not being stimulated, whilst also seeking stimulation in areas that most likely, do not serve me.

Sometimes this could look like signing up for gym classes that are out of my comfort zone. Healthy decision making. Other times, this could look like entertaining people that do not align with the person I really want to be. Poor decision making. Either way, the dopamine hit has been achieved.

You can't list your way out of self sabotage because the thing about life is that tests are thrown your way. Even when I meticulously plan my days, emotionally, I still feel displaced at times. I hate that I am someone who thinks profoundly because it means that I am constantly interrogating my character, my actions and who I want to be. If I can do the practical things well, why does it feel like I’m stagnated when it comes to confronting my emotions?

Sometimes I look at myself and wonder, "do you like who you are?".

I can recognise that I am imperfect. I can recognise that things are not always going to be good. That it is rare for all areas of your life to flourish at the same time. But honestly, I'm tired. It feels like there is always something. I am emotionally drained and as much as journalling and praying can help, I struggle with reconciling how exactly I can improve my situation if I can't put it in a list.

Needless to say, life is one big dance. The steps backwards are part of it right? I wish I could end this piece with a summation on how I’ve pieced everything together, how I’ve learnt to overcome these feelings but I cannot. I’ve written this article during a phase where I am still learning and unlearning and that’s okay.

To be continued, shall we say?

Links included in this month’s edition

1. My substack

2. January outfits for work

3. The Khanums Kalentina dress

4. Bozoma Saint John and Trinny Woodall podcast

With beauty, this originally began with my interest in changing my hair frequently. I was (and still am, though with moderation now) one of those girls who had a new hairstyle every other week. Back then, I would scour the pages of black owned magazines such as Essence and Honey to see what braided hairstyle the blueprint - well, my blueprint - Alicia Keys had done recently, that I could beg my mother to recreate on seven year old me.

In a sense, one could argue that the constant desire to change my hair was tied to an identity crisis. The shelled conversations in my family about who I was and where I came from led to me seeking answers elsewhere, by myself. I didn’t make the connection at the time, but over the years, I came to recognise that I have used the versatility of Afro hair as a means of gaining more understanding into who I am and what makes me tick.

In another sense, I have concluded that I am a chameleon. For instance, through my fashion sense over the years, I have learnt that I detest the notion of sticking to one ‘aesthetic’ because any developing human being is constantly changing. Life ebbs and flows and this can result in us having many different phases, some last longer than others and others are more intense, if not as long. As such, it is not uncommon to feel disconnected to a previous phase.

In my case, very rarely do I neglect an era completely. If anything, I shelve it for a period of time. But one way or another, I always come back to it. This is certainly the case with the colours I have chosen to dye my hair over the years.

It is this mentality that has led me to better understand what complements my features. As such, I follow one simple rule, which is that if I like it, I will try it at least once. I care very little about fitting into a box or rigidly following trends. In fact, the idea of that horrifies me. The historical subjugation of women has shaped how we perceive physical beauty and it’s important to disrupt this. Especially in an age when themes such as ‘UK Black Girl Make Up’ are sought as desirable. Even if you do decide that this is your preference, I believe that it is important to explore with multiple styles before you settle. This allows you to interrogate whether this is truly your preference and when you feel the most confident, or whether you are following the masses.

My love for makeup was borne of my use of beauty to self express. I have always enjoyed the step-by-step process of applying makeup, finding it to be therapeutic because I can get lost in time, in the art of it. At 13, I had mastered the application of an eyeliner for a more feline look. Even when I neglected to play with makeup to the extent that I used to during my older teenage years, at 18, when I picked up an eyeliner again after many years, it was as if no time had passed because the smoothness of the product as it glided across my eyelid to execute my desired look was satisfactory.

By 19, I was experimenting with colours and patterns. The desire to experiment was ignited after I went to two makeup artists in Manchester for a trial makeup session ahead of my Year 11 prom and neither of them could deliver on black skin (they were white, as was custom for the area that I grew up in at that time). From there, I went to department stores (Harvey Nichols, Debenhams, Selfridges) to buy my entire makeup wish list and hone in on my skills until I achieved satisfiable results for my big day. Since then, I made a promise to myself that I would continue practising my makeup skills on myself because sadly, I was convinced nobody else would know how to work on my complexion. Thankfully makeup artistry has evolved, which is why I can say that with the exception of Painted by Esther, I have been the only one to paint my own face to date.

I try my best to be self aware. Which is why I can admit that while I am shouting that we, as women, should celebrate the diversity in our looks, it would be hypocritical for me to suggest that I, too, have not come to fall into the category that is the bland homogeneity of the ‘UK Black Girl Make-Up’. Perhaps, I am writing this because I want to revive the version of myself that experimented with makeup without the fear of being misunderstood for not being ‘perfect’. A fear that was subconsciously compounded by patriarchy and more specifically, the male gaze, if we are being brutally honest. This desire for perfection goes against what my people, the Mende of Sierra Leone believe. Which is that physical perfection is an ideal that only the gods can achieve. And I clearly am not a god.

It was through anthropologist Sylvia Ardyn Boone’s research of the Mende women of Sierra Leone that I learned that in my motherland, voluntarily doing a [beauty] service on someone else is considered one of the highest forms of love, friendship and care (Radiance from the Waters: Ideals of Feminine Beauty in Mende Art.). Think about it, whether it’s to spend one hour doing someone else’s makeup or several hours styling their hair, or even helping them to reorganise their wardrobe, for one to take time out of their day to do this is no small feat.

Learning of the connection between my maternal tribe and their perception of beauty gave me a new layer of understanding into the woman that I am and why the things that make me tick, do so. I have always loved it when my friends asked me to do their makeup ahead of us going out. Or a family member asked me to paint their face before a big event. It’s an opportunity for me to indulge in the two things I love: bonding with them and playing with makeup. While I’m sure this phenomenon of beauty service as an expression of love is not limited to Mende women, I definitely appreciated learning of the value that this had in my country. To extend your love of this with the people around you is a love language in itself.

Beauty and fashion to me, is more than making yourself look good. It is a way to express yourself and tap into all the different character developments that humans face. When you can do this, your confidence soars. To be able to share this experience with loved ones, is nothing short of powerful. Why conform to one ideal, one aesthetic, when we can allow ourselves to adapt? As I grow older, I wonder what would happen if we redefined beauty and fashion in our own terms. Would we be less susceptible to the constant trends that are treated as disposable? Perhaps someone like myself might re-learn to ignore the hold that patriarchy has on beauty and fashion as an expression.

If I’m being brutally honest and were to interrogate this, the surfaced answer would be that I date people that aren’t my preferred type because I don’t want my view of love and opportunities to receive love to be obstructed by a narrow list of physical attributes. But if I dig deeper, I realised overtime that the external validation I was seeking led me to date people that I wouldn’t necessarily prefer over my ‘type’.

This can be dangerous because it meant that when I did attract my type and dated them, I was willing to go deaf to the alarm bells because of that desperation (yes, desperation) to hold onto them. If there is one thing I have learnt, it’s that your desire for love should not overpower your ability to put yourself first or the courage to leave because you deserve better than what you are receiving.

I now see how this reaction was a symptom of a lack mentality. It was almost as if I was saying to myself that this is the only time in life that I’m going to meet someone who ticks the physical boxes that I want to tick. This is likely not true.

I wore this fear in the ways that I convinced myself that my worth as an individual was measured by the calibre of men that I attracted. As if they were a prize to be won. Through intentional efforts to heal myself, such as going to therapy, I have come to understand that the external validation I was seeking at the time blinded me to any common sense. What I didn’t see was how I was moulding into the version I believed he wanted me to be, as opposed to just being myself. Subconsciously, I believed that he wouldn’t stay with me if I showed up to the relationship just as I am.

Eventually, the mask slipped and I grew weary of performing. What they don’t tell you about the performance ending is that the damage is already done. When you spend close to a year of conditioning your mind to believe that the only way someone that was your ‘type’ would love you is if you showed up as someone else, you start to blur the lines between the truth and the lies.

The truth is, I am loveable exactly the way I am. Although it took twice as much time to re-learn this and believe it, the damage is reparable. Going forward, I am choosing not to become stuck on the granular details of my ‘type’. Instead of zeroing in on superficial qualities, I am choosing to laser my focus on what truly matters to me and this can be achieved by putting my needs at the centre of my non-negotiables.

I now know that if I feel like I can’t show up to the relationship as myself, then I’m in the wrong one. And I now have the discernment to recognise this and the courage to leave when I have this realisation.

This is where In Real Life comes in. On the gram as @WeMet_IRL, this event company seeks to create a space for people to make friends, date, or find the love of their life. Three components that cannot always be captured adequately on dating apps. Whilst we know that success stories from dating platforms exist, this is not everyone’s experience. In Real Life is specifically designed to captivate those that are looking to form new relations in a genuine way.

I was invited to the In Real Life ‘Find Your Boo’ spooky and sexy party on November 2nd 2024, where I witnessed a bonding of friendship and relationships. The cultural dogmas of forming new connections in London are far and wide between. The intersections of marginalised groups dating in London, combined with the limited spaces for them to let their hair down means that in spite of the rise in cultural events over the past four years, there are not near enough events in the City for these groups to hear music they like whilst seeing people that look like them.

The ‘Find Your Boo’ spooky and sexy party was an intimate affair at the private members lounge, 7M, in the heart of Soho. With dim lit rooms and strobes of red lights boasting the event’s name In Real Life, the venue was reminiscent of the guests in attendance. The women showed out and committed to being spooky and sexy by dressing as fallen angels, black swans, hot brides, playboys and more. Meanwhile, the men who joined in the fancy dress fun sported a Joker costume, Scream masks and became dead zombies for the evening. Between the venue and the guests, the evening was nothing short of sultry.

If you thought that the spooky element would deter new connections from forming, then think again. Although this was my first time attending a In Real Life event, it was clear to me that within 5 months of its launch, the brand has succeeded in creating a space where anyone can feel comfortable meeting new people, regardless of their intentions. Despite some individuals only meeting for the first time that evening, the crowd mingled and danced together as though they had known each other for a long time.

With music genres ranging from RnB and Slow Jams, Hip Hop, Dancehall, Afrobeats and Amapiano, there’s something for everyone - making it difficult to stay seated the whole evening.

Eager to bring something fresh to the London dating scene, each event that In Real Life has hosted since its launch in June has added a little twist to it by creating an ambiance that differs to the usual speed dating format. Hosted in bars and clubs dotted around London, you can expect something different each time. If you are someone who likes the idea of making eye contact with someone across the room and sparking a conversation from that initial attraction, then the set ups for In Real Life are perfect for you. Want to re-enact your favourite rom-com and meet your type in a bar playing music that you enjoy? Then attend the next event.

Though In Real Life is a private members event, you can become a member by signing up to the mailing list to access tickets for future events. When you become a member, you have the opportunity to select ‘your type on paper’, which allows the team to curate more intimate and fun events that are perfect aligned with your dating preferences. And don’t worry if you don’t make a romantic connection, you are guaranteed to make a new friend. So regardless, everyone will be leaving here with something!

-Reviewed by Aimina. F

Bedroom child - this refers to children who spent most of their time (often alone) in their bedrooms.

Living room child - this refers to children who spent most of their time in the communal areas of their homes [often time the living room] with their family members.

The theory goes that these contrasting experiences are differ because one child grew up in a family that enjoyed spending time together so much that the living room was the default setting for these get togethers. Meanwhile, another [the bedroom] child would spend the most time in their bedroom playing with their toys, whilst the other family members retreated to different parts of the house to do their own thing, separately.

What caught my attention about this theory is how both experiences ensconced how people navigate adulthood. For instance, as a bedroom child, I have always found that I am most comfortable when I’m in my room. This was still the case when I was living alone. Despite having the entire place to myself, I would only spend time in my living room when I had guests over. I’ve always felt a disjointed feeling with the idea of simply existing in the living room and I can see how this mirrors my behaviours from when I was a kid. Even when I would stay at my friends’ houses, I felt awkward at the thought of chilling in the living room because that was not my experience growing up.

They say that a messy living room symbolises togetherness because it is being used by every member of the family. In my experience, the living room was reserved for special occasions (e.g. guests coming over), it wasn’t a place to just exist. So much so that our living room was rarely messy, in fact, it often resembled one of those IKEA showrooms because nobody spent time in there on a day-to-day basis. When we did have visitors, they would compliment how immaculate our communal space was, little did they know that this was at the expense of the children’s freedom to roam.

I now see how this manifested in my lived experiences as an adult because, as mentioned above, this is exactly how I treated my own space too. It’s only now that I can make the connection as to why I operate like this. I always knew that I didn’t feel entirely safe in my childhood home for multiple reasons, and while I have been in therapy, doing the work to unlearn the convoluted events that defined my upbringing, it never gets easier to register just how much of my behaviour is rooted in how I was raised.

What I love about this video is that, the speaker broke the cycle. Despite she, herself, being a bedroom child, she took the negatives of her childhood experiences and used that to create a safe space for her children. There is a lot of power in recognising that you didn’t get the experience you wanted and using that to change your future children’s experiences.

Now that I am aware of the connection between my upbringing and my feelings towards communal areas, I have a new thing to add to my list of habits to unlearn because the living room is fun, and it should be used for all occasions.

With that said, here I am with an article on dating and more specifically, dating black. Too often have we heard that “London is too small” when ‘gisting’ with friends about our love lives. From my observations, people say this once they realise that we are no longer six mutual friends away from knowing someone, this has now been trickled down to three people — if that. Because what do you mean the guy I met out and about follows a family member, a friend I went to university with and someone that I used to date? I have come to understand that some people find comfort in having ‘mutuals’ with the person they are dating because it can aid their CRB checks. I say all this to say that the dating pool in London is contaminated. I find that more people are asking themselves “can you truly avoid dating your friend’s exes?” due to blaming the size of the pool. The answer to that by the way is yes you can avoid it, you are just being lazy.

This brings me to my next point on how the common rationale behind dating friends of friends absolves people of accountability. This rationale being that the city simply is too small and that you are always going to know somebody, who knows somebody, who knows somebody making it inevitable to cross paths with people your friends have had a history with. Alas, we cannot ignore the root cause to all this — ‘talking stages’ and ‘situationships’. In an ideal world, if you are monogamous, that is, everyone would find their person without having to endure terrible dating experiences, and call it a day. Personally, I despise the concept of kissing multiple frogs before finding your prince. Of course, this is the real world and to the point of this article, this is dating black. There are many layers to dating in London as a black person. It goes without saying that some of the factors I speak of in this article are not solely limited to the black dating experience but it is what I can speak on because that is what I have personally experienced.

Now, back to the layers. The dating pool and essentially, London is only as small as our self-discipline. For example, someone that makes it a habit to become romantically involved with an entire friendship group or multiple friends of friends is not someone who knows how to control their desires, thereby lacking in self-discipline. For all the doing things ‘for the plot’ and ‘chaos’ of our 20s, it all boils down to discipline, respect and consideration of others. The latter is another factor that absolves people of accountability with some people choosing to be obtuse and arguing that they “do not owe anyone anything”. Equally, applying discernment is key to the point I am making, because there are some people who misuse the principles of ‘girl code’ and may apply it to someone that they only met once and followed on social media off the back of that first meet.

I would challenge, if London is so small, then why do people date at such a rapid speed? Gone are the days when a romance, even if it was a whirlwind one, would last several months. Now, you are lucky if it lasts a couple weeks. There are no two elements to modern dating that I despise more than ‘talking stages’ and ‘situationships’. Thanks to Twitter and the countless [unsolicited] opinions the app exposes me to, I have learnt that people have illogical requirements to how long a ‘talking stage’ should last and this has only fuelled my dislike for these elements. Ideologies on dating have been posed online as one-size-fits-all. Rather than offering alternative perspectives they are positioned as a set of rules for everyone to follow, a tone I find to be quite damaging especially to those who may not use their initiative and take these hot takes with a pinch of salt. Needless to say, I digress.

Not only do the rules that centre talking stages and situationships provide limitations to the parameters of dating, they also invite an increased disposability of people, which in turn sees a quick turnover in people’s dating experiences. And once again, this invites a lack of accountability to the black dating experience because there is a lack of care to how each person we become romantically involved with is treated. I am not suggesting that the no-nonsense approach to dating that a lot of us have adopted is an issue, because red flags should never be ignored and honestly, it is inauthentic to forge a connection that simply is not there. No, I am talking about the carelessness that is invoked when people abuse the original principles of ‘talking stages’ (which, by my understanding, was supposed to be an opportunity for people to get to know each other whilst dating). It is careless to drag out a ‘talking stage’ for the better part of a year and string someone who has now become emotionally invested in you along, knowing that you do not want to commit to them properly. It is careless to reap all the benefits of a boyfriend/girlfriend status knowing what your true intentions are. It is careless to do this to multiple people in a row because you know you are emotionally unavailable (or maybe, you are not aware of this fact yet because you are yet to do the introspective work required to know this). People are not disposable and it is careless and selfish to go around the city treating them as such. More importantly, the onus is on us as a society not to normalise these patterns.

Needless to say, this has been bastardised.

Whilst I personally believe in dating whilst young, and not putting all your eggs in one basket because especially as a woman, this does not serve us (whether you agree or not, this is evidenced in erotic capital too), there are levels to this. Once again, discernment is key. Without this, you might just misinterpret the points of this article. To argue that London is small because you intentionally date or become romantically/sexually involved with people who know each other is indolent. We have to take accountability at some point and understand that disrupting dynamics between multiple friends is simply careless, selfish and inconsiderate — especially when you know deep down that the end goal is not a committed relationship. Now, you have shifted the dynamics of an entire friendship group and emotionally traumatised multiple individuals for what? The plot?

Equally, those who find that they are regularly on the receiving end of disposability when dating must take accountability too. Pause and interrogate what the consequences of putting yourself at the mercy of people abusing [what may be deemed as] your desperation may mean. What does it mean to put all your eggs in one basket? To put all your eggs in multiple baskets? When doing the latter, do you find yourself spread thin from trying to distribute equal amounts of affection to everyone you date? Perhaps one of the contributing factors to why ‘this London is small’ is the over saturation of talking stages. Perhaps the quality of the dating experience may improve if we were not so quick to jump from relationship to relationship (be that a ‘talking stage’ or ‘situationship’) with no consequences.

Of course, this behaviour is not limited to the black dating experience. As a Made in Chelsea fan, I have grown up watching the show and seen how this rationale behind dating in this ‘small’ city has impacted friendship groups and quite literally given some individuals PTSD. And if you have watched the show for years like myself, you will notice that the cast is predominantly white. If anything, Made in Chelsea is quintessential of the black dating experience today — though I will say a key difference is that their ‘talking stages’ do not last as long as that of the black community in London because they are more prone to commitment.

Another issue worth highlighting is the many contradictions that come with dating. For one, too many times have I observed in online discussions and during discussions with friends a hesitance to admit that one wants a relationship. The connotations that come with admitting this are negative and it would be dishonest to say otherwise. I would even go as far as to say that there is some shame attached to this, especially as women, we are encouraged to be independent, speak up for ourselves and walk away when connections no longer serve us — as we should! Expecting someone to fill the hole that is within you is expecting too much of any one person (quite frankly, this our own responsibility, not that of our friends or partners). It seems as though many people believe that admitting you want a “great big love” or even a relationship is you absolving yourself of all the positive self sufficient traits that we are encouraged to have. However, this shouldn’t be the case, the two can and should coexist and if anything, it is healthy for them to. The fact of the matter is, love is all around. To berate or attempt to shame people for wanting a relationship is to encourage dating without a purpose.

I think the real issue is that we have spiralled too far off track as a community when it comes to dating. Those who collect talking stages like bitcoins, rather than indulging in genuine dating experiences mimic the actions of someone who seeks love. Equally, they may be the same people who shame their partners for demanding more of them (because they believe talking to someone and reaping all the benefits of a genuine relationship with no commitment labels for over half of the year is normal and more than enough). Whilst what they may be expressing verbally (pushing for their love interests to settle and shaming them for demanding more) and through their actions (jumping from relationship to relationship) are not aligned, the latter suggests that deep down they are scared to be alone, hence the serial dating or shall I say, inconsideration when dating.

Dating black is not all negative and if that is what you have taken from this article then I have failed here. Social media allows us to see the beauty in the results of a ‘talking stage’ turned ‘situationship’ turned committed relationship and at times, this has resulted in engagements of total strangers and/or people we know in real life.

I recognise the desire for love but internal battle that people face in their openly displayed happiness of engagement posts on social media. Their ‘God when?’ tweets and comments underneath these posts suggest that they would like the same result, which is to end up in a committed relationship. Yet their behaviour in their personal lives specifically when it comes to dating suggests that they are emotionally unavailable and refuse to do the work required to strengthen a romantic bond. Please note that here, emotional availability applies to people who jump from relationship to relationship regardless of whether they are the one doing the hurting or being hurt repeatedly.

We should all strive to date intentionally and with care. Intentionally because surrounding yourself with people that bring out the best in you should serve as a reminder that it is important to have your goodness reflected back to you. With care because, for all the advice and consolations on the healthiness of not putting all your eggs in one basket, it is just as inconsiderate to string multiple people along with no changed behaviour after each new love interest. The two because love requires intentionality and care, and it is our own individual responsibility to take ownership of these aspects; responsibility is freedom. Do you not want to be free?

Glossary

Gisting — to engage in gossip.

Mutuals — either a follower in common with other people you follow or someone you follow that you may or may not have met in real life.

Talking stage — in modern dating, this is the period between meeting someone and actually dating them.

Situationships — a noncommittal romantic or sexual relationship.

Girl code — pertains to the principles of being a woman (in relation to dating) as set out either by societal expectations or are conditional to individual relationships

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Who even is she?

I’m Aimina, a Jack of many trades as I am sure many of us who are neurodivergent can relate to. I have been a writer, a photographer, a dancer, a Historian, an Account Manager, an event organiser all by the age of 26. If that doesn’t scream chaotic to you, I don’t know what will.

It’s become clear to me that your 20s are the perfect time to try new things, formulate new relationships and learn from past mistakes. That being said, I would hope that the following decades would continue to be the same because as humans, we are ever evolving and should want to continue to evolve.

One thing I am working on and have been working on for the past two years is destroying my comfortability in living in chaos. Through therapy and reflecting on past decisions, I can see how my upbringing has affected the situations I have found myself in, the lack of direction and constant desire to redirect, to pivot.

The Chaotic Bachelorette No More is a space for the 20-somethings who are navigating this space the best they can with the tools they have been given. It’s a space for those of us who are continuously on that journey to reinvent ourself and improve. It’s a space to be held accountable, because there is no growth without accountability. This community is for those of us who are tired of making the same mistakes and having a conversation on how we can navigate being proactive to change that.

To start with, I will be posting on a biweekly basis. So check in every Sunday, starting from today to join this community!

Love, Aimina x