Her kiss, her smile, her perfume…
Why every girl wants to be part of the Chanel fairytale.
I was walking through town, to the local chippy, the other day when my face was blinded by the immaculate smile of Nicole Kidman prancing around in a gleaming New York City. The smug look on her face as her and a controversially younger man danced and kissed to their hearts content on top of a roof made me appalled to even be the same gender as her. As I was scowling at the preposterous advertisement the bus stop had moved a step to the left and into my face. Brilliant. I dropped the bloody chip bag, that’s another £2.50 well spent. The advert played again on the board; “I’m a dancer!” yeah, I bet that’s what they all tell you love. I pulled myself up from the gum covered, cold, hard concrete in disgust as her skinny, bony, flesh deprived arse ran across my tainted mind.
But as I looked around everyone seemed to be strutting around the streets of Horsham in their Jimmy Choo heels and designer dresses and suits. I was surrounded by tall skyscrapers…this was no normal Horsham street…this was a Chanel street. The shiny, sparkling, slender skyscrapers of New York had replaced all the dirty takeaways. The colours of the world seemed to be distorted; everything was in black and white until this young rabble-rouser bumped into me. After his clumsiness had impacted with my outrage everything went slow. It stayed slow in slow motion until we had stopped looking at each other. Once the slow motion had finished I could see all the red and gold in the world, yay.
Suddenly my eyes appeared to zoom across the street to a film premier, a young slim woman with long golden hair turned to look at me from over her shoulder, she then giggled to herself. I looked around and behind me in search of another person that she could have possibly been flirting with but as I turned all the beautiful people had disappeared, she was looking at me! Oh hell. I flashed a polite smile at her and looked down to appear occupied but as I did so the old, baggy tracksuit I had been wearing had gone, I was left in a long glittery ball gown. I rushed over to look in the reflection of one of the impressive new buildings to my shock horror I looked hot; my hair had been tied up and makeup had been slapped across my face. Now I wouldn’t blame that woman for looking me. But seriously, how long was I out for? Because it looked like I hadn’t eaten for about five months! Really I had probably dropped roughly two or so stone.
But nevertheless, it got weirder, a very theatrical orchestra burst in to song as I walked across the street towards the tallest building of them all, towards the film premier. All the cameras flashed at me as I grinned and I was blinded, woken by a bright flash and some one exclaiming, “Told ya she weren’t dead, she’s smilin’”, back to the dirty, pee-smelling streets of West Sussex. I looked around and someone had pulled out a bottle of Chanel No5 to use as a smelling salt, I had been ‘Chanel-ed’.