It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for*: my first ever book, How Not To Be A Supermodel, is available for pre-order! Here!
An actual book that you will be able to hold in your hands. Or, if you prefer my dulcet tones, listen to with your ears. You’ve loved my revealing life updates, over the years, and you’ve diligently read through my farcical tales of woe (remember when I almost accidentally penetrated myself with a bath tap?): now it’s time to let me take you all the way back to 2001, when I was a mere slip of a thing, leaving my law degree to become an instantly rich and famous supermodel.
You could call How Not To Be A Supermodel a memoir, because I wrote it about myself and my memories and the experiences I had as a fashion model in the noughties, but my God that makes it sound very serious. “Memoir” makes it sound as though I wrote my book in the 1800s. In the drawing room, whilst mother did her needlepoint and Eliza practised on the pianoforte.
And let me ask you this: would a memoir, to your mind, include a story about accidentally going on a luxury five-day holiday with a man you didn’t know? Would a memoir typically have a chapter called Body Like a Turgid Penis? Or – hold on a second while I rustle through my notes – I’m Drunk and I’m Not Wearing Knickers? No it would not.
So yes, I wrote it about me and yes, it’s set in the past, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that any painful soul-searching went into this book. Let’s not get the wrong end of the stick, here. I didn’t write it whilst sobbing periodically into a starched linen kerchief, dabbing my eyes when it got to the unbearable bits: this is a rip-roaring riot of a ride through a decade of the improbable scenarios and shocking events that life as a non-supermodel threw up, and it is chaotic and blundering and funny and frequently ridiculous.
Pre-order How Not To Be A Supermodel
OK, there are poignant moments. Of course there are. In fact I was specifically told, when I got the book deal, that I had to include the bits that would create something of a talking point. (As if me inadvertently becoming involved in an impromptu sex show or almost falling into shark-infested waters wasn’t enough of a talking point.) And so yes, I have put in the difficult bits as well as all of the parts that will potentially have you spitting out your coffee and embarrassing yourself on public transport.
But mostly this is a snort-inducing, highly accurate** account of all the ways in which I failed to become a supermodel. My apparent physical shortcomings, my personality defects and my impressive ability to attract chaos and disaster in almost any situation.
You can pre-order How Not To Be A Supermodel now – the release date is 29th August. It has already been heralded as THE ONLY BOOK YOU NEED TO READ THIS YEAR!*** and so I think it’s a pretty safe bet that you’ll love it. Pre-orders really matter, apparently, and so if you only ever click on one link I post then please make it this one. I’ll be forever in your debt.
Pre-order your copy of How Not To Be A Supermodel here
I’ll be back with more posts about the book and about the process of writing it because it has honestly been the best, most satisfying thing I’ve ever done in my adult life. If you’ve followed me for a while then you’ll know that writing was what I had started to do at the end of my modelling career; blogging was a very happy accident that took off into something great and I have a brilliant and rewarding career in social media because of it, but I’ve been hounding a book deal for a very long time****. It’s a proper “full circle” moment for me.
*with any luck
**as accurate as possible. Mostly accurate. Somewhat accurate.
***I was forced to provide this quote myself, because it’s too early to get one off another writer yet. I tried to keep it subtle and classy.
****honestly, the number of people I had to sleep with.
