by Becci Fox
I don’t technically live with my parents, but my bungalow cottage is in their grounds. Dad got the annexe built when my sister wanted to move out, so I inherited it four years ago when she got married. Mum completely redecorated it for me by getting rid of all Tasha’s weird monochrome stuff and making it brighter and more glam. The living room has all this gorgeous textured pink-and-white wallpaper throughout and mirrors on every wall. I even got my own red carpet going into the cottage. It’s like something from a magazine! She’s well into her interior design now, and when people walk into her house, they’re begging her to make over theirs. You can’t say Jackie Fox doesn’t have taste. So I’ve got my own space but I just walk ten metres for home-cooked meals. Yeah, I’m living the dream.
My baby bro Jake is dying for me to move out, but I know which side my bread’s buttered on. I mean, it is a bit shameful for a big strong 24-year-old man to still be living with his parents, but I wouldn’t say it’s ruined his success with the ladies. Probably because us girls have got used to dealing with mummy’s boys round here. I bet you anything he lures women back by telling them he owns this huge house. Dad actually built it! How amazing is that? It looks a lot older than it is with all these olden-day wooden beams and big windows like in churches. Come to think of it, the inside looks a lot like Sugar Hut. And then Mum’s well-tended garden backs out onto Epping Forest, which is just stunning. That’ll be why I see Jake’s birds rubbing their hands together as they leave in the morning. You and the rest of them, love.
There’s no pool or tennis court, which I think was a bit of an oversight on Dad’s part. Think of all the money I waste on sports club membership, I tell him. When women give him grief like this, he likes to pretend he’s tearing his hair out. He should have thought twice before getting married and having two daughters then, shouldn’t he.
‘You’ve got five minutes and then we’re bashing up the car,’ yelled the girls from my baby. I ran into the cottage to give the impression of speed, but I so wasn’t going to rush. Five dresses, seven pairs of shoes and one very heavy vanity case later, I struggled out of the door.
‘Gem, are your curlers still broken?’ I called out.
‘Yeah, sorry, they are,’ she replied. Urggh, how does she even survive . . . Back indoors I went and dug out my magic curling wand. And some curlers just in case. And some spare hair extensions. I don’t really like the clip-on ones as they look cheap, but what’s a girl to do if volume just isn’t happening?
Next stop was Brooke’s crib, which is technically in Woodford but on the road to Chigwell. It’s called Repton Park and actually used to be an asylum. Yeah, I know, how creepy is that? There’s probably mentalists haunting the health club there. Can I just say, their gym is proper flash if you’re looking to join up anywhere. She says it’s a really nice community and it probably is now that Jack Tweed’s moved out after all the sexual deviance and stuff that went on there. Brooke’s loss is my gain since he bloody moved back to my patch in Buckhurst Hill. Can’t shift him at all unless he’s doing time. I really don’t get nice vibes off him when I seen him out, and Gemma despises him. Gem got to know Jade pretty well since they knew a lot of the same people on the West Essex beauty scene. Jade owned that salon Femme Fatale in Loughton and then she opened Homme Fatale nearby because obviously blokes needed their own salon round here.
Gem always said Jade was quite childlike and was proper naïve when it came to people and their agendas. If she married Jack Tweed, that just proves it. Why, oh why didn’t she just stick with Jeff Brazier? I’ve met the bloke a few times and he is genuinely lovely. And Ryan’s reported some very impressive sightings of Jeff in the men’s changing rooms down his gym.
Incidentally, Mark Wright was Jack Tweed’s best man, and apparently Mark was desperate for his nan to come to the wedding, but Jade vetoed it because she didn’t know the old dear. Yeah, you’ve got it, that was Nanny Pat. She’d have had no problem getting in now. Jade would totally have been in The Only Way Is Essex, no question. There have been attempts to get Jack Tweed into TOWIE, but what with him being unlikeable and having a criminal record, producers haven’t bitten. Yet.
Brooke was literally in and out of her flat. Impressive if it weren’t for the fact she’s an easyJet stewardess so she’s got a bag of essentials by the door at all times. But there was more moaning as we crammed in another bag next to Gemma. Most of the time she’s the calm and together one of the group, but about once a month, it all comes flooding out and nothing can make her happy. And if I go, ‘Are you on your period?’ she flips. Today was that day. The only person who can usually get her to lighten up is our old schoolfriend Ryan, but he’d totally bailed on us for some debauchery in Soho. He’s only been out for three years, so he’s had to make up for lost time by sucking off everyone in sight. If he’s out with us on a Saturday night, we’ve truly been blessed.
It took us nearly an hour to get to Gemma’s through all the Saturday traffic. I swear people have watched the phenomenon that is TOWIE and think everyone lives in one lovely hedonistic Essex village, but it’s a serious mission getting from Woodford to Epping. For those of you that aren’t local, this is how it works: Buckhurst Hill, Loughton and Chigwell make up the Golden Triangle. They’re a couple of miles from one another, and in my opinion, these places are the epicentre of West Essex. Obviously, that’s where I live. Then below the Triangle, you’ve got Woodford, and way above it, you’ve got Epping. These places have pretty eventful social scenes too. Obviously we’ve got the stunning Epping Forest on our doorstep, but the area is pure suburbia, with one high street after another. Then beyond Chigwell, you’ve got countryside for miles until you hit the mighty Brentwood. They should build some sort of flyover between the two places because it’s a right arse-ache to get to. To be honest, I only go there for Sugar Hut. The people of Brentwood will hate me for shattering the TOWIE vision, but there is zero glamour in that town. That’s why they don’t really do street scenes there. If you don’t believe me, just go to Brentwood after spending a day in the Golden Triangle and you’ll see what I mean. I just think my manor has a bit more style and class. If they could move Sugar Hut to Loughton, I would be over the moon.
When we got to Gem’s, Grant was hard at work painting the front door blue. They’d moved into this place just three months earlier. He actually proposed to Gemma on the day they moved in. She was sat on a cardboard box and he was on one knee. So sweet! But it was the least he could do after all the shit she’s put up with. Let’s just say he likes the ladies. I suppose you’d call him a pretty boy: a cheeky glint, sparkling blue eyes and a pot of gel in his dark and perfectly coiffed barnet. And I honestly don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more hyper than him.
Apparently Essex is the cheating capital of Britain, but then it also has the lowest suicide rate. That’s not coincidence. If you always follow your desires, how are you ever going to be depressed? I actually can’t think of anyone who hasn’t cheated on their partner or been cheated on. If you catch your boyfriend pulling another girl, you give them shit but it’s not a deal-breaker. Sex takes it to another level, but even then the majority of the time it doesn’t seem to end the relationship.
Even though Grant has been a cheat and can be an irritant, he does have a heart of gold and so does Gem, so they do make a really lovely couple. She won’t thank me for saying this, but they’re sort of related. Grant is Gem’s step-brother’s wife’s cousin. They might not share blood, but I still find it a bit incesty. Don’t come crying to me if your kids have webbed feet, I tell her.
‘Watcha, girls, is the foursome tonight? I hadn’t pencilled it in my diary,’ was the first thing Grant said to us.
Did I forget to add that he’s hilarious too? ‘Don’t worry, Grant, we’ll just reschedule it to never,’ said Brooke. Sometimes you just have to play along with the silly sod.
‘Did you find the dresses you were after?’ he asked, not even interested in the answer.
Gem glared at us before saying, ‘Not yet,
babe. But I think we just need to choose a colour so you and the boys can get going with morning suits and we can get moving with decorations. We can decide that between us tonight, right?’ she said, pleading with us.
‘Yeah, course,’ I replied reassuringly. Only because I knew it was going to be coral.
*
So how long does it take an Essex girl to get ready? Well, three hours if there’s only one bathroom. That meant we had to start getting ready at 5 p.m. In fact, if I’m going to be totally honest, three days is standard for the West Essex Girl. You’re probably thinking, haven’t you got anything better to do with your time? The answer is no. It’s good to take proper care of yourself. Anyway, getting ready for a night out is half the fun, even if it does start on Wednesday. Now, I do know what I’m talking about because Mum ran a beauty salon back in the day and I used to work on reception during the holidays, so it’s in my blood.
Stage one is preparing the skin for some colour. I’ll usually exfoliate on a Wednesday morning before work and I use the king of salt scrubs, Jo Malone Vitamin E Body Treatment Scrub. It costs a bomb, but you won’t regret it because it seriously moisturizes your skin too. Then you slap on more moisturizer afterwards. Champneys Body Butter does the job nicely, but it’s all about the body oils for me now. I’m quite slippery most Wednesdays. Then, in the evening, more moisturizer.
Never exfoliate, moisturize and tan on the same day. I cannot emphasize this rule enough. It’s a rookie error and you’re just asking for streaks. If you want your skin in prime condition, you can grease up the next morning but only if your spray-tan is in the afternoon. Perfection cannot be rushed.
Queens Road in Buckhurst Hill is the only place to go if you want a complete beauty overhaul. Chelsea might have the King’s Road, but can you shop, slim, tan, paint, glue, colour, tousle, dehair and rehair all within a hundred metres there? Queens Road even has a doggy day spa for my little Marilyn to hang out in. So Thursday lunchtime I get some colour at Belles & Beaus beauty salon. That’s the pink salon that Billi Mucklow and her family own. I’ve been known to go on a Friday if I’ve been less organized, but never get a spray-tan on the day you’re going out. You may think I’m a total beauty fascist, but this is serious stuff. You’re lucky I’m even imparting the knowledge. You’ve got to allow a couple of days for the mahogany brown to calm down and the smell to disappear.
The spray-tan itself comes in two shade options: original and dark. Obviously, getting original is wasting everyone’s time and money. The darker the tan, the better it looks on Saturday night. I’ve never gone orange in my life, so guess I’m just lucky/talented in my colouring. Naturally, I have sunbeds too for some tan-on-tan action. I always seek out the ones with German lamps because they’re the strongest, apparently. I know the health risks, but when I’m all leathery, dying of skin cancer and still sunning myself at my retirement home on the Costa del Sol, I can look at pictures of me in my youth and know that I couldn’t have looked any hotter if I’d tried.
I probably have one sunbed a week for ten minutes, so it’s not every day. The one at Belles & Beaus is well slick – the Prestige 990 is like a spaceship. You got your 3D sound station and MP3 dock, you got your mood light, you got your special shoulder tanner. I could go on. They also claim to have ‘world renowned’ treatments – this is a classic. There is no limit to what you can claim to be and have in Essex. If you don’t big yourself up, then no one else is going to do it for you. My other favourite tanning spot is at Room Three in South Woodford. It’s only a bloody Power Plate too, so you can tone and tan at the same time. I go there if I’ve had too many pies. Although Brooke refuses to go there with me now. There was a bit of an incident when a bee got in her booth and she had to burst out in her thong. So yeah, tanning can be dangerous.
Then there are the little additions that give that extra edge: lash extensions. You may think what mug would pay for eyelashes when you can just use mascara? Well, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy as when I first saw myself after having a full set done. I thought, I look so fucking pretty I could just die right now. I’ve achieved beauty nirvana. (By the way, I will be throwing in the odd fancy word cos I went to private school, so I can do the upper-brow and lower-brow shit. But don’t go thinking it was like Eton. Even Amy Childs went to private school here. Imagine a totally reem Hogwarts where Harry Potter looks like he should be in a Wham!, video while Hermione’s always on her pink BlackBerry and trying to catch Ron’s attention by rolling up her skirt higher and higher. Jessica Wright was two years below me, so you get the picture.)
Anyways, the lash extensions. You know if you wake up in a new bloke’s bed and you think, God, I must look like shit. Well, you can’t look like shit with lash extensions. You will look glorious even if you’re dying on the inside. If you’ve got a really glam occasion, get yourself a double set.
Then of course there’s the hair extensions. We’ve actually got a specialist extensions salon called Coco on Queens Road which promises to ‘Botox your locks’. I’ve got dead straight hair so I need all the help I can get in that department. I always get real hair wefts (synthetic hair should only be seen on Barbie dolls) and prefer bonds to a weave because it’s a more natural finish. You got to pay good money if you want quality extensions, though. Pay cheap, pay twice, that’s what Don Fox says. Get the cheap bonds and they just fall out with the smallest tug. Imagine going down on a bloke, his hand rests on your head and then he screams as he holds up a fistful of your hair? Major passion killer. And I wouldn’t bother with clip-in extensions either. They always look obvious, and if you get caught in a gust of wind, they flap about like your scalp’s coming away. Then there’s my hair colour – a full head of blonde highlights every eight weeks. I get my bio-gels done about every three weeks. That’s a manicure and pedicure to you, but the colour’s practically permanent, so I’m saving money with that one. Apart from having to pay for touch-ups. You won’t catch me in acrylics. I hate the feel of them and they look cheap, but Brooke’s all over them so I have to keep my opinion to myself.
Let’s see, is there anything else? Obviously I had my teeth whitened, but that doesn’t require regular sessions. I think you got the picture now, though: looking good is the only way in Essex. If you look the part, you’ll meet the right people and life will start happening for you.
So now you know all that, you must be wondering what did I possibly have left to do at Gemma’s? I’ll tell you what. Firstly, I had to open the champagne. The other two are scared of the cork going in their eyes. Then one by one we trooped into the bathroom, flutes still in the hand and razors at the ready to completely defuzz. Sounds dangerous, but we’ve been doing this for years.
Oh, there’s another thing I’ve had – hair laser surgery. I’m as bald as a coot. Well, not completely. I still have a landing strip around my noo noo so I’m not completely childlike. (In case you’re wondering, no I don’t vajazzle. I tried one a couple of years back, what with all the hype. No one really got it done before Amy started vajazzling. But never again. The crystals kept cropping up in the strangest places, and I’m still scared I’ve absorbed some of them.) So anyway, dehairing isn’t an issue any more, which is liberating. Isn’t it weird that I’ll use extensions to gain hair but then I go to extreme lengths to get rid of hair too? There’s no justice in this world.
It takes us about forty-five minutes to do our faces. I always get Gemma to do my eyes since she’s the pro and has the steadiest hand in the business. The secret of evening make-up is a shit-load of black eyeliner (MAC Blacktrack every time) and mascara (always Max Factor followed by Givenchy Phenomen’Eyes to separate the lashes. That round wand will change your life). If you go a bit wrong with the eyeliner, just cover it up by putting more on. You can’t have enough drama around the eye area. Kate Middleton really stole our daytime look as far as eyeliner’s concerned, but that’s fine. Imitation is flattery.
Brooke once said to me, ‘Do
you think I wear too much make-up?’ Someone had obviously got to her. So I said, ‘What’s the point of make-up if you’re not having fun with it? It’s there to glam up your life.’ Also, I’ve seen her without make-up on. The first time was on a girly holiday when she came out of the shower. I actually fell back against the wall and gasped because I didn’t know who she was. Her eyes were so tiny. I felt proper terrible, but you can’t hide your reactions.
Another make-up essential is bronzer. I use two – a matte MAC one to contour and a Bobbi Brown Shimmer Brick to highlight. Honestly, it’s a real art form. I don’t know what people do if they don’t have a make-up artist for a friend. They must just have to guess.
Next we do each other’s hair, fixing extensions, backcombing it, twisting it, piling it up, running the tongs down it, choking on hairspray. Then we all spritz ourselves with the TOWIE fragrance Dazzle (as if! Men have been known to throw up when they catch a waft of that horse piss. My signature fragrance is Agent Provocateur, the original). After that there’s the outfit combinations. It can take an hour for us to go through all our options, borrowing shoes, ditching jewellery, adding more. For instance, I’d put on a gold necklace and Brooke went, ‘Stick a silver one on too,’ which sounded mad, but it was life-changing. Two contrasting necklaces are so much edgier. My top clothes tip is only get ready with friends who are the same size as you. You’ll never have an outfit crisis again as everyone will pull together and offer up their clothes until you’re looking a hundred per cent. Even though we’re all size 10s, the girls are always cursing my 34Ds. I can’t help it if they got issues filling up my cups. That’s why chicken fillets were invented, for Christ’s sake. Or you wear two padded bras. It’s me that’s got the raw deal when it comes to the frock swop. Some of their dresses clamp me down so tight, I can feel my implants pressing against my spine. Not that I want a deflation option.