I happened to post my nonsensical ramble about the marvellAUSTENettes on Twitter and something compelled me to search for Mr Darcy’s tweets – thinking that if I had once found myself a John Bender on MySpace with whom to have a fantasy ridiculous online romance with, I might as well go full-on to the man I most desire to render himself nonfiction.. and cue swoon. *smelling salts*

Anyway, as I looked for Mr Darcy on Twitter (and finding only TOWIE Lydia’s pet pig, which try as he might, could not engage my violent affection in such a way that Mr Darcy {the man} did. My profound apologies to Mr Darcy {the pig}, but I love another Mr Darcy {the man again}) strangely, however, when I performed this search, I found that Mr Darcy is a constantly trending topic, and it seems not an hour goes by where someone does not mention him (again, for now, and forevermore, I am referring to Mr Darcy the man – or literary character if you want me to burst into reality bubbles), which is quite interesting given the fact that the majority of Twitter is clogged up by Beliebers and the like.

I found myself completely obsessively looking for Mr Darcy related items on google and came up with a few incredible (and incredibly weird) gems, which are now monuments to the collection of pop culture crap in my mind – or perhaps better described as tokens of mentalness and mania that apparently afflict 98% of women worldwide who have come down with a scorching case of Darcy Fever – too little, too late – too literary, I’m afraid. Why why and a million other WHYs can’t you be real, Mr Darcy?  Was Jane Austen aware that she had set up women for a universal lifetime of disappointment? Mr Darcy is the pre-Lloyd Dobler Lloyd Dobler, ruining all men for all women, forever. (Sorry, John Cusack. The boom box that is our intense imaginary love affair will have to press pause while I HOT TUB TIME MACHINE this shit back to the ORIGINATOR.)

Google searching for Mr Darcy (which is the title of the upcoming screenplay obviously making its way into the Oscar pool for 2013) has its weird murky depths, too. Like when you realise there’s that fine line between swooning over a character in a book/film/film/tv miniseries/new book/whatever and actually becoming a creepy weird recluse that does creepy weird recluse things like making handpainted dolls with lifelike handpainted features of Mr Darcy, and then the other lovebirds (Lizzie and Jane Barrett and Mr Bingley) so that you can reconstruct the wedding you had in your mind. Yes, this is an actual thing and happens more than once on the internet, and it’s not even Regretsy talking. This is a handsome, custom handmade Mr. Darcy doll, hero of the classic Jane Austen book ‘Pride & Prejudice.’ This doll is based on the 2005 movie version actor, Matthew MacFadyen. He comes “in box” wearing a 1797 style fine suit jacket of the era made of navy blue cloth and charcoal black pants, white shirt with long cuffs and ascot tie. He has handpainted startling icy blue eyes and handpainted features. He wears tall pleather boots and comes with deluxe stand. No, not with a deluxe stand - so that I can whisper all of my secretest secrets of true love longing and togetherness while he stares steadfast and constant into the abyss of my handpainted startling icy blue eyes and handpainted features?! (We’re just so similar, Papa.) There is also a full-size one, which I am tempted to email the creepy reclusey creator about to ask if He’s “anatomically correct” if you catch my drift. Cue uncomfortable winky face. Just kidding, I don’t do dolls (present company excluded), and anyway, I think they’ve taken a REALDOLL of BBC’s SHERLOCK and chucked it into some hastily glue-gunned 1797 gear. I mean really. Standards, people.

Anyway, irrespectively neverminding or, if you must be so blunt, purposely deluding myself about our faithfulness and constancy to one another (to inoculate against the reality of being in love with a popular literary character) I found myself surprised at his popularity with barely-literate tweens on Twitter, is where I’m going with this. And yes, my jealousy has cramped our love’s style, but he has his flaws too; scuba diving, firewalking, and paper maché-related events all have to be downplayed and avoided in that “No, baby, I mean, I didn’t even want to go, anyhow” fashion, which inevitably leads to suppressed sighs of forlornness.

My Google searching managed to find considerable insights on why it might be the case that so many of us are borderline (ha!) obsessed with Mr Darcy, and came up with the following article from Winsome, which explains it all. 

Ten Things That Women Love About Mr. Darcy

1. He is open and honest.

In the beginning, he is open and honest to a fault. Darcy despised the hypocrisy, shallowness and pretentious of the wealthy social class and said so. He also was open about his dislike of foolish and gossipy people like Elizabeth’s mother. His first impression of Elizabeth was that she was not attractive and said so. He also gave his honest opinion to Bingley that Jane did not really care for him and was socially inferior to his station.This was not his finest hour. When motivated by “Pride and Prejudice,” being open and honest is less admirable than discretion and restraint. Darcy freely admits he does not have this filter. “I should have judged better had I sought an introduction; but I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers… I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.” In his drive to be open and honest, he delivers perhaps the worst proposal in literature and when Elizabeth understandably reproofs him, he reveals much about himself: ``these offences might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I with greater policy concealed my struggles, and flattered you… But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence…” Elizabeth, also, openly admits she was wrong to be proud of her ability to size up Darcy and Wyckham so well. She calls herself “blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd… Vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession [pride] and ignorance, and driven reason away where either were concerned. Till this moment, I never knew myself.”

2. He is not defensive

Even when Elizabeth was mistaken in the facts concerning him and criticized him harshly, he did not defend himself. This is one of the greatest, if not the greatest of Darcy’s character traits. He chose to be silent. He chose to let his actions and true reputation surface eventually rather than be known as a person who makes excuses, blames others or fails to take responsibility for his actions and words. Granted he did hand her a letter of explanation, but it was respectfully and honestly delivered–without any defensive posture. “As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued:” How many of us can listen without interrupting, especially when the facts are incorrect? “And this,” cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room,”is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!” “You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.” Darcy has my utmost admiration for his restraint and gentlemanly response to what was a scathing and comprehensive tongue lashing given by Elizabeth just before he says these words. Consider just a sampling: “From the very beginning–from the first moment, I may almost say–of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.” His Response? “Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.” Folks, remove your hats–this is a gentleman we can learn from, even if we have said just the opposite in our own similar encounters.

3. He does not try to change her but likes her “just the way she is”

There were things about Elizabeth that were not entirely suited to a man of Darcy’s position and she spoke her mind in a way that could have brought criticism and did from the social elite surrounding him. To his credit, even before he fell in love with her, he spoke about her from pride and prejudice, but did not give her advice nor did he try to get her to be different from the way she was. Contrast this with the smarmy twit Mr. Collins who said: “… your wit and vivacity I think must be acceptable…especially when tempered with…silence and respect…” It is the depth of her personality and her quick wit that both challenges and attracts Darcy to Elizabeth and rather than get her to tone it down so that she would not offend the social class, he decides that nothing else will do and chooses her over the frail and timid cousin his family wants him to marry.

4. He knows how to listen

Men, as a rule, don’t listen. On the rare occasions where we do listen to you trying to explain what is wrong with our relationship, we are either baffled or too stubborn to get it. We then try to explain it away. We tell you there is no spoon, just don’t think about it and it will go away. We downplay it’s significance and we accuse you of being too sensitive or emotional. When we are at our worst, we give excuses and shift the blame to you. And ladies this is the real reason you love Mr. Darcy. He listens, without interrupting, to Lizzie’s caustic indictment. He understands what she is saying and it affects him deeply. He doesn’t put the blame on her even when her facts are totally false. He listens, he is courteous, he is a gentleman and he takes it to heart. Later we will see that he is also willing to change based on her input. Right here we will pause to let all you ladies still your beating, if not melted, hearts.

5. He knows how to apologize

When Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy are talking about the girls of Meryton, Mr Darcy says something about Elizabeth that she overhears and cannot forget for most of the novel: ‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me’’ —-Ouch! This alone would put him on her “least wanted” list, but he soon easily tops this one. Darcy mistakes Lizzie’s sister Jane’s feelings for Bingley and advises him to avoid pursuing her and Elizabeth confronts him about it. “Do you deny that you separated a young couple who loved each other, exposing your friend to censure of the world for caprice and my sister to derision for disappointed hopes, involving them both in misery of the acutest kind?”

 Mr. Darcy listens to her eloquent description of his disregard for other’s feelings and happiness and when he learns the truth about Jane’s real feelings, he feels remorse and remedies the situation. Mr. Darcy looked startled, to say the least. After a short pause, he answered, “I thank you, Miss. Bennet, for your apology. Though it was not needed, I accept.” He took a breath. “Our conversation last spring, if I may call it that,” he said, smiling a little into her nervous face, “taught me more about my faults and pride than I would care to admit. That I was prideful and conceited at times has been brought to my attention, and these past months I have tried to become more agreeable to those around me. I hope that you can forgive my abominable behavior from my past actions.”

6. He is not afraid to change

As the previous paragraph demonstrates, the man who was despised for his pride and conceit demonstrates humility and a willingness to become a better man.

I asked a lady sitting in a table next to me at a restaurant why women love Mr. Darcy (the Colin Firth version.) When I mentioned his name, her eyes went all dreamy and a smile came to her face. “Because he is vulnerable.” She said wistfully.

Ladies, you don’t care that Darcy is flawed, in fact, his awkwardness in his obvious infatuation, his bumbling of his words and repetition of conversation when he sees Elizabeth at his estate, his misjudged attempts at social interaction and meddling are all mildly charming because he is so vulnerable and innocent and you can change him!

Yes he insulted you. Yes he wrecked your sister’s happiness. Yes he says your mother and sisters act like poor white trash. None of that really matters because he’s crazy about you and he’s handsome and he’s rich and most importantly you can work with him because he listens to you. When you tell him he is being a jerk, he has a “selfish disdain for the feelings of others.” and he is the last person on earth you would consider marrying, he actually is sorry and you can tell he wants to take all your constructive criticism to heart and begin to be more like you want him to be.

Never before have women met a man who thrives so well under criticism. Mirroring a persons faults to him is universally condemned by every relationship therapist on the planet and yet here is a gentleman that does not get angry at criticism. He does not zap her back. He does not crawl into his silent box and sulk. He does the unthinkable–he gets right to work on self-improvement and does not give up on the relationship. Wow. No wonder women swoon at the mention of his name.

When they meet at Pemberly, he is a changed man. He engages her aunt and uncle in conversation, offers his ponds and equipment for fishing, invites them to a party and while he is awkward at it, he is pleasant to Elizabeth and extremely hospitable. At the end of the novel we see to what extent he has been willing to change. “Such I was, from eight to eight-and-twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You shewed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”

7. He defends her publicly

When there is the gossipy, catty conversation going on in which Miss Bingley criticizes Elizabeth’s looks, Darcy quickly cuts in with his unashamed admiration for her. ”…it is many months since I have considered her one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”

Nothing–let me repeat it–nothing is more impressive to the object of your affection than for you to defend her in public. Especially if it gets back to her from her friends and not from you.

8. He does something extraordinary and he is quiet about it

I’ll have to say that after watching the BBC version I wanted to be like Mr. Darcy. Not the rich part, although I wouldn’t mind a gigantic parcel of land and multiple mansions. I wasn’t even impressed with his position and power. What impressed me was the way he handled Elizabeth’s missing sister situation. He didn’t posture or debate or puzzle over what to do, he simply got on his horse, rode to London, found her, figured out how to make it work, took sole financial responsibility and swore everyone to secrecy about his part in it. He wouldn’t let Elizabeth’s father pay him back, didn’t want him to tell Elizabeth, and he had to listen to the air head mother malign him and instead praise a relation who had nothing to do with her daughter Lydia’s salvation. This strong character trait of Darcy’s that allows Wickham, Mrs. Bennett and even Elizabeth to falsely accuse him without defending himself while he works quietly to show his real integrity by his actions is formidable and for women, it is irresistible.

9. He can be engaging 

He doesn’t know how to express himself, and that’s endearing. Before he ever tells Lizzie he likes her, he’s super awkward to the point of being rude despite the fact that he really likes her. When he finally gets his act together at the end and properly tells Lizzie that he’s always held out hope that she might be “generous enough to trifle” with him, I melt into a puddle of my own smitten-ness ~ a forum commentator  Darcy doesn’t know how to express his feelings for Elizabeth, but that endears him to women. He is the antithesis of a slick, pick-up artist. Even when he likes her he can’t help sounding awkward and a times, rude and insensitive. He is the quintessential strong, silent type. What disarms Elizabeth is that when he begins to interact with her, he is quick, witty and pleasantly conversant. It’s as if he only needs an equally interesting woman to bring out his inner eloquence.

At the Netherfield Ball, Lizzie agrees to dance with Mr. Darcy and she discovers that they are alike in their delight in using their wit and humor to make a point. She finds in him a worthy partner in scintillating dialogue. “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy – I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”  He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said. “Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent.” “Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?” “Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”  “Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”  “Both,” replied Elizabeth archly; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.” “This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” said he.“How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.”

Darcy says what he thinks and makes his point cleanly, laced with humor. When he verbally spars with Elizabeth, he is actually sparring with the clever voice of the formidable Jane Austen who undoubtedly sees herself in the independent and loquacious Lizzie.

10. He has a private reputation of kindness and goodness

We learn from Mrs Reynolds, his housekeeper, who has known him since he was a small boy that he is far from being an intimidating tyrant. She describes him as being good-natured, sweet-tempered and generous-hearted. “If your master would marry, you might see more of him.”  …….”Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him.” …….Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying, “It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so.”  …….”I say no more than the truth, and everybody will say that knows him,” replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was going pretty far; and she listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, “I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.”

Elizabeth and Darcy find what is difficult to find in a relationship–they share a love of conversation with each other and while they are very different, each completes the other. He offers her stability and strength, she helps him to laugh at himself and the world. He offers her passion and loyalty, she offers him devotion and a lively wit. Together they become a formidable couple–a lively, independent girl sticks to her principles and gets the guy and a private, impassioned bumbler sticks to his principles, but modifies himself to get the girl. May each of us be as passionate and as sensible as Mr. Darcy.

I so badly aspire to write (and voiceover) my own narrative while Stevie Wonder sings in the background, making allusions to the brevity of youth, and my experiences of gang violence and childish naivety of “acting grown-up” are montaged by the once-perky pinup boys of the 80′s…

Or do I actually just want to wear Emilio Estevez’s Mickey t-shirt while drinking a beer at 10 AM on a Monday and think about making out with 1980′s Rob Lowe and Matt Dillon, exiting a dusty warehouse in Chelsea Harbour to accept a courier’s insistent buzzing to my bell (not a euphemism, but it ought to be), while slowly inner-monologuing my non-writing-into-composition-books… “When… I… Stepped… Out… Into… The.. Bright…. Sunlight…”

Does this instant emulation of fine moments in film (in the least convincing or appropriate capacity) happen to everyone else, or is it just me who has a strop in the middle of a backyard barbeque and spouted the “Sorry I’ve spoiled your Black Panthers’ party…” from Forrest Gump before spinning on my heels and holding my head far more highly then necessary (narrowly avoiding a run-in with the patio screen door in my dramatic exit) Gucci glasses holding back prideful tears as DVF scarf billows behind (just like in the movie)?

Do you not sometimes think “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the DIRT” when scouring your housemate’s pubes out of the bathtub (again)? Or when your best girlfriend is bitching about how she’s always putting on weight and ought to have liposuction but stops mid sentence to whine “I’m hungry, though… know where the closest drive-through is?” your mental response is this:

No? No one? Er, this is a rather awkward bit of insight into my mental processing of pop culture.

To reenact this pathetic, two-month-long-display of fuckery masquerading as customer service, we’ll need some actors. (Someone cue Tim Curry and that bitch from PRETTY WOMAN who’s all no-uh-uh-faces at Julia Roberts in LE BOUTIQUE FAN-Cee ’cause they’re about to play the part of dickhead shopgirls 1 and 2.)

So I had my gorgeous Chloe keyholder stolen and rather than just cleverly replace it with a gorgeous new one from a brand that isn’t ridiculous, I decided to try something new and buy something from Aspinal of London (or AssholeFAIL of London, if you prefer) and selected a keyring that was all “meh, you’ll do.” Seeing as I’d just had my keys nicked, near my house, my bank and travelcards along with them, and to top it all off it was fucking CHLOE, I wanted something to make mommy happy. My friend suggested this brand, except they only had the item in a tragic powder-pink with silver hardware, which just sounds dire, don’t bother to imagine it further unless you want to buy a large belt buckle and some flares and further embarrass yourself. I select it in Brown Croc and gold hardware, pay £50.00 (or thereabouts) for an item that I’m told will be sent out in two days (which I was okay with, because it took a week to get the stupid bank card sent out and everything – but I was making do with the stupid situation of my replacement key trailing down into the bottom of my bag every stupid day which was massively annoying, especially when you’ve just paid £50.00 to NOT have that happen).

Fast forward a week and a half and I’d still not received it. So I call head office to ask “uh, where is my item?” which they can’t answer and tell me to call the store. I do, and some dude answers like “HMMM I can’t seem to find your order, regardless of the order reference number you are providing me with.” He says “I’ll call you back” and then never does. Four days later, I have to call back again and explain this, AGAIN, to another ASS-ociate, who’s all “Fa fa fa fa fa” (that’s the sound of faffing about trying to sound really fancy while you make £7.20/hr in a shopping centre) “Oh my,” she says, “I’m simply ever so distressed that you have been subjected to such terrible customer service,” to which I’m all “YEAH, ME TOO.” She said she’s going to sort it out and get the item customized for me, which I was like “damn straight” about. Like, sorry, Luxury Goods Company, the price you pay for ME paying that price in the first place is not being completely SHIT at selling things. That’s why you get to charge LOTS OF MONEY for items of arguable “quality”. 

So she’s said the “I’m Sowwy” and I’m semi-satisfied, and I’m set away to wait for my fucking keyholder to finally be sent out not TWO, but FIFTEEN days later. Does it show up? JE PENSE QUE “DUH”. I call in to say “uh, where is my keyholder” like 19 days later, and the GENERAL MANAGER of the store picks up and takes approximately 150 hours to find my order, which he then tells me is STILL IN THE STORE. Like SERIOUSLY, what the fuck, right? Like nobody else would be pissed off at this point? I explain to him that I’m not happy and he gets all SNAPPY SHOPGIRL BITCHY at me and is all “look, I’M trying to HELP you,” which seriously makes me wonder if working in RETAIL causes men to MENSTRUATE and then tells me I can’t complain about this shitty service – unless it’s in an email addressed to him. Like super bitchily. He then says “Look, do you want me to send it out or not?” all HOLDING MY KEYRING HOSTAGE #WTF. No, I want to just pay for it and have it kept safe in the store you DICK.

So fancy retail salesman gets all huffy and says “I am going to send it out myself” in that way that makes you wonder HOW MUCH SPIT is going to be in my salad if I send it back. I call head office and make a huge complaint, which they then ask me for in writing. He then called me and acted totally SOCIALLY INEPT on the phone, which of course I mention in my complaint. An Extract? Oh, OKAY:

 I had a phone call about 14:00:00 today and said “Hello?” “Nikki? I’ts Jamal” (or whatever his name is.)  I paused and had no idea who was calling me.  An awkward silence ensued.  He finally identified himself as the General Manager at Aspinal and told me he was calling to say that he had sent the item off and that it was going to arrive by 13:00:00, Thursday February 16th, Special Delivery.  He also said that he had included a 10% off voucher with my purchase.  I thanked him and said goodbye.

 To be very honest with you, my first thought was that it was hilarious that he would offer me 10% off a purchase I would never make after my treatment at that store.  My second thought was that he was trying to smooth things over so that I would not complain about his treatment and the overall unsatisfactory experience of Aspinal Westfield.  Finally I thought how weird is it that this man would call my mobile as though he was someone I knew, call me by my first name like we are friends and like he hasn’t just been completely rude to me, and act like he was making some huge effort by enclosing some rubbish voucher?  I had previously associated the brand with luxury and fine treatment, and now feel like it’s awkward and inept staff hawking goods that never actually arrive!  Is this a luxury goods brand or an East-end market stall!?

In my position, would you ladies not want to sarcastically ask “Oh, were there not any sale/faulty items or surplus stock in the brown croc?“  It also just feels a bit ridiculous as well to be given another keychain (particularly one that seems to have no function aside from showing off the Aspinal branding).  I don’t quite understand the logic.  Am I supposed to give that to a friend to introduce them to the brand?

 I feel really perplexed/dissatisfied, if I’m very honest with you.  I wouldn’t have generally had any “hopes up” or anything, but when someone says “we’re going to the Ritz” and then, last-minute, says “Oh actually, it’s the Best Western, and uh, we’re downgrading you to a single room” one tends to feel rather disappointed.  You’ve said “Can I give you a handbag?” and sent me a really unimpressive, faulty purse which doesn’t even aim to correlate to my taste, and a matching (second, utterly superfluous) keyring, to make up for the key-holder I have said I already feel like binning after this whole mess.

So then they get girl-at-head-office-who-is-not-a-director to call me and say “i’m sorry.. I must have… terrible taste… perhaps I should arrange to have it TAKEN BACK” and I was like, taken back and WHAT? at point she gets all “um/er” because I think she thought I was going to be guilt tripped into the whole “gift horse” thing… but bitch, the GIFT HORSE you said you were sending me was a HANDBAG not a KEYCHAIN AND A CRAPPY BARGAIN BIN WALLET! She clearly cannot answer anything without a superior feeding her cue card bullshit, and after pressing “mute” on the phone 50 times, then says that essentially that the only thing Assholepinal will offer is to REMOVE THE UNSIGHTLY WALLET AND KEYCHAIN FROM MY PRESENCE. We say “bye”. I write this:

I appreciate the fact and sympathize with Rachael for having been put in the awkward position of having to “explain” that, and be on the other end of the phone with someone who is now quite upset (to put it lightly).  However, when I told her how I honestly feel; as though I have been fobbed off with a gift-with-purchase-looking keyring (that really, really seems like a pretty dumb thing to send someone who just bought a key-holder with the space for several keys on it) and a may-or-may-not-be-current product (which was not at all in line with what was offered to me by Jill during our last conversation)…she responded, “well, I wouldn’t want you to have something you don’t like, so I can arrange to have it collected.”   I asked Rachael to explain what she meant clearly, and told her I was very tired of this, was tired in general and asked, “will anyone be in touch with me? Is it like, have this or have a kick in the teeth?”  She said she didn’t think it was “likely to go further if I chose to return the purse.”  I told her that was actually hilarious, and asked if we both wanted to laugh at how pathetic that sounded. Especially in light of the “Oh Iain Burton would simply be just horrified” story I’d been sold the last time we spoke…. I told her it was like getting the free Lancome GWP as a Valentine’s gift and having to pretend to be happy.  I further asked her again to explain to me what she was saying about “if I chose to send the product back,” and told her it felt like it was a “you can eat your broccoli, or you can starve” kind of an offer.  It was infuriating to be placed on hold during her “coughing fits” and call me suspicious/100% psychic, but I really don’t buy it.

 So guess what’s happened now? I get a free, all expenses paid GUILT TRIP from this retail manager who totally fakes this story that I told her I had wanted to go down to the Aspinal Flagship store not for a freebie WE’RE SORRY SHOPPING TRIP – but so that I can MAKE A STAND FOR LUXURY SHOPPERS EVERYWHERE!!!! and acted all like her nose was out of joint because SHE THOUGHT I WAS A REAL GENUINE LADY WHO CARED ENOUGH ABOUT THE BRAND TO TELL THEM ABOUT HOW SHITTY THEIR SERVICE IS!!!! And she CC’d me in with the managing director to make up this TOTAL BULLSHIT. So here you are, readers, complainers and general OH FFSers, my final paragraphs.

 I think it’s completely absurd that you have fabricated this bizarre story of me wanting to come in-person to your store “to tell my story” (particularly as I had already wasted hours if not weeks indicating to your company how dire your level of customer service is), as though I have nothing better to do with my time – which I have indicated to you has been consistently disregarded by Aspinal of London.  Why on earth would I do such a thing – scheduling a meeting with a the retail director of a company to fine-tune a luxury brand’s lack of basic customer service?  It’s utterly ridiculous.  Do you think I should next call Louis Vuitton and propose the national sales manager and I pop down to Caffe Nero and discuss their branding?  That is complete fabrication and hilarious.

I told Sue on Friday March 16th, 2012, that I felt as though I was being pressured and “embarrassed” (by her suggestion that I was not “genuine”) into being satisfied with “this gift” I have been sent as an apology – after being invited to choose an item of higher value by Jill, further being invited to “go shopping” with Jill at your flagship store after she said she wanted to meet me personally, then being canceled on, after having altered my schedule to accommodate Jill’s schedule (which I have always maintained was not a problem even though it inconvenienced me greatly), then finally fobbed off with a product which Sue kindly valued for me at £135.00.  This is the value of my time, my aggravation, my consistent patience with your inconsistency of service, and which is then, in my opinion, thrown in my face at the end of over 50 days of being patient and considerate with Aspinal of London, and all of you as individuals, when I finally get actually upset. 

I went through the ridiculous situation I have outlined above.  I have further attached all my email correspondence with Rachel, Sue and Jill, which show how polite and warm I was with them despite Aspinal of London’s failure to do anything but repeatedly waste my time over and over, and which I will be happy to post publicly, because this story is priceless, probably worth at least a couple grand’s worth of keychains.

If Aspinal of London is content that I should be grateful after this consistent maltreatment, I certainly don’t wish to argue it further. I will forever be grateful for the hilarious story of your shoddy customer service and inability to deliver on promises – which I’m sure will make me laugh for years to come.

Kind regards,

 

Sometimes I feel like I might have turned into Nikki “Peter Gabriel Bitter-Articulate” Awesome, but hey, at least the bitch can do “diverse”. Yesterday I posted hiphop-gone-country so SUCK MY FAME bitches.

It’s funny how no matter what you write, there’s someone popping up to take ownership of the incident that supposedly inspired you in anyol’ particular moment… Shit, kids, sometimes a song is just a song, sometimes it begs analysis but it doesn’t wanna stick around in the waiting room. Love your commentary, but sometimes it’s a bit rich (ahem) to presume things are utterly devoted to them, like some kind of shrine to unrequited love or record contracts. Case in point: “ALL THE LITTLE THINGS” was not written about ANYBODY – we literally thought “Ooh let’s be Stanislavsky-style actors and think about something that might sound creepy-sexy, like a female stalker.” I wasn’t actually waiting outside of someone’s HOUSE. It’s called artistic license, look into it sometime.

Oh Adele, I know how you feel (just minus the loads of money/grammys)

Lyrics HERE, feel free to apply that shit both liberally and sarcastically. Oh wait, you all thought it would be like this, right?

xx

A little nostalgic over the past few days for long non-solo grinds with my boys S. Breeze and Plus Mo. Our trio trekked across Canada and the U.S. with Flo Rida, you will recall (or simply hit the archives), hitting up public appearances, radio and TV spots, killing stages et cetera, so I chucked together some footage to get all misty over. #StillLoyal baby, #ThatsWhatsUp.

The below videos are basically what being in The Royal Society was about. Go blow a balloon and brush your damn teef, essentially, and pop that Cristal after a case of RedBull, it’s better that way. Oh, life. Also there is a sick impromptu version of COUNTRY STYLE in the below video. And lots of balloons.

I should explain about the wandering around aimlessly for those of you who’ve never done/seen a soundcheck – the wireless mic’s bounced off each other/slash would totally and completely die on occasion, so most soundchecks we’d bounce off the walls on 1,500 RedBulls (in the hospitality rider, natch!) trying to make them die… so that when the sound guys were checking it they’d get EVERY SINGLE POSSIBLE PROBLEM to deal with before the show. And #thatishowitsdonekids.

I have also added the NOUVEAU RICHE EP along with some other BONUS TRACKS, a photo gallery of precious moments and to the ABOUT THE ROYAL SOCIETY section – hit up the drop down menu up at at the top – c’mon, this isn’t your first visit to the internet.

xx

I’ve been absent, and you’ve been lonely. Face it. We all know it’s true. But SHHHHHH let’s none of us acknowledge it. It’s better this way.

I’ve been making noise in my bedroom that i’d like to share with you. Lets kiss and make up already.

Find the demos up (one day at a time) on my Soundcloud account. I’ll post the set once it’s all up.

xx

I first met John Steinberg in the autumn of1999, when I was a posh punk ex-raver with a mowhawk and a Chanel scarf tied to obstruct my barely-there velcro corset. I was a high school dropout who had had the good fortune to find myself in the Toronto fashion-show circut, working with some of Canada’s most well-known backstage arists.

Although his reputation had preceded him, and I certainly knew him from his enormous media backlog, I was stunned to encounter this hilarious, down-to-earth, fabulous personality. In my experience, prior to that, most successful and talented creatives had tended to be reclusive or arrogant, and always reluctant to pass on the tricks that served them well. Ever the eager beaver, I sat in the front row while John presented a class full of misfits and droputs with slides of Cleopatra, photos of African headdresses and Victorian silhouettes, and finished by creating, in practically no time, an elaborate Marie Antionette-type hairstyle on a live model. It was nothing out of the ordinary for John, as his love of theatrics and costume were as deeply ingrained in him as his love of teaching and learning.

As I followed a twisting, turning, emotionally trying career path, his salon on King Street was like a piping hot apple pie in a cartoon window, luring me towards it. I finally got up the courage to apply with him, and though I didn’t know it then, he was in fine (typically hilarious) form as he pretended not to know anything about my interview, but watched carefully as I coloured and cut models’ hair in front of him. As he flicked through my portfolio I was aghast thinking that someone as talented and well-known as John Steinberg was flipping casually through the (admittedly) lesser-quality shots I had worked so hard to produce. Improbably, I got the job, and was working with him by the end of the week.

John claimed to ‘employ the unemployable’, which he always said cheekily, resigned to it happily, and the Associates I worked with, for the most part, played the part of employable unemployables to the best of our abilities. Although it was constantly busy and at times, frustrating, John was always ready with a terrible, terrible joke, often at his own expense (and sometimes at yours), and always up for dress-up, arriving to work sometimes in a velvet smoking jacket and opera scarf, and sometimes in pyjama pants. Halloween was a major occassion, and if you really wanted to disappoint him, you didn’t dress up at all. Day to day, I sported a black vinyl dominatrix butcher’s apron he’d gotten me as a present – strictly because he knew me so well. We would laugh daily at the stupidest things, talk sex, politics, heartbreak and religion – all of the things they teach you never to talk about in a hair salon, and attend the legendary John Steinberg and Associates art openings in salon once a month. It was a fantastic time of my life that I miss regularly and would not have left had I not been at the crossroads of ‘do I go and try to make something happen with my music career or not?’

John was the most caring employer, the most genuine person, the most humble – truly humble – individual, though being a typical Leo he often played that part down, and I don’t imagine too many people have seen him truly blush – barring those of us present at Stephen’s summer Christmas party the year we all found out quite a lot about each other during a particularly truthful and daring truth or dare game! He was also incredibly generous, sharing everything he could with his staff and friends. Whether it was Mexican Christmas or simply providing time and money towards educational pursuits, musical careers or being a shoulder to cry on and a hand to slap your ass, John lived to give strength, support, and a creative and mildly insane outlook on life, which brought him many friends and admirers in his professional and personal life – which let’s face it, were seriously intertwined, as he could not resist lending his hair-expertise to those in critical need, nor could he help being a truly amazing friend to those he encountered professionally - if they didn’t already have the jealous-goggles on. It was not only because of his extrordinary talent, but also because of his hilarious and humble personality that John was so well known and well respected, and regardless of his workload, always worked with care and diligence to create beauty, used humour to deter criticism and negativity, encouraged emotional and spiritual growth in himself and in others, and would share of his vast experiences freely, always ready to help others in any way he could.

My heart breaks for Hayley and his family, as well as for his extended family and friends, as no one could ever meet John without falling just a little bit in love with him; with the evil little gleam in his eye as he said something particularly hideous/hilarious/hideous, with his sense of humor, sense of occasion, sense of fashion, his unabashed love of beauty, his profound sense of respect even for the most socially awkward and frustrating individuals (including myself), his charity work for Princess Margaret’s, his ability to bring the most random, yet totally fascinating people into a room and have them get along. His jerked tofu, his Mexican toys and treats, his pervy handshake and camp attitude balanced by his sensitivity, his sincerity, his massive amount of knowledge and ability to take the mick out of himself will make him someone I will miss forever and someone who will never be replaced.

You are one of a kind, my friend. And so I say to you…

”So there I was…. Completely surrounded….”

Much Love,

Nikki xx

I’ve been semi-internet-absent for the past few weeks – mostly as all of my friends are finding their way towards the UK for the great summer migration… pre-high-season and what-have-you. Holy Shit, I’ve gone hyphen-crazy.

Basically I have now turned into one of those asshole residents of a big city that has gotten over the “Omg I Can See Big Ben”-ness of it all and have turned into a massive bitchface (the only face to travel with) when commuting around the city. I don’t mean to be so mean. But it happens. Maybe you’re actually not aware of you being a big dumb touristy douche (it happens) because nobody’s toldyou. So. Here’s a handy hint-sheet you can print out and tuck into your foldable London Underground map to diffuse my ire.

1. When traveling on an escalator, WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT will make you a lot more popular with the 8,000 commuters behind you who actually could give a shit about the 55 posters for ‘LEND ME A TENOR’ and ‘GREASE’. MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!
2. When the escalator reaches its final destination, contrary to popular belief, this is NOT the best time to stop and stare blankly at the numerous wondrous things in front of you. Yes, there is a big long hallway, and I’m sure it’s hard to decide which way to go IN THE ONE DIRECTION EVERYONE IS WALKING, but seeing as moonwalking back DOWN the UP escalator is kinda dicey, maybe just pull over to the side while you figure out the difference between a 20p piece and a 5p to get that can of Tango you can’t get in the States.
3. Arrived at the top of the stairs to street level at Oxford Circus? RE-READ RULE 2. 
4. You can’t seriously expect everyone in London to stop because you want a goddamn picture with Big Ben in the background, so don’t get all tongue clicky and teeth-kissy about it when people need to get by.
5. Ask directions. Totally OK. However, don’t ask for directions, become overwhelmed, get taken over to a map where you can be shown where to go and then get all “oh well *IIIII could look at a MAP”. No, no, you couldn’t.
6. The “pip-pip cheerio, ‘ave a spot of tea, guv’na?” is about as funny as being constantly asked of you say Aboot, or for my American friends “YALL have a NAHCE DAYYYYYY” or whatever. If you want to complain about how the French are dicks that look at you funny and the British presume you are a cunt then keep on truckin’ with that old ass hilarity.
7. Your friends that live in London love it when you visit, but WHY THE FUCK do I want to go to goddamn TopShop in Oxford Circus in rush hour so you can debate for like 3 hours on a pair of shitty overpriced sunglasses that were coolhunted by 50-year-olds using their tween daughter’s BFF’s like culture-vultures? Barforama.
8. The I heart London shirt with the sparkles on it? yeah, You’re gonna get mugged.
9. Everything you want to buy in the form of Mini Big Bens, baby double decker buses et cetera are like 95 times cheaper off the main roads. just hold it down till you get to district 2, ok? and do you REALLY wanna be walking around the Tower of London carrying all that shit?
10. Reread this list. Memorize it. THEN book your overpriced flight.

Many of you asked me what I did for the Royal Wedding, presuming that I would, of course, be ziplining onto the “kiss balcony” just in time to kick that crazy little girl out of the way and usurp her place of “this is so borrrrring” glory. (ps she was called a bridesmaid, is it just me or do you picture her playing the ‘zany best friend’ in every Wedding-themed RomCom until the of time?) I digress. Massively. I stayed in with a delectable hangover and watched like 100 hours of it on the telly – which saved me from tourist commute hellishness… Although I love dressing up in costume, there’s something about being in the vicinity of Union Jacked-up Baby Boomers, wasted on 15-minutes-of-fame and the constant lurking threat that they may well be photographed looking like a complete knob, with me, looking irate/sheepish/murderous in the background. So I blamed the terror threat and wrote non-wedding-related songs instead. (I know right? I expected better of myself.)

LOOOOVE YOUUUUUU

Read All About it HERE if you haven’t seen it yet, although I think it’s likely just a silly internet story.. I mean come on, a newborn baby could photoshop that shit in like 40 seconds. Also convenient that it was the in-store Father Christmas (that’s Santa Claus to you commoners..) et cetera et cetera… I’m pretty sure this is the photo the Daily Mail will release of the perpetrator.

I’m so fucking sure “Random Santa Actor” has such a massive know-how department in his cranium as to co-ordinate that kind of lighting fuck-off spectacular… it take approximately 60 union lighting techs to white-wash a stage for a Second City Improve show, so I fucking doubt this to the max. MY DOUBT HAS OFFICIALLY BEEN MAXED OUT FOR THE HOLIDAY SEASON!

Obviously this preps me to full-on believe basically everything else over the next two weeks, from reindeer on the rooftop to “Dad’s not an angry drunk, he’s just JOLLY!” So if you have any master lies to tell me, now’s the time (had to stop typing because Warner Brothers just called to say my debut album is hitting iTunes this week).

In other news of holiday Randomness, Fulham has officially decided to give back to the community, and not just by providing a lusciously green backdrop for my daily life, but by giving hot chicks life-saving sonic devices. Yes, it’s true. Consider me fully protected now that the council tax has cleared, for as other-hot-girl was my witness, I was approached by a police officer in my hellishly-full-of-babies-local-cafe and given the charmingly non-wrapped present of the MINI DEFENDER ALL PURPOSE ALARM.

With “Multiple features”, and in “Mini-Design”, this awesome rad gift from the local Bobby allows me to enjoy 130+ decibels of sireny goodness, has an LED torch (that’s a flashlight for all you disappointed pyromaniacs) and many other features, in INSANE BULLET POINT “WOW FACTOR” FORMAT:

• 130+ db SIREN
• LED TORCH FUNCTION
• TEST/PANIC BUTTON
• BELT CLIP
• COMPACT DESIGN
• RIP-CORD ACTIVATION
• 3 x LR44 BATTERIES SUPPLIED
• 1 YEAR WARRANTY

Okay. So there is the copper approaching me and this other chick on a laptop in the back of a busy cafe. He’s wearing a long black coat and shoves these boxes under our noses and says “Here. These are for you” in a manner that could be appropriately described as gruff, to say the least (I’m nicing it up because he gave me free shit), and my instant response is “um, no. here.” I gesture towards him, handing him back the creepy nondescript boxes with CRAZY EMERGENCY font all over it and glancing at the girl beside me, who is in turn looking at me with paro-eyes and whatever, and that’s when I notice POLICE written across his chest.

What the WHAAAAT? Thanks, Police, for the hot-chick protection package, but seriously, could you approach me in a more creepy way next time? Nothing says “Have a remote-controlled BOMB” like “here, this is for you” and giving me an unmarked package that in no way says “Happy Christmas, we’ve enjoyed keeping you alive, Love, Old Bill”. Next time I’m walking through a dark alleyway perhaps they’ll pop-up with a fright mask and “CALL 999″ (aka 911) sign in an Easter basket or something. Whatever. Just keeping the public safe and shit.

Check this “Stylish Alarm Product” Here. Yep. That’s what they gave us. Ready for the bullshit part? (Oh wait, that would essentially be the entire story, wouldn’t it?) it’s YELLOW. Not snazzy fucking BABY PINK or something svelte like the BLACK model (that would be, oh I don’t know, DISCREET, at least), which is I imagine is supposed to have the “warning” effect on your potential rapist, in a kind of “oh, I guess you thought you had this all planned out and I was going to be forced to comply with your evildoing, but LOOK OUT EARDRUMS, I’m about to blast your shit with my pocket-alarm!”, at which point the Raper, (played by 1975 Oliver Reed) will cheese it, it’s the cops. Or something.

Don’t you think it might be more likely that he will just drag me off AWAY from the noise-thing which has, let’s face it, dropped to the ground at around the same moment I peed my pants from scared-ness, which will be ignored by people supposing it’s just a car alarm interrupting a rerun of COME DINE WITH ME AUSTRALIA (That’s how much they don’t care) and I will be found dead in the Alleyway (likely found by coppers in fright-masks with Easter baskets) like 70 hours later? THANKS FOR THE AWESOME PERSONAL PROTECTION DEVICE PRESENT, POLICE!

Oh, I’m being a dick. Thank you for the Awesome Personal Protection Device Present, Police. I mean that sincerely. It’s suitably useful in this cafe full of SUV-baby strollers and screaming toddlers, when I can pull the ripcord and listen to 130 + db of soothing sireny bliss rather than subject myself to further hideous offenses they call “the laughter of children”.

More wine, please.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

A Soldier Serving in Afghanistan’s Letter to the #G20 Police

This appeared in the comments section of Torontoist but was just too good to stay in the comments section. It comes from a serving member of the Canadian Armed Forces in response to police actions surrounding the G20. It is reprinted here in full (hope no one minds.)

As a serving member of the Canadian Forces and a combat veteran, I can say with absolute clarity and conviction that i am disgusted by the actions of the supposed “other half” of our nations security, the civilian shield to the army’s sword. I managed to fight and win battles while vastly outnumbered, against a heavily armed, mobile, guerilla force with as few as 10 fellow Canadians. 10 Canadian taxpayer funded and trained, government employees fighting and dying to prevent the lawlessness and injustice the so-called Black Bloc seems only too willing to promote. 10 Canadian ambassadors (because that is what you are when your wear and salute your nations flag) that knew their jobs and acted as consummate, trained professionals in all things, which incidentley is why i am alive to type this. The enemy we fought was entrenched within a civilian population and knew only too well the problems that could be created by putting innocent Afghans in the center of the conflict. So as is our duty and our job we let them bait us and let them crow and then when we had a shot we took it WITH NO CIVILIAN CASUALTIES. How could I know? Because we were the medical center for the region and we visited the villages regularly.

Knowing when to apply force and how to apply it can be a very simple thing when you assign value to the thing you are leveraging that force against. Am I prepared to kill the human being who is placing the IED or recoiless rifle that will kill three of my brothers? 3 of my fellow Canadians who have answered the call to defend what we so often take for granted half a world away? Without pause yes, and I will for the rest of my life, I took an oath that does not end with a contract.

When you put that uniform on you are no longer John Smith of Toronto. You are a member of the Canadian Forces, just as you are a Royal Canadian Mounted Police Officer, or an Ontario Provincial Police Officer. A government employee who’s mandate and training is to PROTECT the public. Not to protect themselves from threats within the public. It is their job as the civilian arm of our nations security to be the blue line between those that would see our way of life burnt to it’s end and the Canadians who see more than a simple flag.

Instead they formed a black wall and responded to WORDS with unrelenting, armed and often random VIOLENCE.

I don’t care if Osama Bin Laden himself is hiding on Queen Street like Waldo… you don’t just drop an airstrike on the village.

You PARTICULARLY don’t do it after the entire village sang Oh Canada in fear.

I understand the effect of an unsuspecting ambush tactics to confuse and demoralize… but when the first three ranks of ‘protestors’ are waving peace signs standing outside the gap wearing American Apparel and drinking starbucks… I might tailor my tactics accordingly.

People have said that they ‘understand’ why Police might have been on edge due to the events of the day before…

Bullshit.

I understand that i watched friends die and then the next day went out and did my job with the professionalism expected of someone who claims to serve his country and as in holland i gave chocolate to children while the engineers rebuilt.

When you back people into a corner… they will fight and sell their lives dearly to escape.

The ‘kettle’ is a useful tactic to isolate ‘riot ringleaders’ but with even minor coordination it can simply be turned into a turnstyle type processing operation as opposed to a way to jack up arrest counts to justify budgets and manpower.

Too little too late from the Police especially after the complete lack of presence as the city they are paid to protect, burned the day before.

A number of extremely reputable journalists and civilian truth mongers have been given unprecedented ability to expose the absolute incompetence of both the police leadership and of the individual line trooper.

This is as sure a black stain on their official colors as it was a death knell to the Canadian Airborne after one of their members killed a Somali boy. I would hang my head in shame if i affected any part of Sunday’s riot operation, willing or not.

I have a relative who was caught up in the crowd. Just a student who is young and wants to take inspired photos, and does it damn well. He was detained (not arrested) But I have seen his footage and i am disgusted.

I did not put my life on the line and watch my best friends take their last breath to come home and watch the largest gathering of law enforcement this country has ever seen… cowed to the point inaction as the city and its citizens endure the wanton destruction to their homes and business, only to have it answered by a heavy handed and indiscriminant hammer blow against quite possibly the very same people they so utterly failed to help previously.

I understand that to put a riot line in front of the black block may have caused injuries and violence.

Well… they asked for it. Says so right on their sign.

Guess what else. That’s why you took the oath of service to your country. If you don’t want to get injured on the job… be a yoga instructor.

Excuses are quite common apparently everyone has one. I would advise anyone reading this to write their local MP and ask what your government is doing to police it’s members and policies that have utterly failed in their duty to this country.

I was in the city all weekend and if i had a dollar for every group of 6 police officers i saw sitting on corners shooting the shit… I would probably have enough to hire a ten man infantry section for the weekend to lead the police through some drills, of how to serve the nation they are sworn to defend.

This should not be taken as a sweeping assault on the police as i even have a few relatives and many friends among their ranks. But just as I would not stand for injustice within my own house… I will not stand for it in theirs.

I have met countless officers who uphold our laws with dignity and professionalism. I would gladly give my life for anyone of them.

What will not stand is when under the guise of ‘security’ police are given sweeping powers with no chance of reciprocity, the need to explain themselves or chance to defend against bullying tactics employed on a peaceful gathering of my country’s citizens.

I don’t give a flying squirrel if they were threatening, or there were reports of weapons. You have full body armour and shields. Suck it up. Besides, you should be happy. Bricks move a lot slower than bullets.

I support our law enforcement as i support our troops. But my support is not a blank cheque to be held cheaply against the values and rights you trample as surely as you stepped on our flag. You will find me a tenacious opponent and one now who wants to know just how that cheque i did write you was used… and i think after saturdays impotence and sundays ignorance someone has to pay the piper…

and this time, it won’t be me.

Posted by Justin Beach at 4:17 PM