Last week I got a call asking if I wanted to be interviewed for a Malaysian women’s glossy, about my writing. So of course, I said yes. All publicity is good, right?
Today I found out that I have to go to a very high-end hotel in town for a photo shoot. “We’ll do the make-up and hair; you just wear something colourful, smart casual.”
Oh help. I don’t do smart casual. Sloppy casual, yes. Or jungle-bashing casual. Or a recycling-sustainability-environmentalist-so-I-wear-clothes-till-they-fade-and-have-holes-in-them casual.
Hairdresser? Make-up artist? Who for? Me? Now that’s sort of like painting the stable door long after the filly bolted. Or rather after the filly became that old mare you can see in the pasture over there…
I hope they have their most experienced artistes on duty for this shoot. They’ll need that expertise.
Do you think they can get a photo shot before I lick off the lipstick? Any bets?