Ugly Sloanes

Spent the day hanging out in Knightsbridge on Monday, pretending to have incredibly important business meetings and generally swanning about acting *fabulous*. The day was rounded off with a cream tea in a smart tea shop opposite Harrods accompanied by a fellow skivey friend. It was only on leaving that we realised that we were by far the commonest people in there.

The thing that gave it away? Every other person in the café had spectacularly failed to make an effort with their appearance. What is it with Sloane women? Why can’t they slap on a bit of makeup every now and then? They’re all covered in pearls, wearing their designer body warmers with penny loafers (and – vom – tights) and they can’t take the time to cover up their acne scars and brush their dirty-blond hair before they scrape it back into that fashion-defying French plait? Can’t they spend a bit of that trust fund on some cosmetics. I mean, go natural by all means, but at least take the time to moisturise. Makeup may well be vulgar, but a pallid complexion, spots and a scrunchie is not what I want to be staring at while I’m feeding my face with scones.