Wanting to be interviewed
Is an illness
Longing to be photographed
Is sad
Being flavour of the month
Is no insurance
What has fashion ever been
But just a fad?
The self-obsession bug
Can strike anyone
The self-absorption craze
Can take hold
A sense of humour
Can die in pieces
A big fat cuttings file
The only goal
The sweet pages
Of crispy black and white
The shiny suppleness
Of glossy mags
The airbrushed photos
Can win the hardest heart
A sense of gravitas
Can lower flags
We see ourselves there
We want to win too
We feel excluded
It isn’t right
We close our eyes
And dream of close-ups
We swap the lime shine
For inner light
Will we be featured
Or make the front page?
Will we sound as clever
As we are?
Will we look elegant
And still desirable?
Will we be top dog
The superstar?
We take the questions
We like our witty quips
We never read a word
That’s not our own
We are exceptional
So fully profiled
We sign happily
To sell our soul
We smile from high racks
We are victorious
We are so special
It kind of hurts
We are immortal
At least for this month
We have no plan at all
But hope it works
© Rachel Fox 2006
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