Lavender: They Call Me Many Things

They call me many things; an influencer, a model, a vixen, a diva, a beauty-queen and a bitch. Lavender Unicorn is what I choose to go by. My real last name is Knickers, but don’t you dare use it. Every-time they called my name out in school, I wanted to hang my head in shame. Bullies on the playground traumatised me for life. Back then, I didn’t want to be myself anymore. With the power of make-up, I could be whatever I wanted to be. I’ve been working on myself for years since I left high school. I don’t have the fancy degrees that society expects you to have, but I have a multi-million dollar company that I started in my bedroom. That’s gotta make up for it. Just a shame about the tax and debt situation... I’m working on it, okay?

I’m 32 now, and you either want to be with me or be me. I was always taught that my looks didn’t matter. At school we were told the only thing that mattered was hard work and good grades. Grandma, God bless her soul sad the only thing that mattered was love. What if you don’t have any of that? The last generation’s advise is useless for the new generation. Their world didn’t work like our world. They have no right to judge and dictate us!

Now which lipstick should I choose: silver or black? The neon nails are still on my vanity table. I apply yellow varnish for a change. Little white flowers and gold sequins bring them to life. Once they dry, I blow them. Let’s be daring, I say to myself. I grab the black lipstick. My look is complete, so it’s time for my morning selfie. My phone slips in the compartment at the top of the mirror; can’t let anyone see my double chin.

Superficial expectations drive me to where I am today. I still feel like a teenager drowning in puberty. Hopes of low esteem fading once I hit my twenties was futile. Best not to think about my insecurities, but its impossible when they’re always pulling on your shoulders. I open the draw for a hairbrush hiding under the bulging wallets and worn out loyalty cards. Just need to sweep my fringe to the side, and then I’m ready to go.

*

Calling in at Starbucks, I collect my breakfast: iced chai latte in coconut milk, syrup and sprinkles of vanilla and cinnamon. Drinking it on my way to meet some friends, I gasp at my reflection on shop windows. Wow, I am gorgeous today. Yes, I said it. If I don’t say it myself, how the hell can I expect somebody else to think it. It’s so easy to lose yourself in the league of celebrities. At least I have my intuition and functioning skills. I make my own decisions and manage my own life, there’s more than what other celebrities can say. Hollywood culture is filled with obsessive devotion and puppet masters, I see these airbrushed dolls on advertisements and think, thank God I’m not like them.

My hair waves from side to side. Fancy coffee in one hand, and the latest smartphone in the other. Strangers become mini-paparazzi as they take pictures. The camera shutters click in rhythm of my shoes. Drivers whistle out their cars. Some drive in circles just in hope that the wind will lift my skirt. Life being the local celebrity in this town is tough, but I get by.

I’d do anything for more followers on social media: five million is not enough. There’s billions of people who watch my videos every day. If only I could make them subscribe so I can get more sponsorships and money. My goal is to double my follow count by next year. They get content, and I get money: it’s a win-win situation for all of us.

There’s one that I won’t do, even for all the money and fame in the world. Scrap that…there’s actually two. The first thing I will never do is go on that Game of Mass Destruction show. The premise is stupid. Why should I beat up some robots just for a few moments of fame? My bedroom is my office and my make-up is my brand. It’s also gross how they make people sleep with each other, kill each other and lick toilets just for more points. If they survive, all their points get converted to money. Those reality-TV whores make my blood boil. They should get a life!

Sia Bucks only does it to piss her ex-husband off. I don’t know what really happened between them. All I know was that he was caught having sex with a robot. The pair of them need to grow up and stop bringing the whole world with them in their disputes. Having said that, her purple afro and silver lipstick is to die for.

The second thing is, I’m not giving up on Christian. He and I have slept with other people in and out of our relationships, but he always crawls his way back to me in the end. That’s the way it should be. The one pulling the strings in this relationship is me. That doofus broke up with me via text message, what a coward. He couldn’t even say it to my face. I know why, because I would give him a good reason to make him stay.

One way or another, he’ll come back to me. He’s blocked me everywhere and he’s stealing my online presence from me. Christian and I are stronger together than apart. I miss the bickering and the plate smashing and the saucy make-up sex that came after it. We’ve had children too, not always together but we do love them. I love the attention I got from being pregnant, but I had no maternal instinct. I let my cousin adopt them in the end. I’ve not seen any of them since. Sounds harsh, but that’s the way it is. Violet wanted kids and couldn’t have any. Christian was too busy pumping iron with his customers to care about them. It all worked out in the end.

Sympathy is all I want from my friends, but I doubt I will receive any. Worth a try though.