The Ozempic Diaries, the podcast that relaunched Steve Madden, and are you a Kent Mum?
If so, you're having a moment
Hello! I write to you from the set of the Apocalypse Now remake, aka live from my new flat as I unpack. I am decluttering a million of those checked plastic laundry bags that have multiplied during their year of storage, presenting me with a ton of just-good-enough-to-keep-but-do-I-love-it decisions as I struggle to find somewhere to put it all. (What is the modern architect’s aversion to built-in storage? I know it means flats look beautiful when they’re empty but people have STUFF.)
Oh for my twenties when I owned little enough to just call the mysterious X, who was also a roadie for the Rolling Stones’ art collection, and could clear and load all my possessions in 45 minutes each end.
I’ve moved three times in the last 12 months and NEVER. AGAIN.
That said, I now hear geese in the morning. Is that good? asked a colleague, new to London. Better than the drug dealers, I could answer honestly. So, win.
Sorting out my worldly possessions is taking all my structural ability so this week’s post is going to be bitty and scattergun, a bit like the current state of my wardrobe.
Dear Diary, I’m in love … with a GLP-1
Not me, excuse the hook. But I’ve identified a new confessional genre of writing; the Ozempic or Mounjaro diaries. This, of course, being where writers (and ghosted case studies) share their stories of weight loss, slimming and side-effects of GLP-1 injections all over the press, and even on this platform too, perhaps to a lesser extent.
It was inevitable, I suppose. One thing I will say about journalists is that they / we (once a hack always a hack) love newness, and are ready to try new treatments (aside from the fact that PRs will arrange them lots for free). By this point, injections for weight loss seem to many just intriguing enough, but not too scary, to hop on. So commissioning editors can have no shortage of willing guinea pigs. (It’s not always this easy - try being an editor trying to get someone to have plastic surgery.)
Most recently I read 11 spouses on their experience with their spouse on a GLP drug (ranging from delight at their rejuvenated sex life to the opposite, due to what I’ll term politely gastric issues). And why 11? As a headline, those odd numbers always performed much better than a round 10 - 11 signals intentionality, like you happened to truffle up 11 great case studies; 10 sounds like you were trying to hit a quota.
A similar thing happened with Botox (if not quite the same extent); the 5:2 diet (I saw pounds fall of my male colleagues in particular); and any other slightly alarming lifestyle trend that has been doing the rounds.
Which means, to come, if they haven’t already, we can expect:
The etiquette of going on injections (on that note - have you read this recent piece on the etiquette of subscribing to Substacks? Bravo Town & Country. Although true etiquette experts won’t use the term etiquette. Confusingly)
Friendship rifts around secret weight loss methods
'Ozempic ruined my marriage’
And much more.
It’s understandable: the tide of pieces suggest that they’re finding a readership; that people are clicking through to find out more. At the same time, I feel a bit squeamish about the amount of column inches devoted to these powerful, prescription-only drugs in this friendly, normalising format (even if it’s easy enough to get them via online prescription; it’s clear a lot of people are bypassing their GPs). Of course, people can make their own decisions, but when you’re surrounded by stories of people singing their praises, even among horror stories of hospitalisations, too, weeell… these companies couldn’t hope for better coverage if they were paying for it.
Meanwhile, let the fans come off the medication and see where they are in a year, I’d suggest. But then we all need something to publish right now.
Steve Madden does the anti-Ratner
Talk about coverage you couldn’t pay for - just look at the reaction to shoe retail king Steve Madden’s latest podcast interview:
Have you watched it? Madden is better known in the US, but you can buy his shoes over in the UK, and it’s fascinating viewing whether you’re one of ‘his girls’ or not. (I love to watch podcasts, which seem far more interesting right now that traditional TV being commissioned.)
In it, Madden gives a great interview to The Cutting Room Floor, the fashion-focused podcast from designer and podcaster Recho Omondi. The biggest green flag? How he scoffs at the idea of a designer selling a jelly shoe for hundreds of dollars, gamely admits to the designer inspo for many of his styles, and clearly knows ‘his girls’ - his shoppers - and their tastes and budgets, inside out.
But what I like from a meeja pov is the depth and focus of the interviewer’s approach. There’s very little explaining to the audience - what you have to do with mass market publications; oh, the endless context setting we had to add to newspaper features. There’s something so quick and refreshing to just get deep into it; to ask about the details of his distribution methods (a trade secret); why he HQs in Long Island, not New York; OK, and what exactly he was up to with that securities fraud that made him a bit player in The Wolf of Wall Street. It’s all in the detail, and it’s fascinating.
There is talk that as the media splinters it’s those with a specialism that will be rewarded; that we’re seeing the rise of the ‘expert influencer’. I think that’s right.
Rise and fall of the Kent Mum
Gen Z have turned their eye to the Kent Mum(s). I know this because TikTok told me, which is how I like to keep a close eye on what the youth are up to, in the absence of my last office job where I could admire both their chutzpah and huge jeans with awe and some suspicion.
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This is basically their latest salvo in the generational fashion wars, with a slew of viral videos in which like a David Attenborough of style, they identify the Kent Mum by her:
floral maxi dress
smart white trainers
crossbody bag (so far, this was the office uniform at the magazine I worked at five years ago, and very handy it was too for solving the cursed casual workwear question)
fitted blue denim jacket
M&S tinned cocktail for the train in to town (wise)
to watch ABBA Live or similar (I know, but no)
picky bits for the train table supper (yum)
I admit, it was the mirth at their - our - obsession with the crossbody bag which most unnerved me. Because by Kent Mum, what they are really levelling their attack dogs at is the elderly millennials. For it’s not just for Kent Mums tripping into town - the crossbody bag is so handy when trekking about London and wanting to be hands-free and bike thief-ready. What are the cool kids all wearing instead? Little rectangular shoulder bags, to make their jeans look even bigger by comparison? No thanks.
But have no fear - research has revealed to me that one must (if one cares about these things) just wear your crossbody bag on the absolute tightest strap notch, so it’s hoisted up to waist height or higher. Don’t ask me why, I am a mere conduit for style law.
Now, back to the war on the bedroom floor. I think I might get rid of that denim jacket.
enjoyed this! hope you manage to lift that crossbody bag higher and escape being narrated over by a child