The DM confirmation still felt surreal—London Fashion Week. Just seeing the words made my stomach flutter. This wasn’t just another gig; it was a defining moment. And the best thing of all, it was Bea Boston who recommended me! I needed to be ready, and not just with my skills but with everything else too.
I spent the next morning deep in research, scrolling through the work of the key makeup artist I’d be assisting. Her style was bold and experimental—layered textures, raw finishes, and editorial glam. It wasn’t soft glam or bridal perfection, and I felt a surge of both anxiety and excitement. This was a chance to push myself creatively.
Between tabs on runway trends and emails confirming call times, I messaged Zara, an old uni friend now living in Hackney. “Any chance you’ve got a spare couch next week? Got a huge gig in London.”
Zara replied instantly.
Girl, stay as long as you want! Bring snacks.
With accommodation sorted, it was time for a kit overhaul. I spread everything out on the floor, tossing out old products and reorganising the essentials. I’d invested in the new MY PVC BOX BAG with CLICK-IT from MYKITCO that would keep me streamlined and efficient backstage. My workspace looked like controlled chaos, but by the end of the day, my kit gleamed with precision.
Just as I zipped up the last bag, my phone buzzed. A package had been delivered downstairs. I dashed to the door and found a sleek box with the unmistakable NARS logo.
I tore it open to find a handwritten note thanking me for the recent GRWM video. Inside were some of their bestsellers: blush, radiant foundation, and a few shimmering eye pigments. My first-ever PR package. I stood there, speechless. This was a huge milestone—people were noticing my work.
The rush of excitement spurred me to set up my next GRWM video, showcasing a trend I’d been loving: “soft matte”—flawless skin with subtle definition and a diffused, natural finish.
I prepped my face, spotting a breakout along my jawline. “Of course,” I muttered, reaching for my concealer. After perfecting my base, I talked viewers through each step: smudging a rich brown eyeliner, blending a muted mauve blush high on the cheeks, and finishing with a blurred matte nude lip.
Filming felt more natural this time—like chatting with friends. I didn’t obsess over perfection. I just focused on sharing what I loved, tagging the brands as I wrapped up the final shot.
That night, I packed the last of my essentials, checking and double-checking everything. Brushes, palettes, foundation… perfect.
The next morning, I arranged for Billie to stay with Mikey for the week. He laughed when I handed him Billie’s overnight bag.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him famous,” Mikey joked, snapping a selfie with Billie.
At Manchester Piccadilly station, I finally let myself breathe. The excitement was buzzing just beneath my skin. I was on my way to London Fashion Week, stepping closer to the career I’d dreamed of for years.
This wasn’t just a trip—it was the start of something bigger.
