from a centre parting. Jo had always trimmed it herself with nail scissors,
and it sat just on top of her shoulders, hanging slightly in front of her face to hide how round it was. Her hair had been
something she had neglected while she concentrated on getting her weight down, but now she realised that she looked like a
hippie from the 1960s and not the hip magazine girl she wanted to become. She suddenly hated her hair as much as the extra
weight she had been putting on, and she wanted to get rid of it. She wanted to be fearless.
Despite being broke Jo took herself to a trendy Soho salon that had been namechecked in
Gloss
, and told a junior stylist to give her a cut like Catherine Zeta-Jones had in
Chicago
. When he looked doubtful Jo said that she worked at
Gloss
, and with those magic words he got out the scissors, sat her down, and cut into her hair so the strands fell gently to the
floor. In Jo’s mind it represented shedding her skin and becoming a butterfly. She wanted to transform herself even if she
was having problems losing weight again. She settled back and reread the latest issue of
Gloss
, and felt pride that she was part of the magazine, even in a small way.
When the hairdresser finished Jo looked in the mirror and wanted to cry. She had the newest, sharpest cut, but it looked terrible
on her, despite the hairdresser fussing with hairspray and a comb. She had the appearance of a fat Harry Potterfrom the
Chamber of Secrets
film, and when she got home she found that no amount of lipstick, false eyelashes or blusher made a difference. She quietly
made her way into the office next day and studiously avoided everyone’s eyes.
‘It won’t work, you know.’
Jo spun round in her chair and looked at the girl sitting in the corner of the office. Of all the girls in the typing pool,
Debbie was the one who made the most jokes about Jo’s weight, the one who Jo sometimes caught looking at her with annoyance.
She had long, stringy, blonde hair and an engagement ring that she constantly waved in people’s faces, although she never
mentioned her fiancé or if they’d actually set a date for the wedding. She was second in command to Frieda and she loved the
power.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Debbie stopped typing and fixed her gaze on Jo. ‘Let me guess. You want to be a journalist when you grow up and you think
that if you start dressing like them you’ll be noticed.’ The older girl watched Jo’s skin pale underneath her foundation and
continued, satisfied, ‘It won’t work. It won’t get you a job on the magazine. It never does.’
Jo bristled. ‘What makes you think that’s what I’m trying to do? I just fancied a change of image. It’s nothing to do with
you.’
Debbie waved her hands dismissively. ‘Seen it all before, sweetheart. You’re just one of a number who have come here with
stars in their eyes about being asked to write for the magazine, but you haven’t got a chance. They only employ talent, or
people who have been here for years and aren’t opportunists.’ Debbie looked Jo up and down. ‘You’re on the bottom rung of
the typing pool. You’re invisible. And you know what, I’m next in line to be asked to join their team. You haven’t got a hope
in hell.’
Don’t react, Jo thought, just don’t react. She could feelher body tensing and she forced a smile. ‘It’s a good thing you’re wrong, then, isn’t it?’ she said lightly, and she pointedly
ignored the stares from the other girls in the office as she engrossed herself in typing up an article about relationships
that she knew she could write a hundred times better. Jo lost herself in her work but she heard Debbie sniggering to Katherine.
She was going to have a lot of fun proving Debbie and everyone else wrong. She was going to do it.
When changing her image didn’t work Jo flung herself into the second stage of her plan. It was all about making
and it sat just on top of her shoulders, hanging slightly in front of her face to hide how round it was. Her hair had been
something she had neglected while she concentrated on getting her weight down, but now she realised that she looked like a
hippie from the 1960s and not the hip magazine girl she wanted to become. She suddenly hated her hair as much as the extra
weight she had been putting on, and she wanted to get rid of it. She wanted to be fearless.
Despite being broke Jo took herself to a trendy Soho salon that had been namechecked in
Gloss
, and told a junior stylist to give her a cut like Catherine Zeta-Jones had in
Chicago
. When he looked doubtful Jo said that she worked at
Gloss
, and with those magic words he got out the scissors, sat her down, and cut into her hair so the strands fell gently to the
floor. In Jo’s mind it represented shedding her skin and becoming a butterfly. She wanted to transform herself even if she
was having problems losing weight again. She settled back and reread the latest issue of
Gloss
, and felt pride that she was part of the magazine, even in a small way.
When the hairdresser finished Jo looked in the mirror and wanted to cry. She had the newest, sharpest cut, but it looked terrible
on her, despite the hairdresser fussing with hairspray and a comb. She had the appearance of a fat Harry Potterfrom the
Chamber of Secrets
film, and when she got home she found that no amount of lipstick, false eyelashes or blusher made a difference. She quietly
made her way into the office next day and studiously avoided everyone’s eyes.
‘It won’t work, you know.’
Jo spun round in her chair and looked at the girl sitting in the corner of the office. Of all the girls in the typing pool,
Debbie was the one who made the most jokes about Jo’s weight, the one who Jo sometimes caught looking at her with annoyance.
She had long, stringy, blonde hair and an engagement ring that she constantly waved in people’s faces, although she never
mentioned her fiancé or if they’d actually set a date for the wedding. She was second in command to Frieda and she loved the
power.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Debbie stopped typing and fixed her gaze on Jo. ‘Let me guess. You want to be a journalist when you grow up and you think
that if you start dressing like them you’ll be noticed.’ The older girl watched Jo’s skin pale underneath her foundation and
continued, satisfied, ‘It won’t work. It won’t get you a job on the magazine. It never does.’
Jo bristled. ‘What makes you think that’s what I’m trying to do? I just fancied a change of image. It’s nothing to do with
you.’
Debbie waved her hands dismissively. ‘Seen it all before, sweetheart. You’re just one of a number who have come here with
stars in their eyes about being asked to write for the magazine, but you haven’t got a chance. They only employ talent, or
people who have been here for years and aren’t opportunists.’ Debbie looked Jo up and down. ‘You’re on the bottom rung of
the typing pool. You’re invisible. And you know what, I’m next in line to be asked to join their team. You haven’t got a hope
in hell.’
Don’t react, Jo thought, just don’t react. She could feelher body tensing and she forced a smile. ‘It’s a good thing you’re wrong, then, isn’t it?’ she said lightly, and she pointedly
ignored the stares from the other girls in the office as she engrossed herself in typing up an article about relationships
that she knew she could write a hundred times better. Jo lost herself in her work but she heard Debbie sniggering to Katherine.
She was going to have a lot of fun proving Debbie and everyone else wrong. She was going to do it.
When changing her image didn’t work Jo flung herself into the second stage of her plan. It was all about making
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