Barbara, queen of kitsch
I once worked on the editorial board of a fancy glossy magazine
One day, the editor-in-chief said she wanted to launch a new magazine. She was looking for a designer.
“That’s me!” I said.
What the editor-in-chief didn’t realize at the time, was that I wasn’t a stiff or conventional designer and I didn’t like bland-as-porridge cliched designs.
So, what happened next?
I collected together some vintage, coffee-stained menus that I’d kept for years in dusty boxes. I glued French art deco letters onto backgrounds. I embroidered Spanish postcards and I used them as decoration for a production of Princess Rania al-Abdoellah from Jordania.
Everything I had ever collected during my life all fell into place. I had to negotiate with stock photo agencies and with editors about headline copy. I drank champagne with a famous Dutch fashion designer in a fancy hotel. I worked very hard for a lot of money. It was a glamorous job but at the same time hilarious.
I loved it.
For me it was a bit like playing with glue, crayons, scissors and glitter, but making glamorous stuff. Not in kindergarten, but on a high-tech computer.
The editor-in-chief occasionally glanced at my designs. She was quiet nervous because it looked funky and eclectic and my table was filled with flea market stuff. I had to reassure her that it would be alright. I really believe she was frightened that I would mess up the whole thing.
Hey, that’s me. Check out the champagne.
One article was about a remarkable lady, who lived in England. Her name was Dame Barbara Cartland and she was the mother of Lady Di’s stepmother. She wrote seven hundred and twenty-three novels.
Plus one cookbook.
She was almost a hundred years old and had sold over one trillion (1,000,000,000,000!) novels
I kid you not.
Her dresses were pink. Her teeth, umbrella, mattress, and bath tub as well.
Finally I had found someone who understood my obsession for pink. I immediately wanted her to be my new best friend.
So, how did Dame Barbara Cartland start writing a new novel?
Picture this. First, she powdered her nose. Then, she sat down on her pink couch. Accompanied by her dog (which was white, by the way). She dictated her text, while a personal assistant wrote everything down. With enormous speed. Because writing seven hundred and twenty-three books in about seventy-five years… I mean, come on. That’s a lot!
I LOVE sugar-coated stories. I feel connected to weirdos who follow their heart’s desire. Who don’t conform (why should they?) and hide themselves away in empty mansions or pink palaces.
Usually, they have a mascot. Like a Norwich terrier, a Selkirk Rex, or a squirrel. Solitary people feel at ease in eccentric company.
The fact is, if I were to write a seventh of the volume of what this amazing lady produced, I’d have to live to be ninety-eight… and I’d have to write two books per year from now on.
Bingo.
Now, back to the glossy
I was allowed to work with gorgeous photos of Joan Collins and Catherine Deneuve. I discovered that Sir James Paul McCartney’s mistress was beautiful and had only one leg. I learned that the horse races at Ascot Berkshire were all about ‘who’s wearing the best hat.’
I learned absolutely everything about making a magazine. And I loved it.
The end.
I wish you an enchanting day.
Bye!
NOTE: In the end, the glossy became famous. The sales figures were gigantic and my editor-in-chief was overjoyed.
Phew…
Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention this. Check out Barbara’s podcast that I’m loving. You can find it below or on Spotify. It’s not for everyone, but at least give it a try :)
Never underestimate the importance of creativity.