GiGi (well, Griselda Griswald actually, but everybody calls her GiGi) is a woman with a mission: to help people improve the way they look, increase their self-esteem, and eventually, make them happier people.
Being a personal shopper is a dark art, with few tangible rewards.
Spread by word of mouth, her clients would never admit they needed her assistance.
Not even if they put them under torture. Let us be honest, who would admit to being in need of a style consultant?
It is like being an alcoholic: the first step is to admit you need help, and acknowledge that that pair of leggings, now that you are in your mid-fifties, do not suit you anymore. When you have recognized it, you are on the path to recovery, and GiGi's services will help you, despite her mother nagging that she is not doing a "real" job.
People need advice and often a fresh point of view helps in rejuvenating a wardrobe that, with time, has become boring.
Would they admit it? Not a chance! So, it is just a matter of going around and helping people buying clothes and shoes? Not quite so. Money is tight; GiGi has to work with rich and very eccentric people, who often do not have any idea about what they want.She and her business partner Ritchie are in a constant struggle to keep the business afloat, but as they say in Dragon's Den, she is very investable. But, with success comes the difficulties, the Battersea Fashion Center is going to open soon, just opposite of her office, and they claim they will be fierce competitors. With the constant struggle to keep her business afloat, a powerful enemy is lining up ready to make a meal out of her, knowing very well that GiGi's approach, eventually, will make her successful.
Whilst she invents new ways to make her consultancy firm successful, she finds who could be the love of her life, thanks to some of her best friends.
The business eventually expands and they take onboard new partners along the way, making them one of the most influential fashion consultancy firms in London. But, with a very demanding job, hours and hours spent working, will she be able to balance her career and her private life?
Will she reach a point where she loses focus on what is important in life?
Do not worry; mother is there to remind her, with her nagging.Here is a couple of tasters: --" Those clothes could have been very good for our beloved Queen in her eighties, but come off it; Mommy was barely in her thirties!One in particular horrified me: a blue and yellow sequined dress with humungous pink flowers all over the place. I poked it with a stick from a distance to ensure it wasn't alive and ready to kill me.
You know, sometimes they haunt you. Could these really be her clothes, or were they keepsakes from an old, deceased aunt?"-- -- With a torch in her hand she started searching in the vast garden until she was satisfied and then said, "You stay here." It was dark and I could barely see her walking in the general direction of the shed; a few thumping noises followed and then she reappeared with a pair of shovels and working gloves.
She tossed a shovel to me. "Start digging the grave; I'll be back in a minute," she said, giggling like a teenager.
I was flabbergasted; I'd thought she meant she'd bury her clothes in a figurative way, like at the bottom of the wardrobe.
This was beyond belief! I pondered the situation for a moment and then I kicked the shovel in the ground; if we were going to make a mess, I'd better get started.The earth was soft from the previous days of rain and I could work quickly.I wondered for a moment if someone would see us, here in the garden, digging like a pair of tomb raiders, and would call the police. "Ah good, you've started already," she said, depositing the bags nearby. "Natalie, I'm not digging a six-footer here!" I complained; that would have taken the whole night. "Not to worry, sweetheart: just deep enough to let all this stuff rot with the worms." She started quarrying as well and after an hour we had to stop, because we were both quite tired but also because every few minutes we looked at each other and, without a word, we'd burst out laughing at what we were doing.
I made a comment about the neighbours, and that also made her laugh out loud. "I'm going to put the kettle on," she said eventually. "Take a break." I sat on the edge of the grave and let my legs float into the empty space; it was now almost a metre deep and perhaps it would have sufficed for the clothes.
Natalie came back after a couple of minutes with the brews and we admired our work in silence.
Eventually she was satisfied with the result and she tossed the lot in.Covering it up didn't take too long. "I'd pay to see the face of your gardener when he discovers this." --
