When Kate Moss unveiled her new wellness brand, says Kara Kennedy in The Spectator, my first reaction was: “great, another cool girl who’s been swallowed up into the mundane world of green shakes and yoga”. This is a woman who once bragged that her beauty regime consisted of “three Cs and one V”: cigarettes, champagne, coffee and vodka. I don’t blame Kate herself: her face cream costs £95, and her sacred mist – “whatever that is” – is priced at £120. “If there are people out there naive enough to buy all this then power to her.” I just feel it’s a rather sad testament to how boring our society has become.
Back in the 1990s, the hard-partying Primrose Hill set would be snapped falling out of clubs “amid rumours of drug-fuelled nights and partner-swapping”. But our Instagram age seems to weed out “anything (and anyone) that isn’t filtered and poised to perfection”. Celebs have traded “wreaking havoc” for pedalling wacky wellness products, like Gwyneth Paltrow’s “This Smells Like My Vagina” candle. And anyone who does show signs of being “remotely cool” is condemned for their “erratic” and “disturbing” behaviour. When supermodel Cara Delevingne had a few too many at an awards show, papers were flooded with reports begging her to get help. “Yawn.” I wish we’d all lighten up and realise “a little bit of naughtiness can only be a good thing”.