A while ago I interviewed the CEO of the website beutifulpeople.com and in return I received lifetime free membership of the website. The premise of the site is that only the very beautiful are allowed to join, voted in by existing members of the opposite sex.

Shallow and soul destroying? Yes I kinda thought that too.

They have recently launched a version of the site for lesbians, which is the reason I interviewed the boss and the reason I received lifetime free membership. He very kindly offered me the opportunity to “shape gay women’s interpretation of beauty” by becoming a founding member of the lesbian site.

Anyway, there was some glitch meaning I was put on the straight site instead of the lesbian one which didn’t really trouble me as I doubt I would have bothered logging in anyway. However, I had also been put on the mailing list for the exclusive Beautiful People events listing which I found intriguing.

I was quite interested in the networking event at Home House, until I scrolled down and realised it cost £30 and was actually speed dating with a glass of “free champaign” (sic).

I received another invite last week inviting myself and up to four friends to join the beautiful people guestlist at Movida.

The email explained beautiful women should ask to be directed to the Capital A-List table to enjoy complimentary drinks and then unashamedly stated:

The one guarantee is everyone will be beautiful… and if they are not beautiful they will definitely be rich.

While absolutely disagreeing with the appalling, discriminatory, sexist and completely shallow nature of this offer, I am not one to turn down free club entry with free drinks and my bezza was down from Sheffield so I added myself, her and another mate to the list.

The email stated we were to arrive before 10.30pm but we were busy downing pints of lager and stuffing ourselves full of Pad Thai (the pre-requisite to every beautiful woman’s evening out) and therefore did not arrive until gone 11, giggling and slightly tipsy.

The tall, dark, exquisitely manicured door whore stared down at us coolly


“Hello, we are on the guestlist”

She slowly stared each one of us up and down, wrinkling her nose ever so slightly.

“Which guestlist?”

“Ah, erm the Beautiful People one”

“That guestlist is closed” she said crisply, “It’s table service only and a £20 entrance fee”.

She stared at us belligerently, squaring up for a fight, and seemed rather disappointed when we just shrugged and jumped into a passing rickshaw to take us on our way.


Four hours and many shots of toffee vodka later we were having a blast of a party… on my roof terrace, in our dressing gowns listening to hard house through my headphones.

“Let’s get a tattoo!” we yelled, bopping up and down to our favourite song ‘The Osaris’

Did we know what Osaris meant? No. But who cares! We love the song!

“Wooo! The Osaris! The Osaris! The Osaris!” we sang.

It was decided we would get “The Osaris” tattooed on ourselves at the next available opportunity.

Fortunately London’s tattoo parlours were all closed as a quick Google search shows an “Osaris” is this http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osaris.

The following day, as I was skulking past my neighbour’s front door, he popped his head out and asked if I had heard some drunken people singing in the night about a thesaurus. I shook my head genuinely baffled.

What kind of loser would sing about a thesaurus? Definitely not someone like me. I am one of the beautiful people.