It’s that time of the year again… October. The month of hallowe’en, steaming cups of spiced cider in Blitzi Mews kitchen, and non-alcoholic cocktails at the Cosmo Blog Awards.
Katy Red, of All Sweetness and Life, and I tottered along the streets of Marylebone toward the Rose Bar, chuckling all the way at the myriad of blatant fashion bloggers ahead of us in their sky high (not very nice but supposedly fashionable) heels. At the crossing we were accosted by Emily Dubberley of Cliterati, a woman who has written 25 (yes, 25) books about sex. The woman knows her shit. The three of us in varying degrees of LBD (Katy had gone for skin tight wiggle dress and I had channelled my inner Marilyn with cleavage galore) shuffled into the Rose Club, with a convenient neon sign above our heads that kept flashing ‘SEX BLOGGERS’ on and off – just in case the classic black dress (as opposed to animal print and studded shoulder pads), killer VW pumps (as opposed to imitation armadillo shoes) and neatly styled hair (as opposed to block fringes and beehives) wasn’t enough.
The thing that just kills me about the Cosmo Blog Awards is that it really is a bloody brilliant PR ploy. Get a bunch of influential bloggers in the room, give them endless (weak) cocktails and free products to review, and guarantee your hashtag airtime for at least six weeks pre and post the event at minimal cost because you’ve got a drinks sponsor and a magazine full of products to promote. Genius. I should do that with theatre.
The hitch is the sex bloggers. We’re a different breed to the fashion and beauty lot. We don’t review products, we’re usually rather scathing and cynical, and we know a non- alcoholic cocktail a mile off. However, because of the target demographic of Cosmo magazine, they have to invite us. Therefore, we become the naughty kids at the table, propped up at the bar ordering (and paying for) real wine as opposed to cranberry juice, and chatting amongst ourselves about the pros and cons of girth. For this reason, Katy Red almost missed the fact that she came highly commended (read: second place/runner up/silver medal – we tried rather hard to come up with a term that sounded a bit more impressive so she could tell her Parisian lover all about it). It may also have been because, just like ripping off a band aid*, they like to get the sex bloggers out of the way nice and quick, and we’d barely managed to order a drink before Katy had to hurdle her way to the stage to pick up the certificate she would leave in a taxi a mere two hours later.
After a couple of circuits of the room, and a giggle with our new favourite DIY bloggers (yes, DIY bloggers. They exist) from Trends With Benefits, Katy and I deemed it time to scarper back to the safety of the West End for actual decent wine. Goodybags in hand, we hopped in a cab to Cafe Koha in Theatre Alley where everybody knows your name (or mine at least. And my preferred bottle of red) for several bottles and a cheese platter with Katy’s Parisian lover.
I rather like Katy’s Parisian lover. He’s tall, dark(ish) and handsome, knows just enough English to get by but not enough to be annoying, and he picked up the tab. I requested that the pair of them find me a Parisian lover of my own. I may have to remind them of that now we’re sober.
And so the Cosmos is done for another year, and once again ended with too much wine in the West End and a good old rifle through the goodybags. They do the goodybags very well, I must say. My personal favourite this year has to be the sensible ankle socks. Thanks Next! They’re padding out my too-large-but-so-fabulous-I-bought-them-anyway boots as we speak!
Coincidentally though, no promotional material for the sex bloggers. Really? No multi-flavoured condoms? No glow in the dark lubricant? Not a single vibrating bullet shaped trinket? Cosmo, you disappoint me.
Ah well, there’s always next year…
*the plasters, not the tragic Christmas single.