Monday
Happy new year and let’s go in hard on 2024 with some seasonal thoughts from Chip Wilson, the founder of the fitness-wear empire Lululemon, who has been talking to Forbes magazine this week about his favourite subject: who should and shouldn’t be wearing his yoga leggings.
Wilson, you may recall, had his first Gerald Ratner moment 10 years ago when he told Bloomberg, in a since deleted interview, that, “quite frankly, some women’s bodies just don’t actually work” for the company’s trademark stretch material. There was more – something about friction and thighs that I can’t summon the life force to track down – and it resulted in the 68-year-old billionaire stepping aside as the company’s chief executive. Wilson retains an 8% stake in Lululemon, putting his estimated fortune at $7bn and forcing those of us who believe in karma to glance at his age and mutter: there’s still time.
So here comes Chip, roaring into the new year with further thoughts on women’s bodies and some new thoughts, on a topic so modish that he is the third white, male billionaire this week to weigh in. On Wednesday, Elon Musk, echoing the hedge fund billionaire Bill Ackman, posted on X: “DEI [diversity, equity and inclusion] is just another word for racism.” Over in Forbes, Wilson mocked the “whole diversity and inclusion” direction of Lululemon’s recent advertising campaigns. “I think the definition of a brand is that you’re not everything to everybody,” he said. “You’ve got to be clear that you don’t want certain customers coming in.”
A company spokesperson told the New York Post this week: “Chip Wilson does not speak for Lululemon.” But in the spirit of its founder’s advisory, its worth remembering that the festering heap at the bottom of your wardrobe provides workout clothes at a fraction of the cost – financial and moral – of entering a store to buy Wilson’s aspirational PE gear.
Tuesday
The abdication of Queen Margrethe II of Denmark – or as the Daily Mail styles her on the strength of her 60-a-day habit, the “Ashtray Queen” – continues to charm and entertain as we hit week two of the story, and the spotlight swings from the 83-year-old matriarch to Crown Prince Frederik and his wife, Princess Mary.
Briefly: Princess Mary – formerly Mary Donaldson, of Tasmania, soon to be the queen consort – is now at the heart of the abdication drama as tabloid journalists – led by the Australians – get to the bottom of what exactly took place between her husband and Genoveva Casanova, a woman to whom we are duty bound to refer as “a Mexican socialite”.
As my Aussie hack friend says when I call for an update: “That little shit Frederik has been busted and his mum’s not having it”. The working theory here is that, post the prince’s alleged dalliance, Margrethe has abdicated to ensure her son is crowned while he is still married to Mary, ensuring that Mary – who is tremendously popular in Denmark, both with the public and her mother-in-law – will be queen.
“She’s learned Danish!” says my friend, scandalised, before giving me chapter and verse on the couple’s history; from where they met (“in the Slip In bar in Sydney during the Olympics”), to what they looked like at the time (“like backpackers! He’s turned up in a Mambo T-shirt and she’s no idea who he is!”), and how their marriage is faring after this episode. “I’ve done a million stories about their frosty relations.”
In the Mail, meanwhile, a lavish spread comparing Mary to our own Princess of Wales, with a photo montage of all the times they have worn the same dress (genuinely quite weird), has triggered Kate-haters on social media to push back, citing Mary’s much stronger record in public service. “I’ve had to report on that, too,” says my friend, glumly. “They’ve done a bloody pie chart comparing their engagements.” Still, there’s the coronation to look forward to. “The first Australian-born queen, it’s all we’ve ever wanted.”
Wednesday
When my children were younger, they sometimes toggled away from the official Peppa Pig channel on YouTube, to counterfeit videos in which the children’s animated series was hacked to include horror movie music, cartoon knives dripping with blood and a distressed looking Peppa with her teeth falling out. (It’s possible I under-monitored screen time).
This week, the same fate appeared to befall Mickey Mouse – albeit legally – as the copyright on the 1928 version of the cartoon icon expired on New Year’s Day and Mickey’s name and image entered the public domain. Within hours, and signalling the rude health of American enterprise, two Mickey Mouse horror films and a video game were already in apparent development. Mickey’s Mouse Trap announced itself via a trailer on YouTube as a slasher movie and the “first ever live-action Mickey Mouse comedy horror feature film”. A second, untitled horror movie was described in Variety as “a late-night boat ride turns into a desperate fight for survival in New York City when a mischievous mouse becomes a monstrous reality”. Let’s hope PornHub doesn’t see an angle here.
Thursday
The wind ripped open a hatch on a London Eye pod this week, exposing the inhabitants to the elements and serving up one of my guiltiest pleasures – videos in which terrifying and improbable things happen to people innocently going about their business.
Thankfully, everyone in the pod was OK. The video of the damaged pod, meanwhile, was too grainy to deliver, which I’m ashamed to say I found mildly disappointing. I spend an unseemly amount of time clicking on these things and the more I click, the more the internet serves me. I’ve seen that cable car that came down. I’ve seen ships labouring in high winds – particularly in the North Sea – a great subgenre, by the way, in which a lot of churny, terrifying footage takes place with no actual injuries.
I’ve seen people falling off ski lifts and over balconies. A level down from this genre is the wormhole of CCTV footage of bag snatches and other street crime, which almost always turns out to be staged. And while there’s a lofty rationale for this interest – curing one’s fears by addressing them blah, blah – I suspect the real reason is a lot less noble.
Friday
Wait – one last thing. A verbal tic, pointed out to me this week by my nine-year-old: the widely used habit, via text and in speech, of starting any and all sentences with “wait”. Now my attention has been drawn to it, I notice I do it all the time. “Wait, what did you say you were doing?” “Wait, where are we meeting?” “Wait, did I tell you what happened?” It acts as an interruption tool and also, by implying you are simply picking up the reins of a discussion already in play, gives the appearance of listening when in fact you’re zoned out. Which is, I guess, why I use it on my children. Wait, what?
