I call this look…
Becca, the Australian transplant living the Marina lifestyle in NorCal, on an intern’s salary.
Becca understands the pressure of living the NorCal lifestyle. First and foremost, she had to fix her accent so people would stop asking if she eats Marmite, because no, she doesn’t, because no, Marmite isn’t Australian; it’s British. She’s kept up to date with the Real Housewives of Orange County, though, so her valley girl accent is really coming along. Sure, at times she sounds more Sarah Palin than Marissa Cooper; but she’s getting close.
The first stop in moving to San Francisco was putting together the perfect made-up-but-not-too-made-up outfit for her first Off The Grid experience. Becca was going to find herself a man. If Becca was a cast member of RHOOC, her catchy one liner would be, “I’ve never met a man or a meal I couldn’t devour!” She settled on her too-tight Rag & Bone jeans, a white t-shirt and Old Navy boots. Fake suede looks just like real suede, right? As long as her future husband wasn’t a well-dressed millionaire fully versed in the difference between real leather and faux leather, she should be safe; the underdressed, poorly groomed software engineer type was more her thing, anyway.
Becca jumped into phase two with her first paycheck from her first job out of college at an advertising firm in Union Square. Her parents were going to be so proud — she’d made it big and scored a job as an Account Manager’s Executive Account Manager. She was the Real Deal. She tied her short ponytail up high, teased out the ends to make it look longer, and added the butterfly clip underneath to make it look extra perky — thanks Pinterest — then pranced into Lululemon on a Saturday morning, ponytail swishing. Becca was really feeling that things were coming together for her; she’d just finished her first Burn SF class without taking a break, and had picked up a Whole-30-friendly Super Green A+++ Juice with a wheatgrass shot from Juice Shop on the way.
She needed tight pants to hold in her thighs and a loose top let out her stomach while she worked towards her goal weight. She was happy wearing a tank top, though — she’d done three pushups back in March and was still feeling super toned. Plus, as she’d just reminded her high school friends on Facebook, she used to swim in high school. Fifty metre freestyle champion for U13's, two weeks in a row. Her cousin Brian made some joke about it being easier to swim fast in Australia, because you’re always being chased by something that can kill you. Becca rolled her eyes, secretly cried herself to sleep listening to Joe Jonas’ Jealous, and when she woke up she deleted his comment and switched Brian’s status to ‘Friends: Acquaintances’. Ain’t nobody gonna break Becca’s stride!
Phase three was growing out and styling the hair. When she first arrived in San Francisco, Becca chopped off all her hair and dyed it brown. BIG mistake. You can’t be a Marina Girl without a long, blonde, swishy ponytail. On the first visit to her $300 per hour stylist she asked for American Blonde, and got what she was aiming for; long locks of perfectly coiffed warm blonde curls, cascading dreamily down her tanned back, framing the delicate shape of her high-cheekboned face. Oh, no, shit; that was just the expensive lighting and free, cheap champagne at the salon. The next day, the champagne hangover wore off and her hair just looked a little bit lighter, and a little bit more flammable.
Phase four was to set up a dating profile on The League to find a boyfriend before her mum roasts her over their next Skype call. “Why haven’t you found a husband yet, Rebecca Maude?” her mum will say. “That cute boy you dated in primary school, what was his name? Adam Pickels? I just saw his mother Jean at the bottle-o and she said he’s single, and back in Brisbane for 6 months between mining jobs. Are you sure you don’t want to come home?” Sigh. Becca’s mum just didn’t understand. Becca had bigger fish to fry.
The League promised to be more successful than Tinder, because Becca’s LinkedIn profile is totally up to date, and she has, like, 5 recommendations, so she’ll look like a real winner. Becca needs a photo for her dating profile, and sneaks in to the Executive restrooms at her advertising firm to get the best lighting. But the cleaners come in early, and in hushed, panicked voices, they tell her, “no no, miss, please leave, Mister Boss will be so mad!” Fuming, Becca takes a moment to compose herself. She smizes fiercely at Marta and Celeste; she doesn’t need no Executive bathroom lighting to make her look good. She struts out of there without a word, leaving Marta and Celeste to bask in her wake. The lighting on the 8th floor is better, anyway.
