There was an accepted hierarchy of people who attended these events. At the lowest rung were the mid-level wannabe influencers all scraping to get their pictures taken and appear in the social pages ofHiyaandGlossie Lifemagazine. Next up were the journos who were ostensibly there to mop up the free booze and finger food. The celebs (or Zee-lebs as the PRs called them) came next in the pecking order. Given there were really only about six bona fide celebrities on the island, this set were a motley crew of reality TV stars, GAA players and the occasional British soap star doing a paid appearance. The PR people were top of the food chain, given that they organised the events, controlled who was sent the best freebies and generally had the most dish on everyone in the room. The photographers had a similarly impressive command of the gossip and generally strolled around looking amused at the proceedings, dispensing scandal to select favourites among the crowd.
‘Hiya, Ali,’ Davey, the photographer called out. ‘Will you do one on the red carpet for me?’ In Dublin, they got the red carpet out for pretty much anything – she’d walked a carpet at a Tupperware launch at Poundland last month.
‘Only if you take one for my Insta,’ Ali called back.
‘Sure, be quick.’ He grabbed her phone. ‘I think they’re about to start any second – they brought Shelly in a minute ago.’
Ali scrambled onto the red carpet and fixed her dress, a black backless tulip-shaped mini – a choice that was backfiring, as the pic on her phone confirmed when Davey returned it. She frowned; it was bunching quite a bit on her tummy.
‘Yeah,’ Davey counselled over her shoulder, ‘if you’re doing a voluminous silhouette, it really works best in colour. In black it loses definition and you wind up just looking like a lump.’
‘Thanks,’ Ali said, mildly affronted. ‘You’re a pro at this, I suppose.’
‘Ah, see it all the time – don’t worry, your legs look smashing.’ He grinned. ‘The hashtag is GlossiesLaunch, by the way. You’d better lash that up on Insta quick or they’ll kick you out – no such thing as free Prosecco.’ He winked, handing her a glass from a passing tray.
Ali gulped about half of it back as she pushed through a crowd of girls all screaming, ‘You look ah-maz-ing’ at each other near the door. As she squeezed further into the crowd, she brushed against the upper arm of a tall redhead and became momentarily glued to her due to the sheer quantity of Mahogany Minx she’d applied. ‘Sorry,’ muttered Ali, unpeeling herself. Where was Kate?
At the far end of the room, a small purple stage backed by silver curtains had been erected. Flowers flanked the stage, which supported a podium and three small plinths where shortly Shelly’s chosen nominees would take their places, ready to battle it out for the wild card.
Ali finally saw Kate at the other side of the room and mimed texting on her phone. She quickly WhatsApped ‘See you after, good luck’ to Kate and found a spot on the left just as the lights in the packed function room dimmed. The crowd hushed as the music amped up. A spotlight found Blake Jordan, flanked by two male dancers, at the back of the room and followed him as he strutted towards the stage to Lizzo.
Ali quickly flicked back to her red-carpet snap and filtered the pic. It wasn’t the greatest but social media managers took note of people who didn’t hashtag the fuck out of every event and were known to blacklist for the slightest oversight or infraction. She hesitated briefly over the wording – maybe she should acknowledge the bad angle? – before settling on the caption: ‘Please excuse what is apparently MATERNITY wear Wish me luck in tonight’s #GlossiesWildCard comp’ and hit Post.
The editor ofGlossie Lifemagazine was by now welcoming Blake Jordan to the stage: ‘Ireland’s answer to Graham Norton everyone …’ The room erupted in applause. Isn’t Graham Norton Ireland’s answer to Graham Norton? wondered Ali. Blake grabbed the microphone and with breathless, reverential tones began to explain the genesis of the Glossie Digital Influencer Awards.
‘We all know it’s the biggest event in the Irish social media calendar – oh, except maybe when Gemma McCarthy gets the puppies out for a rare sighting. Hi, girls!’ Blake wiggled his fingers at Gemma – a well-endowed influencer, looking stunning in a plunging evening dress – who pretended to scold him then laughed and blew him a kiss.
‘The Glossies is an incredible opportunity,’ he continued emphatically, ‘for the brightest lights in our industry to celebrate their stellar successes across digital campaigns, product development and charitable works and to showcase their unique skills. Categories will include Best #Nofilter Selfie, Best Insta-Stories, Most Gas, Most “Authentic”, Best Weight-Loss Journey, Best Couples Goals, Most Inspiring Influencer and Best Brunette Influencer … LOL, that’s a joke – sure I know ye’re all “blondes”.’ Blake smirked while doing air quotes as the crowd laughed appreciatively.
‘Of course the most coveted award on the night will be Influencer of the Year – last year it was a close race with the Divine Ms Devine beating the gorge Ms Gemma by only a tiny margin.’ The spotlight found Shelly just off-stage who, prepped for the moment, was smiling and clapping in Gemma’s direction.
‘Our reigning queen, Ms Devine, joined the board of the Glossies, who, as you all know as of this morning’s little announcement, devised an incredible new element this year to help springboard the career of one lucky mid-level Irish influencer.’ Blake paused to let the drama of the moment play. Hundreds of expectant faces were trained on the envelopes he now produced from inside his tux jacket.
‘The brand new Glossies wild-card entry competition is an opportunity for a relatively unknown influencer to be plucked from obscurity and given a chance in the big leagues.’ He was carefully enunciating each word, looking meaningfully into the tense faces in front of him at the foot of the stage. ‘The chosen wild-card entry will be supported byGlossie Lifemagazine to reach a wider audience. But it’s not just a case of a few shout-outs and reposts and wham, bam, spank you, ma’am – no!’ He was becoming more animated with every word. ‘The wild card must deliver on the content to have any chance in this race.’
The crowd – most of whom were holding phones aloft to capture the moment – held their breath. The lights dimmed until all but a tiny spotlight illuminated the first wild-card envelope.
‘In this envelope, I have the name of the first nominee on the wild-card shortlist hand-selected by none other than Shelly Devine herself. She’s been tirelessly trawling the GlossiesWildCard hashtag – that’s right, Fidelma, she was looking at your manky bathroom.’ Blake pointed at a blogger to the left of the stage. ‘Who takes an OOTD in the bathroom, I ask you? Only joking – I loved your dirty knicks on the towel rail in the background. Penneys, hun?’
The blogger gave him the finger and laughed uproariously. ‘Three for a fiver,’ she called out, giggling.
Turning deathly serious again, Blake continued. ‘If I call your name, come up and take your place in history – aka one of the three platforms to my left.’ He winked. ‘Don’t take a selfie or call your mam.’ He gave a little wave to his own mother, Teena, just off to the side of the stage – a bit of an Insta-celeb in her own right, thanks to her son. ‘Shelly will join us to announce the wild-card finalist. Then we’ll all skull some bubbles and be up for our proats and 5 a.m. power Pilates … 2019 – would ya be well!’
He produced a small rose gold letter-opener and carefully opened the envelope.
‘Oh. My. Gee. Our first wild-card nominee is Grace O’Mahoney!’
The crowd clapped as warmly as they could muster, hair extensions whipped in every direction as the assembled looked for the lucky nominee. The spotlight found Grace crying and hugging her friend – who only began to reciprocate when she noticed all eyes were suddenly on them. Grace was wearing a floor-length shimmering green leopard-print dress and enormous Gucci earrings. Ali knew Grace vaguely from Instagram – she was in PR foremost but also had amassed a pretty big following on Insta in the past year.
Grace took her place on the most prominent, centre plinth. ‘Well played,’ thought Ali.
Blake gave a run-down of Grace’s myriad social media achievements (‘We love your clean-eating posts, Grace – who knew you could, or would want to, make a Snickers out of dates, bee pollen and coconut water?’) and then turned back to the crowd, who immediately fell silent.
‘Our next nominee is a major up-and-comer on the Insta-fashion scene. She regularly styles the covers of our fave mags, includingGlossie Lifemagazine – but no nepotism here,’ he quickly added. ‘Dara Stoney, you big ride, get up here!’
Whoops and whistles rang out as Dara Stoney made her way through the crowd blowing kisses and took the plinth on the right.
Ali began to feel a bit glum in the face of so much confidence and body contouring. She didn’t stand a chance, she thought bitterly, and downed the rest of her glass, already scanning for another tray-bearing waiter.
