Una Healy has provided a masterclass in how to handle public break-ups - and how to say 'f***k you' in one picture
If Una Healy doesn’t write the book How to break up fabulously: 10 steps to making your no-good ex wish he was never born, I’ll be forced to pen the unofficial version, using only her Instagram and my imagination.
A headline last week described her ‘admitting’ to being ‘another year wiser’ as she celebrated her birthday — and oh, what wisdom she has to impart. Because Una Healy is the pope of scorned women.
My heart has never been fuller, nor my belly so afire, as when I saw her “wash-that-man-right-out-of-my-hair” blonde transformation in August. It was poetry. And last week when photos emerged of her hand in hand with the world’s most unreasonably huge and good-looking man, well... I could have wept.
Una was photographed with male model Kenneth ‘KP’ Guidroz in Malibu — hairography on point and the unmistakable whisper of a smirk playing on her lips.
Not since Sandy stamped out her cigarette in Danny Zuko’s face has head-to-toe black leather more artfully expressed “F**k you”.
Una separated from Ben Foden in July, amid allegations of infidelity on his side. Since then, she has provided a masterclass in how to handle public break-ups. She has been restrained in her comments, presumably for the sake of their two children.
She has not called ‘Me Too’. But her hair, her leather, her enormous new beau who looks like he could crush Foden with a single thumb, her relentlessly hot and happy Instagram feed and refocusing on her career — it speaks volumes.
Every woman should be sticking her Malibu photos on their vision board as a timely reminder to be more Una. Ben’s the only victim here. Tell me about it, stud.
Indeed, we should be concentrating on the real victims of 2018: the mothers and aunties of Irish millennials. On behalf of all of us, I’d like to apologise to them for the news that Coast has collapsed into administration.
We didn’t want this, but we know it’s ultimately our fault. With our vintage nonsense and ASOS and Pretty Little Thing discount codes from Love Island contestants, we let Coast keep its €300 so-nearly-fashionable-but-just-not-quite dresses.
Sure, we popped in when we were desperate, trying on a few bits a couple of days before a wedding before ultimately deciding that the risk of matching the bridesmaids was too great. We took Coast for granted.
As if annihilating Orla Kiely wasn’t enough, we thought we’d really screw over our aunties altogether and leave their go-to spot for a sensible guna that was also “a bit of fun” to die.
But if it’s any consolation, our plastic-free, vegan weddings will all have a “whatever you’re comfortable in” dress-code, so you won’t be needing it.
It was a conflicting week for millennials, with World Mental Health Day following hot on the heels of our favourite affordable skincare company’s CEO having a very public breakdown.
Mental Health Day saw us all updating our Facebooks and Insta stories urging our friends and followers to “reach out” and “talk to someone” if they’re not feeling great, but when Brandon Truaxe “reached out” to Deciem’s 373,000 Instagram followers with an incoherent monologue announcing the immediate closure of the company — a cry for help if ever I saw one — we all wished he’d shut up and keep it to himself.
You see, if there’s one thing we millennials are more precious about than our mental health, it’s our skin. Skincare has enjoyed a renaissance in recent years that no one could have seen coming, we’re all on highly tailored 10-step Korean regimes to ensure our constant emotional turmoil never shows on our t-zone.
Deciem is the parent company of The Ordinary, a brand which is closer to the hearts of millennials than Alpro. And last week, due to the erratic behaviour of CEO Truaxe, The Ordinary shops around the world have been forced to close their doors — prompting legal action from minority shareholder Estee Lauder.
The Ordinary captured our imagination with their calculatedly low-key branding, its products that look reassuringly scientific in glass bottles with pipettes and its impenetrably named serums and acids: ‘Granactive Retinoid 2% Emulsion’, ‘Marine Hyaluronics’, ‘Buffet + Copper peptides 1%’.
What does it all mean? Why does it feel so gritty and horrible? Is it supposed to burn? Who knows! But it’s got to be good, right?
I was one of thousands of panicked, smooth-faced, 28-year-old would-be chemists who went on a blind spending spree when faced with the deeply worrying public melt-down of Truaxe. Our late-capitalism animal instincts kicked in, and instead of reaching out and letting him know we were there for him like good little millennials, we stocked up on his cheap products in case he made good on his threat to close the whole operation.
I’ll be meditating on my shame during the 10 minutes it takes for my AHA 30% + BHA 2% Peeling Solution mask to work.
Model Thalia Heffernan has spoken about how her veganism has earned her more abuse than her choice of career. Presumably Thalia had been braced for hatred on the basis of her exquisite bone structure, what with her having the luck to be born
in a country where we kind of mistrust that kind of beauty.
But Thalia — we can forgive you. Just like we forgive Jennifer Lawrence for her hotness, because she frequently talks about all the cheeseburgers she eats.
What we can’t forgive is the fact that you publicly admit to living on avocado and quinoa and other tiresomely virtuous fare. It reminds us that we could look a bit more like you, if only we could leave off the cheddar for a while.
Effortless health and beauty is fine, but when you talk about your veganism with your beautiful, vegan-clear skin (do you even use Ascorbyl Tetraisopalmitate Solution 20% in Vitamin F?) on your beautiful, vegan-honed body — yes, it makes us hate you and your self-control.
But don’t worry, Thalia, we hate ourselves much, much more.