by Roxy Jacenko
I didn’t think that press release would be quite as snappy: ‘Please note that Savannah Jagger will only be accepting gifts that match her style standards. Please do not send any vertical stripes or synthetic fabrics, and do not, under any circumstances, send any item from last season.’
I’m not judging. How could I? I like the finer things in life, too, although I haven’t always been able to afford them. In the earlier stages of my career, when I was a twenty-three-year-old PR flunky on a limited budget, I would beg, borrow and steal to get the latest It bag. I bought my first Birkin by pawning a necklace I was given for my twenty-first birthday. That’s not as bad as the guy who sold his kidney to buy his girlfriend the Hermès Grace Kelly bag (true story).
I would also be a hypocrite to judge these blogger-blaggers when my own daughter’s wardrobe is made up of freebies and clothes bought with a generous discount. As BryanBoy recently tweeted: ‘A diva is just the female version of a hustler.’ If that is the case, then game on!
7
Whenever I told people that we were living in a hotel they always gasped in envy, but it did have its drawbacks. The most significant issue was the lack of space. The novelty of our room had soon worn off. Suite? It was more like a bedsit with a living area and two bedrooms. I’d even considered upgrading to a mezzanine suite, but Fifi was walking and the stairs didn’t come with childproof gates. Oh, life was much simpler when I was a single twenty-something-year-old (not that I could have afforded to stay in a place like this then).
I hated to sound ungrateful so I tried to make the most of it. There were many, many perks to being a long-term hotel guest (no cleaning, room service on call, fresh bed sheets every day if I wanted them), and Fifi and I soon got into the rhythm of living in the Four Seasons.
Every morning, after our 5 am wakeup call from reception, I’d find a tray outside my door with my morning drinks order: a double espresso made with the hotel’s unique blend of coffee beans, and a babyccino for my mini me.
After our caffeine or dairy hit we’d choose our outfits for the day. Fifi was going through a stage where she insisted that we colour-coordinate. ‘Matchy match, Mummy!’ she’d scream. Luckily, a lot of designers had had the same idea this season and had created junior versions of their adult outfits. Our current favourite was a checked Victoria Beckham dress with a Peter Pan collar. It was age-appropriate for the both of us (although goddamn Fifi for looking better in it than me).
I’ve always put a lot of effort into Fifi’s ensembles. In my opinion you’re never too young to dress to impress. Plus I enjoyed being imaginative with her look. The best thing about having a daughter is being able to dress her in the fashion I was too ancient to get away with (Carrie’s tutu from Sex in the City, Blair’s pussy bows from Gossip Girl).
I had even more motivation to up Fifi’s style game since her Instagram feed had taken off with a vengeance. I couldn’t believe it when, within five months of me creating the account, my daughter had 60,000 Instagram followers. Way to go, girl! I’m not sure how her profile had grown so rapidly, or so internationally. Some of her followers were my friends, colleagues and acquaintances, but many were strangers from every corner of the globe. Fifi had her own unique fan base: parents who genuinely wanted recommendations on baby products, and voyeurs who were just intrigued by her extravagant lifestyle.
At the beginning it was mainly pictures of Fifi’s ‘outfit of the day’ with a funny commentary: ‘Every girl needs a tennis bracelet and a Kenzo frock, right?’ or ‘A little leopard print always has a place in my wardrobe.’ However, her freebies didn’t end at clothes; there were beauty products and kiddies’ foods to road-test.
It was like a cartoon strip of Fifi’s lifestyle, which does seem lavish compared to the average pre-schooler’s existence. Wherever I go, Fifi goes. She is my best friend, after all – why wouldn’t I want her with me? An average day might start with a hair appointment, then on to a press breakfast held on a yacht in the harbour, then to lunch at the Park Hyatt, a fashion photo shoot in the afternoon and dinner at Rick Stein’s restaurant (Fifi loves the soufflé). She had her own social commitments too: baby yoga, swimming class and invitations to the premieres of kids’ movies. I also made sure I posted photos of her downtime: Fifi flicking through a fashion magazine, playing on her iPad or having a manicure. None of these were staged; this is really how she spends her time.
I was even a bit jealous of her popularity, if I’m honest. It had taken me years to build up Queen Bee’s 70,000 Instagram followers, even with the help of a full-time social media assistant. Now, practically overnight, my daughter had captured the hearts of the internet. I needed more friends in my life. She could give me some pointers.
‘I’m having so much fun ghostwriting Fifi’s posts,’ I told Shelley when she popped by the office to drop off a Herve Léger skirt which had clearly ‘shrunk in the mail’. I was really hitting my stride with my tongue-in-cheek posts, if I do say so myself (especially after a few Marshmellow cocktails at The Den).
‘Oh my god, I am OBSESSED with your child,’ crowed Shelley, who is Fifi’s godmother so probably a little biased. ‘Her Instagram account is like a fly-on-the-wall reality TV show. There was one post the other week which had me in stitches . . .’ She pulled out her iPhone in its Hermès carry case and jabbed her finger at the touch screen. When she found the post in question, she turned the screen in my direction. Ah, yes, I’d been particularly happy with that one:
Trying out a new body cream today. I need to keep this skin supple as long as possible. I don’t want to end up all leathery like Mum. #kiehls #babybodylotion #verynice
I was having great fun taking the piss out of myself in Fifi’s posts (I did tell you self-deprecation is the key to being likeable). I never pretend to be perfect and I’m happy to make light of my flaws. Later the same day, I’d taken a snapshot of my daughter flipping little plastic burgers on her toy barbecue:
At least somebody can cook in this household. My mum is not exactly a domestic goddess. #childlabour
It’s no wonder, really, that people found her so intriguing. Although the feedback wasn’t all positive, and some of Fifi’s Instagram followers seemed to love to hate her. Well, they loved to hate me. None of the trolling was aimed at Fifi directly. They accepted she wasn’t a bad kid. I was just a bad mother.
The most common criticism was aimed at my poor spelling. Yes, I was under attack from the punctuation police, and my latest crime against the English language was this post from Fifi:
This freakin weather is totally affecting my mojo. New jeans @jbrandjeans and my sequin @sperrytopsider boat shoes.
Within three minutes of my posting the photo, a troll was on my case for dropping the ‘g’ from ‘freaking’. Seriously, people! Apparently I was setting a terrible example, not only for my daughter but for children everywhere. And did I not know how to use spellcheck?
When I read the comment my initial response was, ‘Get a life, woman.’ I have never, ever pretended to be book smart (what I lack in academic knowledge I make up for in bloodyminded determination). But should I retort or ignore? Stoke the fire or let it die? As I sat at my desk, pondering my options, I noticed that the post already had twenty-seven comments beneath it. Groan! Who else was going to attack my IQ? But it seems that Fifi’s fans are loyal – both to my daughter and to me – and were jumping to our defence. I soon found that if anything negative was posted under Fifi’s picture, I didn’t need to fight back, as the Insta-sphere would do the dirty work for me:
Well, if the spelling mistakes bother you so much just don’t follow @Fifilewis. You are not Jazzy Lou’s teacher so just back off. Don’t worry, Fifi and Jasmine, the world is full of nasty people who have nothing better to do than troll.
Great businesswomen can be shit spellers. It’s probably because we are not afraid to make mistakes and do not fixate on them when we do.
Look at how successful you are @queenbeepr. You’re famous and a millionaire. It looks li
ke spelling hasn’t gotten in your way!
Still, the negative feedback didn’t end at my spelling; people were also quick to judge my parenting skills, which apparently they could assess based on one daily snapshot. For the record, I do not pretend to be a perfect mother. When Fifi was born I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, and two years on I felt just as ignorant. But fake it till you make it – I do the best I can.
Plus, at the moment I was practically a single mother, seeing as Michael could only manage a once-a-week visit (something about the economic climate, and his bank possibly folding. Whatever). Okay, I have a nanny – an amazing English girl called Alice who not only knows the words to every Wiggles song but also used to be a window dresser at Louis Vuitton (before she realised that nannying added an extra zero onto her salary). The other day I came home to find that Alice and Fifi had built a perfect replica of a Vuitton handbag out of Lego. Needless to say, I adore her! But I do like to limit her hours as much as possible so I can be a hands-on mother.
You’d think I’d get brownie points for preferring to bond with my daughter than leave her with a hired carer, but it seemed I couldn’t win. If I left Fifi with a nanny I was deserting her; if I included her in my schedule I was overtaxing her.
Early one morning, I’d posted a photograph of Fifi and myself, both looking tired and puffy-faced as we sipped on green juices in my office:
What else does one do at 5 am other than selfies with my mama? Burning the candle at both ends while we work on an exciting project. #workaholics
It was cute – even if the photo of me was extremely unflattering. (Note to self: must book Botox appointment.) I certainly didn’t expect the torrent of abuse it caused. Apparently, I was putting my child’s health at risk by making her get up so early. Some people wrongly assumed we hadn’t yet gone to bed. I can understand it might have looked that way, but as if I’d pull an all-nighter with a toddler!
I bit my tongue. Let my Insta-fans and my Insta-foes fight it out:
People, get off her back. You don’t know her. She is clearly a great mum and obviously you’ve forgotten that toddlers wake up at 5 am without any help. I’m sure she is getting enough rest. Good work @QueenBeepr – you’re an inspiration to a lot of women.
I have a rule never to delete any negative posts left on Fifi’s page. I have nothing to hide, and it’s not like my daughter is old enough to read them, although she does love flicking through the photos and is quite capable of grabbing my iPhone, inputting the passcode and clicking open Instagram herself.
The biggest backlash came when I posted a photo of Fifi wearing a bikini during a day out on Bondi Beach. The irony is that it’s my absolute favourite Fifi snapshot. She was wearing an American baseball cap with ‘Slugger’ stamped across the rim and pulling a pose like a rapper. The bikini is Ralph Lauren, printed with the stars and stripes of the American flag. A lot of her Instagram followers loved it (‘This tot has serious ’tude’). That photo scored 589 likes and 270 comments, but they weren’t all complimentary:
You should be ashamed of yourself @queenbeepr for over-sexualisation of your daughter. Why don’t you just get her a stripper pole? #toomuchtoosoon
Too provocative for a two-year-old? Oh, pleeease. If you go to Bondi Beach on any day you’ll see hundreds of two-year-olds running around with nothing on. At least Fifi was wearing a cossie – even if it had high-cut bottoms and a triangle bra.
I also took offence at the accusations that I was a pushy parent, as some trolls suggested. I am not some fame-starved stage mother who wants her daughter to be in the spotlight, and I wasn’t forcing Fifi into these photo shoots. In fact, I had to rein in her posing. This kid could give Kate Moss a run for her money.
I’m naturally very camera shy, although I’ve learned to hide it as I spend so much of my time at fashion shoots and in TV studios. But Fifi hadn’t inherited my self-conscious streak. The moment I pulled out my iPhone – even if it was just to make a phone call – she saw it as her ‘moment’: ‘Mummy, flash me! Mummy, photo,’ she’d yell, which could be very inconvenient when we were in a public place.
What’s more, she’d also started doing an exaggerated pout. Imagine Janice Dickinson – and quadruple it. I have to accept responsibility for this one, as I know Fifi picked it up from me. During a recent photo shoot for Style magazine, I’d been messing around with the makeup artist, taking the piss out of the rich women in my neighbourhood who have overdone the injectables (we call them the ‘Double Bay lips’). Fifi must have been watching and decided it would be her signature facial expression. She now refused to smile in any photograph, no matter how much I tried to coax her. It reminded me of a piece of advice I’d been given by Brit designer Henry Holland: he mouths the word ‘prune’ instead of ‘cheese’ in photos as he says it makes for a more flattering lip shape. For Fifi, it was the pout or nothing.
This new look was pretty embarrassing when we posed for a family photo at her grandmother’s eighty-fifth birthday party and there at the front was this little redhaired two-year-old plumping her lips like a Playboy bunny. That wasn’t one for the mantelpiece. I’m sure Fifi will grow out of it (maybe, hopefully), and the plus side is that her fans adore it.
It was Rosa who suggested we make a hashtag for #thelipsthelips to see if we could start it trending. I was becoming a little insecure about my Instagram posts since the trolls had started lurking, so had I had asked the Queen Bee tech expert to vet every photo and comment before I made it public. ‘It could become a thing,’ said Rosa excitedly. ‘Just like Angelina’s leg after the Oscars.’
Hmm, that wouldn’t be a bad social experiment – finding out how easy it was to start a viral trend. So the next time Fifi pulled out her pout, as we tucked into sushi in bed one night, I decided to test out the hashtag:
Dinner time! Giving the tuna a run for its money with my fish lips. #thelipsthelips
It was a popular picture – 310 likes in three minutes – but would the hashtag go viral? Hell yes! A week later, when Rosa showed me how to search for hashtags, we discovered there were photos of people copying Fifi’s pose from all around the world. There were people doing #thelipsthelips from here to China. I couldn’t believe it had taken off so fast, but that’s the power of social media.
Until this experiment I’d still seen Instagram as a light-hearted hobby, but big brands clearly saw it as a commercial opportunity. Even the backlash only got Fifi more attention – no publicity is bad publicity.
Ever since Fifi made her online debut, my tot had been sent more free gifts than ever. It was getting a little ridiculous, especially as many were couriered directly to the hotel rather than my office. The Four Seasons staff had actually dedicated an area of the post room to Fifi’s haul so that I didn’t need to clutter our suite with glittery boxes and bubble-gum pink bags (I wish kiddies’ ranges would choose a less stereotypical colour scheme for their packaging).
I had a rule not to promote a product unless Fifi genuinely liked it, whether that was clothes, snacks or car seats. A new range of frilly socks got the thumbs-up and made it onto Instagram, but others weren’t so lucky. She turned her nose up at a new range of glittery jelly shoes (‘No, Mummy. Silly, Mummy!’), and did a little pretend vomit after trying a new brand of wheatgrass-flavoured yoghurts. I think Anna Wintour has a similar reaction to fashion shows she isn’t impressed by.
If a product didn’t pass Fifi’s litmus test then I wouldn’t photograph it. I never wrote negative reviews on her Instagram page – if a product wasn’t good I just wouldn’t say anything at all.
I tried to explain this to the marketing manager of Jolly Juice when she called (for the sixth time in three days) to ask when they might see their product on Fifi’s Instagram feed.
‘The thing is, Carla, I didn’t actually request the free samples,’ I replied firmly, ‘therefore we’re under no obligation to give you publicity. I hate to say this, but Fifi just didn’t like them and she has a responsibility to her fans to tell the
truth. A lot of mothers and children rely on her advice. Do you want me to turn my daughter into a liar?’
This was the moment I learned the pulling power of Brand Fifi. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Carla said in a hushed voice, ‘What if we make it worth your while? We can pay for one post of Fifi raving about our product . . . how does $300 for one post sound?’
I knew, of course, that many fashion bloggers are paid to promote products on social media. A subtle bit of product placement could earn a blogger a big payday. Yet I really hadn’t considered that brands would offer the same deal for a toddler. Was this stepping over the line?
‘That’s a very generous offer from Jolly Juice,’ I said. ‘Can I get back to you? I’ll have to check with Fifi’s management team.’
I was bluffing, of course. What I really meant was, ‘I’ll have to check with her father.’ I had told Michael about Fifi’s Instagram account during our weekly email update, and he’d ‘LOLed’ back but hadn’t really seemed interested. Before taking Fifi’s brand to the next level, however, I felt like I should consult him. I tried to call his mobile but there was no answer. I tried Viber, Facetime and Skype but all rang out. Why could I never get hold of my husband when I needed him?
The thing with business is that there’s often only a small window of opportunity. And so I made a decision – I would take the $300, just this once. I would use it to pay for Fifi’s next set of yoga classes.
I really did intend to leave it at that one deal, but the following week the same marketing manager called to say her firm was delighted with the boost in sales they’d seen after the post went up, and would I take $300 a post to promote some of their other products?
Okay, I’m a mother first, but I’m also a businesswoman, and I’d be a failure at both if I let this opportunity pass. I want to teach Fifi the value of money and for her to have success in her own right. The blogging bubble would soon burst, but for now I should leverage its potential. Like any mother, I spend my days taking photos of my adorable daughter anyway – why shouldn’t she get paid for it? If I could make Fifi’s Instagram feed a commercial reality, well, lucky her. I could put any cash she made straight into her bank account and when she’s older she’ll have a little nest egg (on top of her trust fund, obviously).
