Oh Stella. You know, I don’t have issues with Stella McCartney per se. She can’t help that she was born into a mega-wealthy British pop dynasty and had I been hell yeah I would trade on my name and any family connections if I could. And big ups to her for deciding on a career in fashion design and going to University and studying her arse off and throwing herself into it with oodles of passion and creativity rather than spanking her trust fund on drugs. I LOVED the clothes she did when she was at Chloé and owned, until I sat on them, one of the pair of coolest shades ever- designed by Ms. McCartney’s own fair hand.
She knows how to put together an original and entertaining fashion show and I loved the dinner turned catwalk show idea she had for her long-awaited return to London fashion week. It’s just… My problem with Stella is when she opens her mouth and starts yapping about her personal life to journalists in much the same, condescending I’m better than you manner that BFF Gwyneth Paltrow does. Both women come off as smug, to the point where you want to grab a cold wet fish and slap them repeatedly around their macrobiotic food stuffed cheeks with it.
The 40-year-old told The Sunday Times Style magazine: ’I have a housekeeper, and a nanny, though I find that word jarring. I tell her, “I just want to call you a friend”.’
Is your skin crawling yet? F-CK OFF Stella. By trying so hard not to refer to the hired help as exactly that she may as well have announced: ‘I have below stairs staff but we do allow them to make eye contact, we’re really modern that way and right-on, so don’t judge me!’. Wasn’t the word ‘nanny’ coined to make ‘governess’ sound what it is- an essential, for some, much-loved part of the family? Are we supposed to believe that the
nanny paid friend sits around laughing at Madge’s latest face-lift and lack of husband over vino with Stella and Gwyneth?
Which brings me to the last time Stella discussed being a working mother where she described herself as ’a three cooked-meals-a-day mum’ on weekends. Why feel the need to even say that? Women who regularly cook their children’s meals never mention it. It’s as relevant as announcing: ‘I brush my hair in the morning’ or ‘I shower every day’. Are we supposed to be impressed that she chops a few vegetables up, then cooks and serves them to her family two days a week?
Stella is married to publisher Alasdhair Willis with whom she has four children – sons Miller, seven, and Beckett, four, and daughters Bailey, five, and Riley, who will be two this year.
She obviously suffers with parental guilt for working and being a mum with her huge family fortune and her husband’s money to hand, but she absolutely shouldn’t. I suppose it’s working class guilt by proxy from her father who insisted on sending his children to state schools even though they were probably teased for being rich kids because of who their dad happened to be. It’s totally Stella’s right to work and have a career and be a mum if it makes her happy and fulfilled. By justifying working at every given turn she seems somehow like she feels she shouldn’t be. But some women don’t have the time or the economic luxury of even being able to diary in time to feel this guilt.
Woe and betide you if you happen to be a single mum, who can’t afford a nanny, starting a business, because like Gwyneth so often does, Stella has advice for you, you poor doomed soul: ’If you want to do anything in life, get a good husband.
‘Forget being a successful businesswoman, just get a good husband! It probably helps with everything.’
Forget the husband- Why not just admit that behind every good woman is an even better child-carer? Stella talked at length about her day as a working mum for SuperGoop’s newsletter back in November 2010. Heavily pregnant with her fourth child, she pointedly talked about the nanny leaving at 6.30pm and how her husband was away working (a rarity) she said, but then mentioned later that once the kids were in bed she met Gwyneth for dinner failing to mention whoever was looking after them once they were tucked up in the land of nod. By being embarrassed about the nannies, the cooks, and the cleaners and trying to brush their valuable input into the household under the carpet in interviews, Stella comes across as saying: ’I have a housekeeper, and a nanny, though I find that word jarring. I tell them, “I just want to call you a servant and never discuss your existence ever again”. Ah the irony of it and no, Stella, don’t get paranoid I’m not talking about the Philippino lady upstairs pressing your kids’ sheets.