Part-time Bastard: Headshot politics

This week I found hell by returning to my left-wing former workplace. It's a progressive kind of hell, I'll give it that, but hell nonetheless. What I figured out in hell is that right-wing media types are, at times, much more fun than left-wing media types.

I went back to finish off some shit and in the space of a one-lunch hour I was depressed by the large group of hacks grunting by the baked potato dispenser, then doubly depressed by the zeitgeisty haikus that were passed around the desks on Post-it notes, and kind of cheered up when we all started emailing obscenities on our non-work emails. But, by and large, that office is one of the least fun places to be.

Back at the right-wing paper things are looking up. They had commissioned a staggering 800-worder on the power of the clit. Pretty edgy, I thought. This was to include an interview with a Brazilian gynaecologist called Dr. Sweet Dream who I had tracked down in Rio. He offered me some case studies and some before-and-after pics of "sagging" and "stretching". But, of course, it got pulled. Since it was due to run at the weekend, my editor said perhaps the topic was a little close to the bone (and the release date of Antichrist). I said I understood. We exchanged some LOLs. We're still friends. I may go back to Dr. Sweet Dream about Rio's autumnal organ harvesting.

My latest right-wing commission is more newsy. Apparently, as my friend and former right-wing journo says, I have to "carve out a name for myself and hone my didacticism". So I’m playing it safe with a comment-style piece on how celebrities are losing their baby fat at record speed, a feat I’m putting down to "innate Atkinism" and "dough fear". Ritchie, Klum, Beckham – all the golden souls will be represented. There'll also be an accompanying speed graph charting age on the x-axis and time on the y-axis with (fingers crossed) a direct correlation between the two. And then a grid of Photoshopped pictures to illustrate what they would look like if they fasted healthily. The picture desk editor is, I'm told, Oxbridge-educated, so it’ll probably look awesome.

Given the word length and space of the above piece, I may need a byline headshot. This, I feel, is very important. My boyfriend winced when I told him. But I’m just wondering what to wear. Thankfully, there are some right-wing publication ground rules:

1. When photographed you can't wear fishnets.
2. Or any denim (it's pedestrian, trend-reliant, invites wrong sort of cleavage, and encourages double denim).
3. You have to cross your legs at the ankle (twee and oddly unisex).
4. Clear racial distinction in photographs is a prerequisite (well then, that’s me toasted).

So, there you have it.

MARTHA KNOLL