Samantha Brick is an English journalist-lady who writes for the Daily Mail. She is also, if you believe her latest editorial, some kind of siren-goddess who's regularly showered with gifts like flowers, champagne, and other things that settlers might've used to swindle some indigenous tribe out of their island.
But it's made her sad, because "the sisterhood" (yes, she actually uses that word) has ostracized her, slamming both literal and metaphorical doors in her face because of her beauty. (Again, I am not making that up).
"While I'm no Elle Macpherson, I'm tall, slim, blonde and, so I'm often told, a good-looking woman. I know how lucky I am. But there are downsides to being pretty — the main one being that other women hate me for no other reason than my lovely looks."
So, yeah. Brick goes on to describe the veritable shitstorm of abuse she's weathered in the face of being good-looking: women have defriended her, "insecure bosses" have actively stopped her from rising at work, and "most poignantly of all, not one girlfriend has ever asked [her] to be [a] bridesmaid." Sad face.
And so it goes. The distressing thing is that I cannot tell if Brick is actively trolling, or if this is the way the world works — older English women who are 6.5's at best are literally showered with gifts because of their slightly-above-average looks — and that she's really sad about it. If the first is the case, great job. High-quality trolling. If not, she seriously wrote a whole column basically asking the internet to call her ugly, which is the kind of self-loathing behavior that typically only Hooksexup staffers bask in. (The alternate assumption is that she wants other beautiful pariahs from around the world will hear her clarion call and rise up in solidarity, which is somehow less plausible.)
Then again, I often have bricks thrown at my head over male jealousy of my sculpted buttocks, and not fucking once have I been asked to be a bridesmaid, so I identify with Brick more than any of you non-handsomes (we call you "no-handos," which I admit needs work) down there in the muck know. Haters are going to hate, Alex, I'm often forced to tell myself, while fighting to keep my tears from falling into my ambrosia.