For a few seconds I’m afraid I’m going to hyperventilate. I can’t catch my breath. I watch myself in the mirror as my eyes widen, my cheeks flush pink. I reach up and touch my face with my fingers. It’s so strange to see myself again. I run my fingertip down my nose and then my thumb across my bottom lip. I close my eyes and open them again, grinning involuntarily when I’m still there. I look down at myself and laugh when I see my body. It’s still there. Everything’s still there.

‘Let me just do your eyebrows,’ Tash says staring at me with a slightly wild look in her eyes.

I shake my head. ‘No time. And it’s fine. No one’s interested in my eyebrows.’

I’d dressed nicely just in case – a loose top and wide-leg trousers, and I was even wearing a bra – but obviously I hadn’t straightened my hair or put on any make-up. Tash runs a brush through my hair and pulls it into a sort of intentionally messy bun. I’m trying to put on mascara because Tash said the audience won’t properly see my face if I don’t have any slap on at all. I don’t think Alex was planning to wear make-up, but whatever.

I finish doing my eyes and just stare at myself in the mirror a bit more. It’s so nice to see my face again. I think of all the years I spent looking in the mirror and picking out the bits I didn’t like, the bits I wanted to change. But looking now, I wouldn’t change a thing.

‘Here,’ Tash says. ‘Put this on.’

A pinky-red lipstick appears in front of me and I slide it over my lips. I didn’t use to wear lipstick much, but it looks good. It suits me.

‘Ready?’ Tash says.

‘Ready.’

As I walk to the side of the stage, Alex turns to look. I see his eyebrows do their thing and then his face splits into a grin.

‘Good to see ya,’ he says.

He reaches his arms out and I step into them, pressing up against him quickly. I feel him sigh against my neck and then I have to make myself step back. There isn’t time.

‘You don’t mind me doing this?’ I ask him.

He shakes his head. ‘God, of course not. It’s yours.’

‘I’m yours,’ I say, and it doesn’t even feel like enough for the way I feel.

He reaches over and runs one finger along my jaw then grazes my bottom lip with his thumb.

‘Knock ’em dead.’

I step closer and kiss him quickly on the lips before heading towards the stage.

As the lights go down in the auditorium, I look back at Alex. He grins. Pinky-red lipstick is smeared on his mouth.

I walk out onto the stage. And into the spotlight.

I look around at Trevor, who looks as nervous as I’ve ever seen him. And Mel, who is staring at me like she can’t believe I’m really there. I guess she thought I was going to let them all down. I don’t blame her, to be honest.

I glance back at Alex, who gives me a double thumbs-up. I think about the pitch I prepared, but it just doesn’t seem right any more. It was right for Alex to pitch for me, but it doesn’t feel right for me, here, now. Instead I say, ‘I’m going to tell you a story.’

I see Mel roll her eyes, but I take a slow breath and carry on.

‘A couple of nights ago, I went to the zoo. It was late, it was dark; I shouldn’t really have been there. And I spent some time looking at what I thought was an empty enclosure. And then suddenly, a giraffe appeared. Actually, it didn’t appear. It had been there the whole time. I hadn’t seen it because it was camouflaged, yes. But also because I hadn’t expected to see it. I’d thought the animals would all be inside in their… pens? I don’t know if that’s what they call them. But because it was night, I assumed the outside part of the enclosure was empty. But then this giraffe stood up – this beautiful creature, like nothing else on earth – and it took my breath away.’

I press my clicker and I know without looking that a photo of one of the Fancy Bantams models, wearing their clothes, leaning against a giraffe, is on the screen behind me.

‘I want to talk a bit about what I’m wearing right now, for this presentation. My friend Tash bought me these clothes. She bought them without my input. I didn’t even try them on. And I never would have bought them for myself. But look at them. They’re perfect. They’re perfect because she knows me and loves me and gets me.’ I pause, and press the clicker again. ‘And also because she’s good at fashion.’

The photo behind me is of the Met Gala. Everyone in the shot is wearing brightly coloured, highly decorated, high fashion clothing. But then sitting on the stairs – looking up at Rihanna – is a Fancy Bantams model.

‘A different friend told me recently that he likes me for who I am inside.’ I glance over at Alex, who looks like he’s about to burst with pride. ‘Which is a cliché, I know,’ I say and he laughs. I look back at the audience and catch the eye of the guy whose office I sneaked into at Fancy Bantams. He’s still wearing his beanie, and he’s leaning forward in his seat, staring right at me.

‘But for reasons that I can’t really get into,’ I say, ‘I believed him. Like Tash, he knows me. He gets me. It doesn’t matter to him what I look like or how I dress. He likes me.’

I press the clicker and the picture changes to a photo of a football crowd. Everyone’s in team shirts apart from the Fancy Bantams model.

‘No one wants to blend into the background all the time,’ I say. ‘Sometimes, yes. Of course. When it’s safer. When you’re feeling a bit sad or rubbish or scared. But in the main, I think people want to stand out. But they want to stand out on their own terms. They want clothes that say something about them, that communicate something to other people. We want clothes that express something about ourselves.’

I change to a photo of a Fancy Bantams model standing in the middle of the street in an empty Times Square, the Fancy Bantams logo photoshopped onto one of the bright billboards behind.

I pause. I look at Beanie Guy. At Trevor. At Mel.

‘We’re all familiar with the expression “Why blend in when you were born to stand out?”, right?’ I say. ‘That’s what I think Fancy Bantams needs to show. So far, all of our campaigns have focused on the blending in. I think our new campaign should focus on the standing out.’