I don’t want what you’re selling!



Carrie-Ann loves vintage fashion (original, repro - as long as it's '40s or '50s inspired, anything goes) and her husband, and has an unhealthy attachment to Doctor Who, confectionery, and the Oxford comma.

Ah, January. Cometh the month, cometh the random friend requests from people I don’t know who coincidentally happen to be weight loss company reps. Who have a product that would be ‘just perfect’ for me. It’s not just for weight loss you know, it really helps with your hair and skin. It makes you funnier. And smarter. And richer. And I really should support the business aims of this franchise that I’ve never met but who happened to be trawling Facebook and thought I looked gullible.

Before I talk about why these irk me so, I’d like to tell you about my ‘favourite’ of these approaches, which came from someone I knew vaguely and was actually Facebook friends with once upon a time.

I didn’t realise she’d deleted me, so imagine my surprise when I received a friend request from her. Assuming she’d removed me by accident (because I’m bloody delightful), I accepted, only to immediately get a message from her telling me all about how she’d had a road-to-Damascus revelation about the wonder that is Product X and she’d love to tell me all about it. Which she did. At length.

I don't want what you're selling!

I wrote a polite message back, explaining that it’s just not for me. I’m happy as I am but wish her all the best etc. See, I’m bloody delightful. She promptly deleted me again. Now, I’ve dined out on that story for a while as it’s pretty funny in a ‘Holy Christ are people really that transparent?’ sort of a way, but let’s get it out in the open – it was rude (and made things mightily awkward when we bumped into each other in the pub a few weeks later).

So, on to reasons why these things annoy me:

  1. I’m happy with my body. It does pretty much everything I need it to (bar reaching high shelves, but luckily I married a helpful chap who’s a foot taller than me). Which leads me to…
  2. It’s incredibly rude and presumptuous of people I don’t know (and in some cases, complete strangers) to suggest I need to lose weight based solely on my Facebook profile picture. And finally,
  3. They’re complete scams. Dubious ‘stuffed with vitamins!’ claims that aren’t backed up by actual evidence aside, they’re essentially restricted diets that will stop working the moment you start eating actual food. In short – these schemes are nonsense.________________________________________________________________________________________

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It took me a long time to like how I look. I’ll admit that a few years ago I might even have toyed with the idea of starting one of these ridiculous schemes (if they weren’t so prohibitively expensive), but now I finally have the confidence to like me for me. I’ve made a promise to myself to swear less this year so I can’t tell you exactly what I’d like these schemes to do, but I would like them to go very far away, rather speedily.

I was getting more and more peeved earlier this week following another request from a Product X rep, and was having a good vent to another of the lovely SMB writers, who is most wise. She suggested that instead of getting all worked up and having imaginary arguments in my head (I can’t be the only person that plans out their arguments in advance, surely), I simply ask people why they’re adding me if we don’t know each other.

It’s been a revelation!

Out of the four requests I’ve had so far this month, one has ignored me while the other three have replied saying they either added me by accident, or thought I was someone else. Now, there’s a chance that these three people really did mistake me for someone else (Carrie-Ann Dring’s a mega common name, after all) but I have a feeling that the two things are connected, and I will be doing this with friend requests in future (unless I definitely know the person… although if I know them and they’re really obnoxious, I might just do it anyway).

All hail Daisy Hollands and her commonsensical advice!




Carrie-Ann loves vintage fashion (original, repro – as long as it’s ’40s or ’50s inspired, anything goes) and her husband, and has an unhealthy attachment to Doctor Who, confectionery, and the Oxford comma.

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