It’s the early 2010s and I am in Beverly Hills. The sun is blazing down, like a glorious lemon cake, and the air smells sweet, like palm tree wood and perfume. Every single lawn glitters green and immaculate. I need to live like this one day, I remember thinking, in that way you do when you’ve just been seduced by someone fit who’s clearly bad news. I have to earn some money. My mind swims, with visions of high rise offices and six figure salaries and iced coffee in a Jeep. There’s only one solution: I must become a girlboss. A She-E-O. A media mogul with scented, tousled locks.