You couldn’t have measured my delight when blonde brains, beauty and Love Island icon, not to mention ALLITERATIVE NAME LEGEND, Molly-Mae, revealed that she was a guest on the podcast series Diary of a CEO this week. Literally quivering in anticipation, I listened in pure rapture as my QUEEN and role model detailed how, if Beyoncé has the same 24 hours in a day as us, why on God’s green earth aren’t we all creative directors of Pretty Little Thing at the age of 22?

I couldn’t believe how right she was. By the end of the podcast, I was shivering in sheer shame at how, aged 21, Beyoncé had already released five albums with Destiny’s Child and I, an unproductive, pathetic peasant, have released NONE. So, I set out to implement Molly-Mae’s 24-hour-a-day rule (constantly reminding myself that I have the same 24 hours in my day as Beyoncé) and here’s how it went.

Hours 0-1: Wake up and tell myself how bootylicious I am in the mirror. Attempt a cold shower and immediately shriek in agony once making contact with the water. Turn the water back to scalding. It’s okay, I’ll brush my teeth with cold water to make up for it.

Hours 1-2: Fake cry on the tube to seem alluring, vulnerable, and mysterious on my way to uni. Maybe hum a tune or two from behind my mask lest there are any record label executives on the same carriage that want to sign me, produce seven of my albums, and then strip me of all my music copyright, leaving me to embark on an incredible comeback arc where I re-record all of my albums and send my art straight back to number 1 on the charts, ensuring career longevity and an eternal legacy. 

Hours 2-4: Listen to my first lecture and furiously take notes. Ugh, why is my friend asking about my weekend? Does she think Beyoncé talks about her weekend with her friends instead of RISING AND GRINDING?

Hours 4-6: Wander around central London, once again singing out loud so a record executive or creative director will notice me.

Hours 6-7: Eat lunch while applying to every reality TV show possible. 

Hours 7-9: Lecture number two on Zoom. Hey, there are 46 participants on this call. What if I unmute myself and give my lecturer some fashion advice? If I’m extra sassy, someone will absolutely record it and put it on TikTok, fast tracking me to fashion designer fame. I spend the next 1.4 hours composing a script of what I plan to say to the lecturer, but alas, the meeting ends by the time I am ready to speak up.

Hours 9-10: Cancel drinks later this evening for the hustle. Go into Bloomsbury Fitness to take a thorough look at the equipment, then get the tube back home.

Hours 10-12: Record myself singing on TikTok until my flatmate comes home and tells me to stop caterwauling. Sigh. My first hater. I quickly take her down with a declaration to my 82 followers that she is CANCELLED. 

Hours 12-16: Watch “Molly-Mae’s Best Moments” on YouTube, followed by Beyoncé’s Lemonade documentary. Yes, I watch my stuff in order of awesomeness.

Hours 16-24: Make my sleep productive by putting on “Molly-Mae subliminal” in the background.


This piece appeared in CG Issue 81