In our series Salary Stories, women with long-term career experience open up about the most intimate details of their jobs: compensation. It’s an honest look at how real people navigate the complicated world of negotiating, raises, promotions and job loss, with the hope it will give young people more insight into how to advocate for themselves — and maybe take a few risks along the way.

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It’s just after 9pm and lilac hues have spread across Dorset skies, shadows extending over a panorama of marquee tops. Perfect conditions for the first night of End of the Road, whose Friday headliners – Black Midi, Battles and Fleet Foxes among them – are minutes away from stepping on stage. Yet, rather than slipping through the masses to grab a good spot, I’ve been back at my tent for an hour already. Having unfolded a stool in the last of the sun, simmering lentils and a mug full of boxed cab-sav for company, my one-year-old daughter, Nancy, has finally nodded off in the tent, unaware of earlier negotiations between her parents. After an afternoon watching bands from a lower-decibel distance as a family, it’s my wife who’s out tonight, enjoying her child-free break for freedom. Although, with the Pixies – a band beloved since teen years but never seen live – top billing on Saturday night, I felt confident in my call as “White Winter Hymnal” carried on the breeze. We’re a day into our first festival as a family of three, an experience already proving quite a journey. As a sometimes music journalist, I’d covered events across Europe over the past decade, adept at negotiating stage splits, balancing reporting duties and life-affirming experiences with willing accomplices. Of these, End of the Road has remained a regular fixture, an informal end-of-summer meet-up with industry colleagues and friends – as well as my chosen stag-do destination. With a one-year-old in tow, this year would mark a stark contrast. From the freshly purchased family-sized tent – the subject of substantial research and investment, and an attempt to win over a camping-averse wife – to the travel cot, buggy, strings of fairy lighting, endless layers, toys and first-aid trappings for every eventuality, the baggage was endless. Shoulders ablaze, I’d carried it all in as my wife kept our daughter entertained. Stepping into my role as responsible dad, I’d practised the tent’s set-up at home prior to arrival and, with a tangible sense of optimism about the weekend ahead, started separating pegs from poles. Yet, with the tent almost up, something unsettled me. What was that smell? Unzipping the bedroom it hit me. My earlier garden practice run had provided the perfect sheltered toilet for a visiting fox –  evidence of which no amount of wet-wipe scrubbing could remove, resulting in a showdown with the reluctant camper and a smell that would accent a weekend in which expectations were continuously lowered. After my wife crashed back in on Friday night, earlier than anticipated and hamstrung by a fast-developing cold, we wondered if we were up to the challenge. Nancy was having a nice time, happy tracking insects in the long grass or studiously inspecting the contents of her snack bag. But could this equally have been any other field? Had we been too exhausted and distracted to embrace the experience? By contrast, our camping companions had brought their five-year-old, who enthusiastically shared stories about favourite bands and the wicker dragonfly he’d crafted, as his dad talked about the surprise sets he’d happened upon the previous night. Perhaps we’d just taken all of this on too soon. The next morning, I nudged Nancy’s buggy around the site, stopping at the kids’ area, where a neckerchiefed uke player offered up nursery rhymes with instruments for children, which were seized upon with pleasure. Various childless friends were never far away, entertaining our daughter in bursts. Later, after reuniting with my wife, a highlight was bobbing to Los Bitchos’ buoyant afternoon performance with Nancy held aloft, as was a brief glimpse of Jockstrap packing out a small stage in the woods. Yet other moments – flailing nappy changes amid aghast onlookers, straying too close to the stage with a buggy as the light faded and the crowd surged – presented a sharp learning curve. Still feeling under the weather, my wife headed back to the tent with Nancy as the Pixies arrived, Frank Black’s substantial presence now underscored by a pang of guilt. After checking in and being signed off to stay out, I’d joined an excitable crowd for an unannounced late-night set at the Tipi stage, which, after turning out to be one of the tiny handful of bands I’d already seen that day – again sounded another minor chord on my tiny violin. As the skies cleared, we’d discovered corners along the way we’d otherwise never have seen and met a similarly dazed yet determined community of parents With my wife’s health deteriorating further overnight – diminishing her perception of fox piss, at least – we made the call to leave on Sunday morning and I hauled everything back to the car. On the long drive home, and hours before Covid would be confirmed, it had to be asked: had this been fun for anyone concerned? Was this festival too aptly named for a new dad trying to reconcile past and present lives? This all happened in the summer of 2022 and, unfazed, we tried again this year – albeit at the even smaller scale and decidedly family-friendly Kite Festival in Oxfordshire. While Nancy’s advanced age presented new challenges – tentative first steps now a confident swagger – her inquisitiveness also marked her out as the perfect festival companion. Expectations now firmly in check, we let ourselves be led by circumstance and proximity, stopping for whatever drew the eye rather than dashing from act to act, allowing us to slow down and see the world through her eyes. Occasionally we tag-teamed the lineup, each picking a couple of acts to witness unhindered by short attention spans (my wife took former PM John Major’s packed-out talk in the big top, I took Suede). Under the hot sun, our meeting point at the shaded children’s area also helped keep Nancy from turning pink in the sun. Clapping furiously at the end of shadow chancellor Rachel Reeves’s morning debate, her grasp on Labour’s manifesto pledges seems better than most – although this mimicry of crowd behaviour proves an endearing feature at later events, too. An uncontrollable tantrum during Michael Gove’s appearance at a panel discussion saw us quickly extract ourselves from the tent, drawing smiles from an audience impressed by the effectiveness of her heckle. Further priceless memories included dancing together at Candi Staton’s sundown set, Nancy with a brioche in each hand – ear defenders askew – visibly finding her feet. The following day the skies suddenly broke, with an electrical storm closing all stages, sending Birkenstock-clad families sprinting for cover. The one attendee thrilled by it all was Nancy, who careered around cackling as security attempted to keep punters from the marquee’s lightning-conducting metal poles. As the skies cleared, we’d discovered corners along the way we’d otherwise never have seen and met a similarly dazed yet determined community of parents. We still hadn’t nailed the performative kids-at-festivals thing – there was no trolley adorned with decoration or whimsical outfits – but felt comfortable that we’d struck the right balance, fulfilled by a shared experience led by the spontaneity of a child’s impulses. It marked a shift from any naive attempt to carry on with our lives as normal. An alternative, of course, is to leave your family at home. A couple of weeks ago I joined 250,000 others at Glastonbury, my own spontaneity given breathing space once more. Thrilling, yes, but also a weekend that at times left me seeking my small festival companion among the other attendees. I was temporarily overcome watching a daughter on the shoulders of her father as he introduced her to a favourite band, excitedly explaining each musician’s role. “How old? I’ve got one a similar age,” was shared with various others. Yet it was also at Glastonbury, as the temperature nudged into the thirties, that I spotted another dad – fixed grin but dead behind the eyes – pushing three irritable kids in a trolley up a shadeless slope. I nod my solidarity, before skipping off to the bar – relieved, this time, that’s not me. Bumping into Joe Goddard from Hot Chip, whose bandmates collectively call their kids the Micro Chips, he says that of all the children he knows, it’s those who have always been dragged to festivals who have proved the most rounded. Something that resonates with me as the Glastonbury hangover subsides and – reunited with my family – I start looking forward to carving out new shared experiences in crowded fields once more. Read More The earthy magic and lawless energy of being a child at Glastonbury festival Too cool to love these acts 10 years ago? This year’s Glastonbury is for you Music festivals have saved me so many times Demi Lovato says she still struggles with vision, hearing impairment after overdose Marina Diamandis says she has been diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome Should I keep my windows closed or open during a heatwave?

Cindy Crawford has shared how her father, John Crawford, didn’t initially understand that modelling was a career. The supermodel, 57, spoke candidly about the beginning of her career in a sneak peek of the new Apple TV+ documentary series, The Super Models, shared via People. While the clip showcased a photo of Crawford from the 1980s, she expressed that back when she was a teenager, she didn’t understand how the modelling world worked. “I never even thought about modelling,” she said. “I didn’t even know it was a real job. I didn’t know how I would get from DeKalb, Illinois, to a magazine.” After the clip showed footage of Crawford posing for the camera in the 80s, she then added that her father didn’t know what modelling was either. “My dad really didn’t understand that modelling was a real career. He thought modelling was like another name for prostitution,” she said. “So [my parents] came with me to my very first modelling appointment.” This isn’t Crawford’s first time opening up about the early days of her career. During an interview with Vanity Fair in 2016, she recalled how she posed for her first portrait at the age of 16, while living in her hometown. “When I was 16, Roger Legel, a local photographer in my small town of DeKalb, Illinois, asked to photograph me for the college newspaper. I agreed, and he shot this picture at the backyard pool of my high-school boyfriend,” she said. According to Crawford, that photoshoot offered her a change of perspective, as it ultimately encouraged her to go into modelling as a career. “I was still a teenager and dreamed of becoming something big - a nuclear physicist or the first woman president, the two biggest jobs I could think of,” she said. “Doing this first shoot changed my life. The photographer encouraged me to go to Chicago to try to find an agent.” The actor once again shared her parent’s initial thoughts about modelling, before recalling how she went on to officially start modelling in Chicago. “At the time, my dad thought modelling was a nice word for prostitution, so my parents were very protective of me,” Crawford said. “I went to Chicago, ended up signing with Elite, and from there started doing catalogue shoots as well as working with Victor Skrebneski - the most important photographer in Chicago.” She concluded: “This one photograph opened my eyes to a whole new world and started me down the path of modelling.” In the new Apple TV + series, The Super Models, Crawford comes together with fellow modelling legends – Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista, and Christy Turlington – to open up about her time in the fashion world. According to a press release shared by Apple TV, the program will discuss some of the achievements that these four women have had so far, as well as how they’ve shaped the modelling industry today. “Their prestige was so extraordinary that it enabled the four to supersede the brands they showcased, making the names Naomi, Cindy, Linda and Christy as prominent as the designers who styled them,” the press release reads. “Today, the four supermodels remain on the frontlines of culture through activism, philanthropy and business prowess.” “As the fashion industry continues to redefine itself – and women’s roles within it – this is the ultimate story of power and how four women came together to claim it, paving the way for those to follow,” the statement continued. The Super Models will premiere on Apple TV + on 20 September. Read More Supermodels recreate iconic Vogue cover from 1990 Watch: Cindy Crawford re-creates iconic 1992 Super Bowl Pepsi ad Kaia Gerber addresses nepotism in Hollywood: ‘That just isn’t how art is made’ See plus-size model Ashley Graham stun in Old Hollywood-inspired Harris Reed LFW show Football legend Michael Owen: My four kids all have opinions about my fashion choices Sex Education season 4: How vintage finds help characters get their unique style

Just weeks after pledging to deliver a new feminist approach to its brand, Victoria’s Secret appears to have reverted to its tried and tested “sex sells” strategy following a slump in sales. The US lingerie chain had attempted to rehabiliate public perception following criticism that it promoted typically thin, white models as the preferred beauty standard. Relaunching its once blockbuster fashion show in September, Victoria’s Secret replaced its “Angels” with the VS Collective – a group of diverse, successful women including Megan Rapinoe and Priyanka Chopra. But executives are now reportedly re-embracing “sex appeal” after the short-lived makeover failed to boost sales. During a presentation last week, a top executive said Victoria’s Secret would be the subject of an image overhaul, adding “sexiness can be inclusive”. “Sexiness can celebrate the diverse experiences of our customers and that’s what we’re focused on,” Greg Unis, brand president of the company’s youth-focused venture Victoria’s Secret & Pink, told investors on Thursday (13 October). The reboot is part of a larger strategy to revive its sales after a five-year marketing overhaul fell short of expectations. According to the Business of Fashion, Victoria’s Secret is projecting $6.2bn in earnings this fiscal year – a five per cent drop on sales in 2022, and well below the $7.4bn sales reported in 2018. Now, Victoria’s Secret has laid out a roadmap to bolstering its revenue, including cost-cutting, reviving its swimwear and activewear ranges, and further expanding its offerings to include products such as sweaters, slip dresses, and corsets. Giving its stores a more “welcoming” facelift is also part of the plan. Chief executive Martin Waters added that the retailer’s inclusivity initiatives and campaigns had “not been enough to carry the day”, referring to the company’s performance in recent years. Once the purveyors of Swarovski-studded undergarments and unrealistic body standards, Victoria’s Secret has, in recent years, embarked on a journey to shed its hyper-sexualised image and pay attention to changing social norms. Its initial attempt to adjust its image came hot on the heels of declining sales due to the emergence of inclusive and diversity-friendly brands such as Rihanna’s Savage X Fenty and Third Love, as well as several controversies including top management at L Brands – the former parent company of Victoria’s Secret. In 2018, L Brands’ then-marketing boss Ed Razek sparked a backlash when he declared that Victoria’s Secret would never cast transgender and plus-size models in its annual Fashion show because it’s a “fantasy”. Razek resigned the following year after he was accused of inappropriate behaviour with models – allegations he called “categorically untrue, misconstrued or taken out of context”. Around the same time, an investigation by The New York Times uncovered ties between L Brands’ former chief executive Lex Werne and convicted paedophile Jeffrey Epstein, which further sullied the reputation of Victoria’s Secret. In an effort to rehabilitate its image, the brand’s recent campaigns have featuring stars such as former US women’s football captain Megan Rapinoe, plus-size models Paloma Elsesser and Ali Tate-Cutler, and Brazillian transgender model Valentina Sampaio. Last month, Victoria’s Secret: The Tour ‘23 was released on Amazon Prime, with the company declaring the televised catwalk event was the “ultimate expression” of its commitment to a new Victoria’s Secret that’s more in step with the times. Despite its struggles, Victoria’s Secret still owns a lion’s share of the north American market today. “We’ve been insufficiently differentiated in this difficult market,” Waters said, during the meeting last Thursday. “[But] our ambition of being the world’s leading fashion retailer of intimates apparel is unchanged.” Read More Victoria’s Secret was never feminist – why are they bothering to try now? Victoria's Secret overhauls its racy fashion catwalk in its latest moves to be more inclusive From Naomi Campbell to Hailey Bieber: All the top models and celebs in Victoria Secret’s new Icons campaign

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