It’s a rainy May evening and I’m having dinner with some of my closest girlfriends. They’re an eclectic bunch drawn from school, university and the four years I’ve lived in London: a lawyer, a travel writer, a start-up executive and a former financial analyst who recently gave up her handsome salary and New York apartment to study Middle Eastern politics.
Professional differences aside, these young women have a lot in common. They are all incredibly driven. They are funny, brilliant company. At awkward drinks parties, they’re the ones striking up conversations and putting people at ease. They are well travelled and speak foreign languages. They devour books and art exhibitions, but will be the first ones dancing to Justin Bieber on a night out.
Essentially
