These Quotes From Dani Dyer's New Book Are Absolutely Mental

These Quotes From Dani Dyer's New Book Are Absolutely Mental

There are fewer things more certain in this life than the career trajectory of a reality television star. First, comes the initial success from whatever reality show welcomes them into its fold. Then follows a period whereby they, through the machinations of a publicist, ensconce themselves in the first rungs of celebrity media. They will embark on a grueling schedule of public appearances, turning up in various regional clubs called things like 'Infinity Rooms' and 'Paradise', where they will be required to duly stand near the DJ booth while various attendant clubbers alternate between earnestly and mockingly taking photographs with them.

They will be required to promote, through their Instagram, several health and fitness supplements which are - due to the fact that they have yet to receive official approval from most Western health authorities - only available online. Numerous publicity engagements, related to red-top magazines, will feature during this period while their agent seeks to bolster their reputation as a genuine 'celebrity' - an archery weekend with a cast member of TOWIE; Quasar with Gemma Collins; attending an evening course on animal husbandry with Philip Schofield - that type of thing. Next, next however, will come the incredibly hastily assembled and low-quality autobiography.

'Tis upon this hallowed trajectory which the cast of last summer's season of Love Island variously find themselves. Given that every single relationship that had blossomed on the show has since spectacularly capsized and all possible media attention has been suckled from the fallout of these relationships, the more notable cast members are having to eke out a media identity as an individual, rather than within their couple. It is thus that Dani Dyer has released her autobiography, entitled What Would Dani Do? My Guide To Living Your Best Life.

It brings me shame to admit that, up until very recently - mere minutes before the commencement of this article in fact - I was entirely ignorant of the impending release of this tome. Now however, after seeing several excerpts tweeted by journalist Sarah Carson, I am of the opinion that What Would Dani Do? My Guide To Living Your Best Life is nothing short of being the seminal work of literature in the 21st century.

Her first series of tweeted excerpts paint a spectacular portrayal of Dani Dyer's mother. Indeed, just the page beginning in her series of tweets, beginning 'Cons', may be the most densely packed piece of prose known to the English language. So much drama, so much action is contained within its brief confines that the mind cannot help but reel. After reading it, you too feel that you have had an old VHS tape hurled at your head, you too can imagine the painful squelch as Dani Dyer's mother rams a chicken Zinger Burger from KFC in your eye, which is surely - due to its spice content - one of the more malicious burgers to use as a weapon on KFC's menu.


With those few excerpts Dani Dyer's mum has immediately cemented herself as one of literature's great antagonists.

As with all great works of art, Dani Dyer has gone multimedia with this, her memoir. Knowing that mere words could not do justice to the story that she had to tell, she was evidently aware that some illustrations would be necessary to fully convey her story to the reader. Some, pedants and nay-sayers among you, may say that this is evidently a compromise to help fill page space given the fact that the book seems to be struggling to hit a word count. If you consider yourself one of this dour bunch, then hang your head in shame for not recognising this as the brave, transgressive artistic choice that it is.


The pull-quotes - yes, it is a book that contains within it, its own pull-quotes - are simply exquisite. Their lack of context in isolated tweets renders them profound, for in the absence of further detail, our minds are free to paint our own picture. Though, given the scatter-shot approach to some of the prose we have seen, it seems difficult to imagine that there could be any section in the book which gives suitable context to the phrase 'I was just the fried halloumi when all I wanted to be was the full chicken'.

All previous expressions of love are hereby redundant. Roses, poems, paintings, songs all now fall by the wayside as paltry excuses for self-expression. They have, in one fell swoop, been rendered but mere shadows for the one true means of expressing ideation and affection: cupcakes with 'Loved up to fuck' etched around their perimeter in icing.

If what we have seen so far is not sufficient enticement for you to rush to purchase yourself a copy of this, Dany Dyer's magnum opus, then, sirs, madams, I pity ye.

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Rory McNab

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