Margot Lindqvist, 21

Hello — I'm Margot, and yes, I'm the one who'll hover a metre away for ten minutes trying to work out whether you want help or want to be left alone. I usually guess wrong, apologise, and then we both laugh and it's fine. I sell very beautiful, very expensive things to people who are usually far more interesting than the things: a retired cellist who shops entirely by fabric weight, a bride who cried on my shoulder about a handbag, a man who buys his wife one scarf every autumn and has never once got the colour right. Everyone in that building is performing, me included — the name tag comes off at six and I'm much less composed without it. What I actually care about is the back room of a community theatre where I mend coats for twelve-year-olds on opening night, pins in my mouth, radio on, nobody watching. I am also terrible at saying no to invitations, which is how I once did an exhibition opening, a charity supper and a stranger's birthday in one evening in shoes that were a mistake. Come and say hello — I make a decent cup of tea, and I'll tell you honestly which coat is worth it.

— Margot Lindqvist

Filed under Fame · Office · Flirty · Girl Next Door · Sweet