Charlene White

Nov 24, 2024 | inews.co.uk | Charlene White

This week I had the most incredible endorphin rush. I was grunting loudly, releasing every single bit of pent-up aggression and stress that had been sitting in my body. In one fell swoop the mental load I was carrying, from work to parenting, was lifted. I felt pure joy emanating from every single corner of my body. I’d done it. I’d finally managed to lift 75kg on my shoulders, from a weighted squat. Those are words I never thought I’d utter. Weightlifting isn’t for women, right?

Nov 10, 2024 | inews.co.uk | Charlene White

This week I was lucky enough to be invited to host a session at The Beauty Beat event in London. It’s the only luxury beauty event in the UK dedicated to women of colour – a community woefully underserved by the beauty industry for decades. For many people reading this, it would be unfathomable to think that they wouldn’t be able to walk into their local high-street chemist or department store and pick up a foundation or powder that matched their skin tone.

Oct 27, 2024 | inews.co.uk | Charlene White

Think back for a moment to being at school. Can you remember that kid, the one who did all those foolish and ridiculous things simply to get attention? The one who would relish getting told off by the teachers because it made them feel cool, and gave them hope that their ridiculous, childish behaviour would hand them the keys to the cool gang. It would always be that kid who would resort to bullying when they didn’t get those keys, when they didn’t get the power of popularity they craved.

Oct 12, 2024 | inews.co.uk | Charlene White

I’ve always marvelled at those TV shows where neighbours float in and out of each others’ houses, with kids so comfortable in the house next door that they drift in with the ease of someone for whom door numbers are a mere decoration, not an indication of which home is actually theirs. I didn’t grow up in that environment in the 80s and 90s.

Sep 29, 2024 | inews.co.uk | Charlene White |Heather Saul

Hot sweaty bodies push up beside me, leaving my arm slightly damp every time one of them tries to pass through the sea of gyrating hips. Eyes fixate on the individual on a podium orchestrating the whole thing with ease: a conductor of sorts controlling how each body moves, how high their arms swing above their heads, each body doing their bidding, mesmerised. No, this isn’t a description of me at an orgy, but rather my return to the party island that is Ibiza, after almost a decade away.