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Ursula with her husband and baby at Mila's own wedding
Bride Ursula is overshadowed by her supermodel sister-in-law Mila
by URSULA HIRSCHKORN - 21st March 2007
On my wedding day, I look as beautiful as Ive ever done.
My dress is stunning, Ive lost that final half-stone, my hair is perfect and my make-up flawless.
I stand, smiling, next to my brand new husband. What could possibly spoil this picture?
Well, how about the six-foot Russian supermodel standing behind me.
I knew as soon as I met my husband-to-be that his brother, a film producer, led an altogether more high-octane life than us.
On our first meeting he was suffering from jet-lag having just hopped off a flight from LA, where hed been producing a music video.
But what I didnt realise was just what an impact his brothers glamorous lifestyle would have on my mundane existence.
At first it was fun to hear about his exploits with models and movie stars.
But then he got serious about one of the models: Mila.
Mila is a truly beautiful woman.
She has been a model ever since she was swept off the streets of Moscow as a teenager. She has sashayed down the catwalks of Paris and pouted from the pages of Elle and Cosmo.
She is tall, slim, graceful and amazingly good-looking. In a nutshell, everything that Im not.
At 5ft-nothing and far too many stones to mention, I have to admit that this Muscovite vision, with her beautiful clothes, perfect body and adorably husky accent, was not the girl I would have chosen as the perfect sister-in-law.
In fact, its a testament to my love for my husband that I didnt run off screaming the moment she arrived on the scene.
The first inkling I got of what my life would be like playing the ugly sister to her Cinderella was at a family party in 2000.
The requisite randy uncle was present, and despite the fact that hed met me a million times before, on sight of Mila he lost all recollection of my name and all control over his tongue.
Really, its quite embarrassing the effect she has on men.
Walk down the street with her and its as if you are invisible.
Men stop, stare and drool in her wake. One toss of her perfectly-styled, long dark hair and they will literally push you aside to get closer to her.
And dont bother trying to actually speak to any men in her orbit.
Their intellectual powers will have long since left the building, if you catch my drift.
With all this in mind, it was probably foolish to agree to a family sunshine holiday with her in tow. The sight of Mila in a bikini draped beside the pool was almost enough to cause a riot. And dont even talk about the holiday snaps.
After the first set of photos came back picturing me (hot, sweaty and far from sexy) next to Miss Perfect in a Prada thong, I soon learnt to move swiftly out of shot as soon as the cameras came out.
Its not that Im lacking in self-confidence, but would you want your photo taken next to a supermodel as you let it all hang out by the pool?
Having a model around on your holiday isnt just a liability when it comes to the snapshots, either.
As I lie sweaty and sunburnt on my lounger waving wildly to attract the barmans attention, she simply raises a perfect red talon and the whole hotel stops to get whatever it might be that she desires.
You might be wondering why on earth I even invited her to my wedding in Las Vegas in 2003, but it is considered bad form to leave your brother-in-laws girlfriend off the guest list - and anyway, she said shed do my make-up.
Even so, I did have second thoughts when I saw her in her slinky monochrome number, looking every inch the supermodel that she is.
Did I really want this gorgeous girl in my wedding shots?
Well, it was too late by then, and chubby old me would be forever immortalised in a white dress next to the most beautiful woman Id ever met. (I did consider asking her to wear a bag over her head, but decided that might be hard to explain to the grandchildren.)
She tried to make it easier on me, taking off her shoes and crouching down beside me in an attempt to minimise our differences.
Even so, she was a good six inches taller, half as wide (despite all my pre-wedding dieting) and at least twice as beautiful.
Her own wedding wasnt much better. After a romantic proposal - complete with zillion- carat diamond ring, damn it - she walked down the aisle in the summer house at Cliveden in Berkshire with her best friend, the Wonderbra model, as her bridesmaid.
The randy uncle was in heaven, along with all the other male guests, particularly when Miss Wonderbras dress turned see-through in a certain light, just so we could all check up on her brand loyalty.
So thats the supermodel bride, Miss Wonderbra and me lined up in another set of wedding photos to treasure.
Now that we were officially family, we had even more reason to meet up, providing yet more opportunities for ritual humiliation. Its quite natural for girls to get together for a shopping trip, so of course she and I hit the shops together from time to time.
Now I am more plus size than size zero, so communal changing rooms are close to my inner circle of hell. Mila, on the other hand, is a dab hand at quick changes after years of dragging designer confections on and off backstage at the shows.
So while she tried on the latest Topshop collections - all of which looked like haute couture on her - I listlessly sifted through the necklaces, safe in the knowledge that trying one on wouldnt require me to take any clothes off.
So how does Mila keep herself in such peak condition? Well, never eating helps. Dont believe any model who tells you she eats like a normal person: she is lying.
Mila is a good 6ft but fits a size 8 maximum.
She does this by visiting the gym daily and by eating next to nothing.
Whenever I sit down to a family meal, my own portion, however restrained, soon makes me look like a greedy porker because she always has a serving so small youd need a microscope to see it.
Theres no slobbing out with a takeaway or sharing chocolate cake with this girl. And she certainly wont help you finish the wine bottle: do you know how many calories there are in the stuff?
But while having a supermodel sister-in-law is never going to be easy, I might just get the last laugh. While the deposits of fat that my children left around my waist have had little effect on my career as a writer, the first casting Mila went to after she had her son was for swimwear.
She stripped down to her lithe post-pregnancy size ten, walked in front of the client and was promptly told she was too fat for the job.
Perhaps there is a God after all.
The Daily Mail
Ursula with her husband and baby at Mila's own wedding
Bride Ursula is overshadowed by her supermodel sister-in-law Mila
by URSULA HIRSCHKORN - 21st March 2007
On my wedding day, I look as beautiful as Ive ever done.
My dress is stunning, Ive lost that final half-stone, my hair is perfect and my make-up flawless.
I stand, smiling, next to my brand new husband. What could possibly spoil this picture?
Well, how about the six-foot Russian supermodel standing behind me.
I knew as soon as I met my husband-to-be that his brother, a film producer, led an altogether more high-octane life than us.
On our first meeting he was suffering from jet-lag having just hopped off a flight from LA, where hed been producing a music video.
But what I didnt realise was just what an impact his brothers glamorous lifestyle would have on my mundane existence.
At first it was fun to hear about his exploits with models and movie stars.
But then he got serious about one of the models: Mila.
Mila is a truly beautiful woman.
She has been a model ever since she was swept off the streets of Moscow as a teenager. She has sashayed down the catwalks of Paris and pouted from the pages of Elle and Cosmo.
She is tall, slim, graceful and amazingly good-looking. In a nutshell, everything that Im not.
At 5ft-nothing and far too many stones to mention, I have to admit that this Muscovite vision, with her beautiful clothes, perfect body and adorably husky accent, was not the girl I would have chosen as the perfect sister-in-law.
In fact, its a testament to my love for my husband that I didnt run off screaming the moment she arrived on the scene.
The first inkling I got of what my life would be like playing the ugly sister to her Cinderella was at a family party in 2000.
The requisite randy uncle was present, and despite the fact that hed met me a million times before, on sight of Mila he lost all recollection of my name and all control over his tongue.
Really, its quite embarrassing the effect she has on men.
Walk down the street with her and its as if you are invisible.
Men stop, stare and drool in her wake. One toss of her perfectly-styled, long dark hair and they will literally push you aside to get closer to her.
And dont bother trying to actually speak to any men in her orbit.
Their intellectual powers will have long since left the building, if you catch my drift.
With all this in mind, it was probably foolish to agree to a family sunshine holiday with her in tow. The sight of Mila in a bikini draped beside the pool was almost enough to cause a riot. And dont even talk about the holiday snaps.
After the first set of photos came back picturing me (hot, sweaty and far from sexy) next to Miss Perfect in a Prada thong, I soon learnt to move swiftly out of shot as soon as the cameras came out.
Its not that Im lacking in self-confidence, but would you want your photo taken next to a supermodel as you let it all hang out by the pool?
Having a model around on your holiday isnt just a liability when it comes to the snapshots, either.
As I lie sweaty and sunburnt on my lounger waving wildly to attract the barmans attention, she simply raises a perfect red talon and the whole hotel stops to get whatever it might be that she desires.
You might be wondering why on earth I even invited her to my wedding in Las Vegas in 2003, but it is considered bad form to leave your brother-in-laws girlfriend off the guest list - and anyway, she said shed do my make-up.
Even so, I did have second thoughts when I saw her in her slinky monochrome number, looking every inch the supermodel that she is.
Did I really want this gorgeous girl in my wedding shots?
Well, it was too late by then, and chubby old me would be forever immortalised in a white dress next to the most beautiful woman Id ever met. (I did consider asking her to wear a bag over her head, but decided that might be hard to explain to the grandchildren.)
She tried to make it easier on me, taking off her shoes and crouching down beside me in an attempt to minimise our differences.
Even so, she was a good six inches taller, half as wide (despite all my pre-wedding dieting) and at least twice as beautiful.
Her own wedding wasnt much better. After a romantic proposal - complete with zillion- carat diamond ring, damn it - she walked down the aisle in the summer house at Cliveden in Berkshire with her best friend, the Wonderbra model, as her bridesmaid.
The randy uncle was in heaven, along with all the other male guests, particularly when Miss Wonderbras dress turned see-through in a certain light, just so we could all check up on her brand loyalty.
So thats the supermodel bride, Miss Wonderbra and me lined up in another set of wedding photos to treasure.
Now that we were officially family, we had even more reason to meet up, providing yet more opportunities for ritual humiliation. Its quite natural for girls to get together for a shopping trip, so of course she and I hit the shops together from time to time.
Now I am more plus size than size zero, so communal changing rooms are close to my inner circle of hell. Mila, on the other hand, is a dab hand at quick changes after years of dragging designer confections on and off backstage at the shows.
So while she tried on the latest Topshop collections - all of which looked like haute couture on her - I listlessly sifted through the necklaces, safe in the knowledge that trying one on wouldnt require me to take any clothes off.
So how does Mila keep herself in such peak condition? Well, never eating helps. Dont believe any model who tells you she eats like a normal person: she is lying.
Mila is a good 6ft but fits a size 8 maximum.
She does this by visiting the gym daily and by eating next to nothing.
Whenever I sit down to a family meal, my own portion, however restrained, soon makes me look like a greedy porker because she always has a serving so small youd need a microscope to see it.
Theres no slobbing out with a takeaway or sharing chocolate cake with this girl. And she certainly wont help you finish the wine bottle: do you know how many calories there are in the stuff?
But while having a supermodel sister-in-law is never going to be easy, I might just get the last laugh. While the deposits of fat that my children left around my waist have had little effect on my career as a writer, the first casting Mila went to after she had her son was for swimwear.
She stripped down to her lithe post-pregnancy size ten, walked in front of the client and was promptly told she was too fat for the job.
Perhaps there is a God after all.
The Daily Mail
