A Typical Week For : Billionairess Yuki Oshima-Wilpin

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    What must it be like to have unlimited funds to spend on whatever you wish? Would you socialise and shop till you drop — or work tirelessly for charity?
    One woman who faces this dilemma every day is 25-year-old Yuki Oshima-Wilpon, a 'billion-heiress' who lives in a five-storey, five-bedroom house near Harrods with her husband Bruce, 27, a playwright and musician, whose own father made millions on New York property.
    Yuki's whole lifestyle is funded by her billionaire father, a Japanese financier. So does her privileged life make her a spoilt little rich girl? We asked her to keep a diary for a week to find out...
    MONDAY: 11.50am

    One of my two protection officers, Richie, knocks on the bedroom door to wake me. Although I didn't go out last night, this is still fairly early for me. I normally get up at about 2pm if I've been to parties the night before. My left foot is still killing me.
    I fell down the stairs at Boujis — the nightclub favoured by Princes William and Harry — at the weekend and sprained it. It hurts like hell, but it's more of an inconvenience because it means I can't wear my new £500 Stella McCartney shoes.
    Instead, I opt for flip flops which I bought in Los Angeles. They're pink with little Swarovski crystals and cost £125 — though I didn't realise how much they were until I reached the till. That often happens.
    I'd prefer to wear my heels, of course, but that's part of the price I have to pay for partying.
    12 noon

    Suzie, my PA, comes over to go through some bills and post. I leave her to write the cheques and I just sign away. She earned my trust after only six months and now I can't imagine life without her.
    One of the downsides of being so wealthy is that I have been let down many times in the past with staff and so-called friends stealing clothes and items from my house. Now I find I can only really trust my family and my entourage: Suzie, my two housekeepers, my protection officers and two drivers.

    I'm picked up to go to Christopher's Children's Hospice or CHASE in Guildford, Surrey. My husband Bruce and I have been Friends of the hospice for years and visit at least once a month. CHASE supports families with children who are so ill they are not expected to survive their teens.
    It is wholly supported by charitable donations — which is where Bruce and I come in. It's a marvellous place and it makes me realise just how lucky I am to have this lifestyle.
    My friends and family are often saying I get complacent about my life, but that's a little unfair. I didn't always have this lifestyle. My grandparents were orphans who lived on the streets in Japan for a short while and my parents were struggling financially until I was about ten years old and my father made his money, so I do know the difference between rich and poor. Today, I'm helping the hospice organise a summer 'Jungle' party.
    We're planning a fashion show for the girls. I tend not to keep last season's fashions but give them away, so the children dress up and play princess. Bruce, who plays guitar and keyboard, does a musical day with the boys.

    After leaving the hospice, I give shoe designer Jimmy Choo a call. We recently talked about creating an 'ethically friendly' range, but we need to sit down over lunch and discuss. He's in Malaysia on holiday so we'll meet up next month. It's very exciting. He's a lovely man and a fashion icon, and I'd love to be his muse.

    I am a member of KX health club off Kings Road in Chelsea, so I pop in there for a steam room session to sort out my pores. Then I rush home to watch television.
    It's funny seeing people I've partied with on TV. George Best's son Calum chatted me up at a party just before he flew out to appear on the reality show Celebrity Love Island a few weeks ago. To be honest, I didn't even realise who he was at the time, but his chat-up lines made me cringe. He came up to me and said: "I predict you are going to be my future ex girlfriend." I thought: "No way."

    TUESDAY: 10.30am

    I have a private one-on-one boxing lesson with my instructor, Mati at KX. I really love these sessions and Bruce has just bought me pink diamanté boxing gloves for our fourth wedding anniversary. I'm always seeing Hugh Grant or Kylie at the gym.
    Today I bump into Tamara Beckwith, who tries to get me to join her at her 'spinning' class. Quite frankly, I can't think of anything worse. Instead, I suggest catching up with her later in the week.

    Eeek, am late for a meeting with my photographer. We're arranging to do a glamorous photoshoot — not for the Press, just for me and my husband.

    I have a meeting with a production company about a possible show they want me to feature in. Bit nervous, but it sounds fun. On my way home, I call in at Stella McCartney's shop and pick up a couple of her new season £800 non-leather bags. Bruce and do I not wear any leather or animal-derived products. We drive hybrid cars and buy clothes online from vegan websites or Stella to avoid any leather. We are extremely ethically friendly.

    Go for a meal and then drinks, where I bump into other friends just back from St Tropez and Ibiza. We all end up going to Boujis. The evening gets longer and longer and an I become rather tired and emotional.

    I decide the party isn't over and call up the Halkin Hotel in Belgravia to book their best suite so that everyone can carry on partying. It costs over £1,000, plus we get through 15 bottles of champagne, but we have a great night.


    Am dragged out of the Halkin Hotel, where I've been partying all morning, by my driver and protection p officer. The driver has been waiting for me since 7pm m last night and wants to go to bed. Get home and go straigh ht to bed myself - the joy of bei a rich socialite and not havin ng to work.

    Ugh, the doorbell wakes me. It's our organic shopping being delivered and food for our dog Billy. Bruce and I are vegetarian but we realise that is not fair for Billy.
    Instead, we order organic chicken breast and the housekeeper cooks it for him daily with brown and white rice. He's quite fussy now and will eat only organic.
    He's never been left alone in his life and a dog-sitter needs to be booked when we both go out. He's a privileged dog and has been flown around the world on private jets — from Tokyo to Hawaii, New York to LA, Paris to London. He takes after his mother.

    I have to get up again because Stuart, my hairdresser, comes round to style my hair for an event tonight.
    He is one of the best celebrity hair stylists and does every-one's hair for the BAFTAs. He does Gillian Anderson, Alex Best and Tina O'Brien.
    He's also become a good friend because I love to gossip with him. I rarely make the effort to go to his salon now. There's no point when I can pay him £450 to come to me.

    Sometimes I'd rather have a quiet night in with Bruce than go out, but if I'm invited I usually go. Bruce doesn't like parties and says he hates the superficial types you get there, but I enjoy mingling and meeting new people.
    Tonight, however, at the launch of a new club, none of my usual pals are there, so I stay for a couple of glasses of champagne and then move on to my members-only club, Annabel's in Berkeley Square.
    The usual wealthy girls, sugar daddies and high-profile people are there. I always have at least one of my protection officers to shadow me because some people know exactly how much I'm worth and I worry for my safety. But I don't allow my protection officers to socialise with me. They just to stand in the background and make me feel safe.

    Not really in the mood to carry on - I'd much rather have a massage. I like my massages at random times of the night when I've come in from a heavy dancing session.
    I have a great masseuse whom I can call any time, day or night, and she drops anything for me. So I wake her up and she comes over for a few hours. It's bliss.

    THURSDAY: 1pm

    Didn't get to sleep properly until about 8am after my massage, so I needed a lie-in. But I've got loads to do so I can't sleep in any more. Suzie comes round and helps me choose what to wear for the day.

    We head to Stella McCartney's store, where I try on most of the dresses or anything from the latest collection. I've met Stella a few times and the staff in her store have come to know me well. They even allow Suzie to select items and bring them home to me. I return what I don't want and just pay for the ones I keep.

    Bored. There's only so much shopping you can do and we decide to call it a day. End up going to another members-only club, Mortons in Berkeley Square, for a drink before I have to slip into evening attire.
  2. 6pm:

    It's the X-Factor launch party at Soho Hotel, a fairly private affair. I went last year as Simon Cowell's guest. Bruce and I have both come to know him through our shared agent and often see him at Cipriani's restaurant in Mayfair. Recently, he's been talking to Bruce about music and has been a great adviser, as you would imagine.
    I enjoy the champagne reception for a couple of hours, then Simon and I decide to escape the chaos and sneak off to Cipriani's. We have a quick bite before I have to excuse myself to appear at other parties.
    Once again, I am a woman in demand, but as I'm wearing my new gold sequinned Gucci dress - one of the hottest dresses from their autumn/winter collection - I'm determined to make an entrance at as many parties as possible.
    You never want to be wearing something that someone else will be wearing, but this dress - which cost £4,290 - is not even available yet, so I know I'm onto a winner.

    Arriving at the Front magazine party in Cafe De Paris in central London, I get treated like the guest of honour (probably because the other guests were rubbish).
    I have a table reserved for me and the PRs and staff pander to me all night. Even so, I don't stay long because the whole thing is boring. The crowd is boring and the drinks are dull - not even a whiff of champagne.
    Decide to go to Cuckoo Club on Swallow Street, off Regent Street, where I know the owner. A few of my friends and I relax with him and get a table in the VIP area. Have lots of champagne as my mouth is dry from drinking cheap cocktails.

    FRIDAY: 10am

    It's my housekeeper Angie's birthday today and she has asked for make-up. Bless her, she says she has never owned make-up before so wouldn't know what to buy, and she's always commenting on how lovely my make-up looks.
    I spend the morning flicking through Vogue, Tatler and Harpers and tearing out the ads for all the latest colours and trends, so Angie gets only the best. Then I head to Boots in Knightsbridge and grab everything on the make-up shelves - one of every shade of lipstick, eyeshadow and nail vanish.
    I end up spending £400, which is a pretty good deal considering everything I bought. I tend to buy my own make-up from Harrods and Harvey Nicks, and I might call in there on my way home, too, to pick up some bits for myself.

    I have a lunch meeting (later than scheduled due to hangover) with one of the directors from the Serpentine Gallery.
    I know some people will think I'm spoiled, but when you are as rich as we are, it often gets boring spending the money on shopping, partying and holidays. So some time ago, I decided to start investing and donating to worthy causes close to our hearts.
    I became a patron of the gallery and donate substantial amounts, along with other high-profile figures such as Vidal Sassoon, the Rothschild family and Lord Palumbo, former chairman of the Arts Council.

    I get home and send Angie upstairs so she doesn't see that I'm laying out all the make-up on the kitchen table. I add a couple of bottles of Laurent Perrier Rose champagne, which is her favourite - not that she ever buys it for herself.
    I call her down and she bursts into tears. I don't think she has ever known anything like it.
    I call my PA, Suzie. She is a trained beauty therapist who does my waxing and beauty treatments, so I tell her to leave the work - the cheques can wait - and we have a girlie afternoon making up Angie.
    Bruce comes home early from his music studio. He has a lot weighing on his mind and is worried about his grandfather in America who is very unwell.
    We decide to fly out to Miami tomorrow to see him and the family. I've got a couple of events on, but nothing I can't put off.
    We'll take a private jet. We are a member of Club 328, the private jet operator, so they can get us a jet any size, any time, at the drop of a hat. I love it. Suzie has booked us the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons on Palm Beach. It's the only place to stay, really.

    SATURDAY: 11am

    Our private jet is at London City airport waiting for us. Our driver can drive straight onto the runway and we can board while our luggage gets searched and brought into the cabin. Life is so much easier when you fly private. I'm not sure I could ever go back to flying commercial. Those long waits, even in the first-class lounges, drive me insane.
    We always request champagne (to help us sleep) and some fresh exotic fruit salads, sandwiches, crudites and a nice selection of cheese - obviously all vegetarian and all organic. Bruce is always hungry (typical man), so he orders lots more, but that's all I ever want.

    Arrive at Palm Beach International Airport, where a limo is waiting to take us to the Four Seasons Hotel on South Ocean Boulevard. We freshen up before we go to visit the family for dinner at one of my favourite restaurants, Taboo.

    SUNDAY: 10am

    Wake early - for us - and have breakfast with Bruce's family before heading to the beach to get some sun. All our friends, including Mr and Mrs Donald Trump, spend time in Palm Beach in the winter, but summer is very quiet.
    At least the stores are still open. I browse through Gucci, Dior and Chanel, then Bruce and I drive to the hospice where his grandfather is staying.
    We spend the rest of the day and night sitting by his bed trying to talk to him, even though it is very hard for him to speak clearly due to the strokes he has had.
    We're very close to him and it's difficult to see him in such an uncomfortable position. Money allows us a lot of freedom, but it can't help those we love from being ill.
  3. Well, hey - I like how she's so animal friendly, vegetarian and does the whole no animal products thing. Otherwise her lifestyle is pretty extravagant..
  4. I agree with ayla about how she seems good about animal free choices in her life - plus the bit about dog only eating organic!! That was cute.

    Though she does name-drop a bit, for the most part i think she seems levelheaded and aware of her good fortune compared to everyone else.

    Fun read, thanks!
  5. wow! Yeah I agree with Ayla about the animal friendly stuff. I could definately live that lifestyle, that's for sure!!!
    Thanks for the post Pradasmeadow, I was borrrrred.

  6. Your welcome Danica :heart:
  7. She's vapid. I can't stand people who live off their parents' money and then go, "Oh, look at me, I spend one entire day a month doing charity work! Aren't I a great human being?"

    I have no respect for adults that live off their parents' money.
  8. This is really interesting.

    Ayla, I agree with you! I like her earthfriendlyness! :smile:
  9. Why does she keep saying how much everything costs? My parents raised me to keep that kind of information to myself.
  10. I think she's pretty humble. Compared to people like Paris Hilton, she's Mary Poppins!
  11. Its good that she is trying to make things more animal friendly
  12. Must be nice!
  13. Must be nice to have unlimited amounts of ca ching. I like how she's animal friendly and that she bought a really nice gift for her house keeper.

    Thanks for posting it Prada's Meadow! It was super cute!
  14. I agree- all the name dropping is so nouveau riche.

  15. I completely agree, jillybean307! I have no respect for people who just throw money everyday and flaunt it (i.e. paris hilton (oh MAN i know i'll get hatemail for this), this girl mentioned above, any overrated socialites). Maybe I don't understand how people like that have any self-respect for themselves by squandering their parent's/husband's/sugar daddy bf's money like that. Charity?! The extremely rich just do that to get further MORE tax breaks on their insane incomes/annuity from inheritance/what have you. I'm from an upper-middle class background, my parents are well-off but now I work full time in a corporate job. I cannot have self-respect for myself if I didn't go to college and get a degree and work and contribute to society-somehow-in a productive fashion. I'll step off the box now.