IT’S September, and once again time for the world to be shown the latest fashion trends: once again we welcome the New York, Paris, Milan and London Fashion Weeks. This season, however, I’m going to view the shows as a spectator, as I am not styling or involved in the production side of things. It’s a pleasant experience, since I am not having to stay up all night frantically deciding which girls to use having had a never-ending casting, allocating outfits, make-up and hair teams… No, this year I’m just going to watch the shows and take notes!
I am in the Duke of York building, the venue on the Kings Road where all the events take place. I’ve just registered in the exhibition hall with my assistant and decide to go into the Press Room to see whether the show reports are out and what the schedule is looking like. The busy office is full of stands with leaflets and journalists looking very busy on their mobile phones or working on the internet. We find out that the shows are running late, so we have time for a cup of tea.
My phone rings. It’s my friend Andrew who is on the terrace outside Patisserie Valery, having breakfast with Cathy, a stylist, so we decide to join them. We all sit down and catch up on the latest news and Andrew tries to catch the waiter’s eye so that we can order. It seems that this is too much to ask so we pick at Andrew’s croissant instead! (Why do other people’s pastries always taste better than your own?) We compare notes on the shows we have seen so far and discuss the ones we’re about to attend: Bora Aksu, Nicole Farhi.
Suddenly it starts to rain — does this sound all too familiar? — and Andrew produces an umbrella out of his bag. We all burst out laughing at the stylish manner in which he sits there holding an umbrella for the three girls at his table. At last the waiter looks our way and we order tea and croissants.
The next show is announced and we rush back into the precinct clutching our tickets. We enter the hall, sit down, get our pens and paper out and chat until the runway is cleared from its protective clear plastic sheets and the lights are dimmed. Ladies and gentlemen, the intercom announces, please take your seats, the show is about to begin. The music starts and the girls are off. Tall and skinny bodies start to walk down the catwalk to the funky beat of seventies music. Bora Aksu’s clothes are floaty and figure-hugging, in a colour palette of beiges and pale blues. Intricate detail in the embroidery and stitching make the clothes unique — they are worn with high heeled espadrille mules, not my cup of tea, but it certainly gave it a boho seventies twist! The lights come back on and we all clap, so the designer comes out and is given a huge bouquet of flowers. As he walks away smiling, I notice a pair of scissors sticking out of his back pocket….
We are now ready to go to the next venue. This time it’s Nicole Farhi’s show, held in a beautiful hall in central London. We are served champagne and canapés while we wait to be seated. The show is beautiful, and the clothes are classic and timeless, yet detailed and textured. The shoes are amazing wooden studded mules in different colours to match the outfits. Fabulous! When we return to the main venue to meet up with the others and find out what the schedule is, we discover that our friends are in the Moet Champagne bar. As its now raining heavily outside, we decide to join them. And the rest, as they say, is history…
