“AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” he squealed. “Daaaaaahling!!!” she replied, as they grasped each others’ faces and performed their overzealous ear-licking greeting ritual in the arches of the entrance to Somerset House.
Somerset House: where sanity, modesty and quiet voices go to die. Also, and not so coincidentally, it is where they hold London Fashion Week twice a year. And where today, whilst tottering around the final day of the shows, I came to the not-so-original conclusion that: Fashion people are kinda wanky...
Working only on the periphery and without the wardrobe, the waist or the inclination to really fit in, I will never truly be part of this sect. I adore the feeling of slipping on a new pair of shoes. A new skirt can brighten up my mood for an entire week. I will sacrifice evenings out with my friends to save money for a bit of leopard print. But ‘Fashion’; real Fashion... the Fashion that reduces grown men to baby girls and bankrupts you sooner than look at you is just beyond the realms of my understanding.
And the Wankiness! Good GOD! I actually heard the fabulous and not-even-slightly-joking phrase: “Do they expect us to wait in line like normal people?” as we queued to get into a show this morning. I was briefly inclined to agree (my feet hurt and they were running a terribly clichéd ‘fashionably late’) until I realised that he would look at me and assume irony in my accordance. My outfit was nice, of course, but I have to admit an undeniable resemblance to a ‘normo.’
This is a label that couldn’t be applied to that many people in the room. People in Fashion like to look like what can only be described as “Wankers”. Peep-toed lace booties, green lipstick, pyjama bottoms and suit jackets, and not a hairbrush in sight (perhaps they spend so much time wankifying their clothes they don’t have time to reach for a comb); they refuse to remove their sunglasses and regally adorn the front row of the shows texting their friends and generally looking bored.
Oh alright then... I admit that its ridiculousness does make it somewhat enjoyable. Audience observation has become almost as much of a spectator sport as the shows themselves.
In spite of the terrific influx of Gaga-wannabees, this year’s LFW hasn’t been massively eventful, although there are a few things that stuck out. For a Spring season there was certainly a lot of ‘Fall’... (geddit?!) A wee girl wiped out at Burberry (SO Naomi Campbell, Viv Westwood c. 1993) and Daphne Guinness made a similar booboo at McQueen’s memorial at St Paul’s Cathedral. Mark Fast shunned last year’s plus sized models in favour of old waify favourites as we discussed if Amber was even a scrape on her mum. Giles Deacon had a booby show with Kelly Brook and a pregnant Abby Clancy headlining his runway. And Pam Hogg went a bit creepy with a bondage theme.
According to observation, next season we will be decorating our schmatta with fringes, heading for neon hues, mirroring Mad Men with 50’s silhouettes and getting our pins out in metallic minis.
Darling... won’t we look fabulous...?!
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