During Fashion Week, anything can happen - but you can be sure of a handful of things; you know your feet are going to throb you to sleep (for those stolen few hours anyway), you'll come across the most vile egos you've ever had the uncomfortable displeasure to meet and you know your day will consist of an impossibly high intake of caffeine, your evenings spent swimming in champagne and your morning coffee served with a Berocca chaser in the vain hope it'll get you through another day of the same. Sound horrible? Hell no.
Fashion Week is a law unto itself but we wouldn't have it any other way. Wouldn't we be disappointed if it was made up of straight-laced corporates in gabardine suits, accessorizing with a mid-heel and a balanced personality? Its fashion's theatre that has us re-watching Sex and the City, Gossip Girl, Devil Wears Prada and Running in Heels. Unsurprisingly, Fashion Week hasn't been about the collections on the runway for years. No, it's simply about stature. It's about where you're sitting in the show, who you're sitting next to to watch the relatively redundant parade of models. Basically, it's like organizing a sit down dinner party with a bunch people that dont like each other, who's husbands left her for that ***** over there and who's wearing the newest threads and has the best botox.
I spent a couple of shows backstage, which is truly the place to be. Everyone is genuinely excited / nervous and it's impossible to not get lightheaded with the buzz that fills every square inch of available space. Photographers and film crews aggressively leap frog each other to get the best shot, whilst the celebration when the last model has come off the catwalk is fashion at its most genuine and carefree.
As per usual, Fashion Week was knee deep in celebs; Alexa Chung, Kelly Osbourne, Daisy Lowe, Caroline Sieber, Kate Moss and Jessie Ware, to name a few. The most celeb-heavy show was Saturday's House of Holland show that was more of a party with some models wearing the new collection than an uptight runway show. We all went to his after party at a warehouse in King Cross afterwards. Like his collections, Henry is a breath of fresh air, fun, light hearted and keen to celebrate the sometimes absent fun in fashion.
Sunday was a heavy day of big shows and then onto a swanky hotel for cocktails and a private fashion dinner in Soho with some French fashionista friends. That night taught me one thing, there are few less intimidating things than eating dinner as the paparazzi circling ready to snap when your mouth's full. By Wednesday the circus had left town but the fashion parties continued. I was dragged off to a Polo event in Chelsea. The night was a little 'Rah' to say the least but thankfully there were no 'Made in Chelsea' cringers there. The week was beautifully rounded off with the comfort of a few of my favourite things; sneakers, carbs and my Power Gays bliss.
Overall, Fashion Week is like a holiday romance. Anything seems possible; your normal routine is a distant memory and 'school nights' are there to be laughed in the face of. It's a few days of fantasy, from the clothes to the events and the people to the shoes you think you can wear all day. And boy, is it fun..."