Robbie, Gary, Tinie, Dermot, Kylie, Mo, Azealia, Lana and Jessie...the guestlist at The Men of The Year Awards on Tuesday night was a game of 'spot-the-loser-who-needs-a-surname'. London's Covent Garden was lit up in fit-inducing strobe on Tuesday night thanks to the paps and their subjects celebrating the awards at The Royal Opera House. Anyone who is anyone was there. As a men's magazine hosted the event, there was more than their fair share of women showing some leg too - no one more of a magnet to the paparazzi than Katherine Jenkins who wore Stella McCartney on her first outing since being linked to David Beckham. I happen to know that McCartney may have been her only choice as many designers ran the other way when approached to dress her due to the controversy.
Man of the Year winner Gary Barlow looked sharp in Dolce Gabanna - who dressed many of the celebs - and Lana del Rey picked up the Woman of the Year Award in a white Wayne Copper gown showing off her newly dyed dark locks. There weren't many surprises, Kelly Brook looked like she'd been dipped in a vat of Tango, Liam Gallagher looked drunk and of course, David Gandy was there. The night was nice albeit ever so slightly predictable.
Next stop on the fashion calendar was Thursday's Fashion Night Out I shuffled through Bond Street and Oxford Street soaking in the hardcore shopping frenzy dodging barber shop quartets, sharp elbows and terrifying discount hunters. Anna Wintour birthed the idea mid-recession to coax shoppers into stores to part with their cash but four years into the initiative most savvy consumers simply go from store to store drinking the free booze and pillaging the goodie bags. Trouble is that whilst Fashion's Night Out is generally met with rolled eyes, few global brands would have the cahoonas to tell Ms Wintour that they've had enough of footing the bill. My Fashion's Night Out ended at a bar with a fellow fashionista, talking men. My complicated and tangled man situation (maybe I'll delve into that one next week) was on the agenda as well as her new boyf (although she's not entirely sure she's calling him that yet). The conversation went from a sympathetic head tilt peppered with expletives (directed at mine obvs) to her stories straight from the pages of a Tom Hanks / Meg Ryan script followed by me momentarily abandoning my cynicism.
By week's end, my thoughts had turned simply to men. Having spent last weekend surrounded by my precious family and friends and hearing from some of my special male friends throughout the week, I figured, our Men of the Year come and go and are always somewhat predictable; whilst they do get some air-time in our life's Hall of Fame, it's the Men of your Life that are the true VIPs and they'll never need a surname..."