Since I breathed a sigh of relief at my momentous decision to follow my heart's desire and write a film script waving adious to the day job of styling, I've really not given a stuff about all things fashion. I never get enthused about fashion weeks mainly because my first job as a fashion assistant involved being a lakey at many a show or being part of the events team. Somehow this has ingrained sense of working at a show within me, and when I attend one it finds me wanting to 'sort something out', I seem incapable of relaxing. Also thanks to the interweb the joy of live streaming or digesting images at ones leisure means less faff on the outfit front and lets me go for a swim instead. I do miss the networking, the gossip due to priceless moments and dreadful 'secrets' one stumbles upon.
So there was I content in the knowledge that I passed on tickets or passed tickets on but promised to go to the Vauxhall Scout Party, thinking about getting ready, trying to motivated myself. I'd decided to drive so no drinking which was a plus as it was really nippy outside and nothing is worse when you live in the south west London area than a cold Waterloo waiting for trains.
I had my outfit ready as per capsule wardrobe challenge and then a quick flurry on twitter and suddenly I was off to the Vivienne Westwood Palladium 'Get a Life' party, as consort to Queen Michelle. Dear Queen Marie, I will be sourcing you very nice tea to make up for usurping your place and being you!
Of course I had to drop off the Scout party invites to a very understanding WaceyStyle and felt very guilty but I really couldn't resist the allure of a party set at the Wallace Collection in Marylebone. Okay I mean Dame Viv...
Then I tried to nip across town with every light and bus against me but pulled up outside Selfrigdes to pick up Queen Michelle, who was shivering and didn't believe me last week when I told her it was cold in London.
Meanwhile a quick rewind, once I knew I was hotfooting it to Dame Viv's bash, I ran across the road to my friend Annabella's to nab one of her many Westwood items. She uses her Westwood shoes in lieu of porcelain! Unfortunately her feet are size 6 and mine are size 4. That's right I abandoned the capsule wardrobe outfit for a Westwood red label dress and jacket. I kept the tights though.
The party was splendid. It was a mix of culture, fashion, hedonism and egos all squeezed in to one. The Wallace collection was delightful to peruse and the interior of the building was magnificent. I was more impressed with the collection of armour and artwork on display than a brief 3 song performance by Jessie J. It actually took all 3 songs for Queen Michelle and I to remember her name. The bar yielded some great mixes and I did sip (only to taste) the Absolut Pear mixed with ginger bee, it was truly yummy. I will be trying at home.
A fringe affair
I did get impossible star struck upon seeing Dame Viv, even though I've bumped in to her on many an occasion even in WholeFoods in Clapham. She just looked wonderful and had a shawl to die for. She also put me to shame as her heels were higher than mine.
Equally splendid in a gorgeous scarlet red Bastyn dress was the lovely Mrs Trefusis and we had a quick chat about the party and its setting before I confessed to tiredness and skipping off. On our way out we had a cloakroom incident. Some person was stood on Queen Michelle's dress, the train bit, which was a gorgeous. I politely said 'excuse me' twice and as I went to say it a third time I got bored so firmly shoved the person off the dress. Queen Michelle was in hysterics as it was Cory Kennedy.
I dropped the royal party off at the 7th ring of hell in Bayswater as was my duty and then headed home. And that folks is the beginning and end of London Fashion Week for me as I head off to Bristol and Bath for the weekend. It was worth it.