The Fashion Week Diaries
Everyone’s bucket list is tailored to their individual universal desires. Ever since a young age, the opportunity to go to a fashion week show has always been on this invisible bucket list in my mind, spurned by an interest in the Teen Vogue handbook, fashion colouring books and Susan Sontag’s Notes on Camp. Would this dream simply remain just a dream? Had the fashion industry once been exposed to a vision of a younger me in my Joni Jeans and green bomber jacket, and deemed me too ‘basic’ to ever grace the FROW? Fashion Week takes place twice a year so in my mind I have always had double the chance of getting my hands on getting invited to any of the shows (girl math). When my incredibly talented friend Bethany Trott kindly invited me to the Jimmy Choo young creatives show back in September I was finally able to fulfil my fashionable fantasy of attending fashion week. This is a diary extract of the run up to the event, the event itself and the aftermath.
Three days Before
I wake in the middle of the night. I had a dream that I was about to enter the Loewe show and Amelia Dimoldenberg elbowed me out of the queue exclaiming that there is only room for one journalist around here. I am immediately faced with a screaming chorus of Fendi baguette-brandishing fashion felines telling me to get out of the queue and I wake up in a sweat. disclaimer: I have never met Amelia Dimoldenberg and have never read of anyone having a similar bad experience with the creator. Creative purposes only.
The Next Morning
I wake up sleep deprived because of Amelia Dimoldenberg and curse the exclusivity of the fashion industry. As I am depressingly swiping through Emma Chamberlain’s fashion week look book my mum starts ringing me, a call which would go on to change the course of my life (and my Instagram stories) forever.
Ten minutes after the call has ended
I now have newfound respect for pregnant women that don’t like to tempt fate. How do you withhold a secret so life changing until the time is finally right to break the news to your nearest and dearest? After my mum calls telling me that my friend Beth who is apart of the Jimmy Choo Academy for young designers may have managed to get me an invite to her show and name dropped Harry Styles and Ricky Gervais as attendees on the call, I feel protective announcing this major news just in case it is too good to be true.
The evening two days before the show
My housemate, a long-lasting One Direction fan now hates me. After mentioning fashion week and hinting that we might even sit by next each other after it has been confirmed (I am clearly someone who has no idea how the frow works) she is disgustingly envious and I am disgustingly elated.
On the way to work I flirt with fantasies of me introducing Harry Styles to my friends after spinning an unattainable story in my mind that involves me and Harry meeting backstage over glasses of wine with strawberries that cling to the side of the glass. He compliments my dress and I respond that it’s made by a young and upcoming designer (it’s H&M). I’m referenced as ‘fashion week fling’ in the tabloids and the entire fandom is questioning ‘who is the mysterious girl in the woollen dress that stole Harry’s heart at Fashion Week?’, At work I spiral as I realise: I don’t have anything to wear.
The evening before
With no Jared Ellner, stylist to the stars at hand, I nervously open my wardrobe and dissect each dress with a fine toothcomb. Like Mr Bennet meticulously choosing the right suitor for Elizabeth, I survey each one with vicious intent-which garment will be the perfect suitor to take me to the ball? It seems my mum is even more concerned about this prospect than me, as halfway through she rings me up in a panic begging ‘whatever you do pleeaaase don’t wear those damn suede jeans’ (a wardrobe fave of mine that I have rinsed dry in recent months).
My housemate is now speaking to me which means that I can present her with a humongous pile of material from linen to polyester feeling guilt-free. These are my fashion week options, and as I frantically twirl around her room in a jumpsuit I wore to my 21st (orange, Zara) and a satin white slip with a feathered top half (thrifted) that mimicks a slutty Claire Danes as Juliet, imposter syndrome creeps in and I curse all the people that are dressed by the major fashion houses leading up to the event. In my angst, I discover a woolly yet chic number that I have only ever worn once. It has a sustainable edge and I deem it as ‘Harry Styles Worthy’. After pairing it with an anti-socially high pair of heels, I fall asleep dreaming of all the fashion week events to come that won't be defined by so much Zara and stress.
The Morning of The Show
Walking to work I rehearse how I will tell my colleagues that I am going to fashion week in my head, I quell with a casual ‘imsosorryihavetoleaveearlygotafshionweekevent’ as I dash out of the office in a hurry, or debate coming out of the toilets wearing my dress just to bat their curiousity away with a nonchalant ‘oh it’s just this fashion week event my friend has invited me to’.
Having never opted for the most subtle approach in life (my private story consists of a poll asking my close friends who they think will be nicer- Gervais or Styles), I dramatically drape my dress on my desk as I get out my laptop. This still doesn’t prompt any questions until I have to declare that my friend is an extremely succesful young designer who has provided me with the opportunity to go to her fashion week show later that evening. They aren’t perturbed and I look up photos of Jimmy Choo in the meantime as I actually don’t know what the guy looks like and I gather that to identify him as my frow partner I need to know what he looks like first, naturally.
Two hours before the event.
I am going to be late. Having planned to shower at work, I end up leaving the office 20 minutes behind my schedule without wearing deodorant. I pray that Harry Styles is experiencing a cold as my dress partly falls down in front of my boss when clattering out of the office, Haphazardly applying my lipstick in the lift, I bag a few outfit pictures to keep my Instagram followers entertained in the process.
The Dress of Choice
No one attending fashion week should be required to go on the tube to get there. My trip is defined by crippling looks from judgemental commuters, and the fear that I won’t have worn the right thing as I stupidly never checked to see if there was a strict dress code. I hope that Beth’s direction of ‘dressy’ cuts it. It feels as if everyone on the tube is staring at my feet as I curse myself for not shaving my big toe the night before.
An hour before the event
After nearly joining a fashionably dressed Christianity meeting (the show is taking place at a church so I put two and two together), I eventually get to the venue. A snaking queue of blazer-balenciaga wearing bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fashion industry folk greets me and I immediately feel out of my depth. I curse wearing the hottest material possible as I queue patiently in front of two girls discussing a mysterious James who apparently dropped out of the show last minute, which was supposedly such a shame as his collection had so much potential. From their conversation I gather that they are two young designers who had experienced their fair share of shows. I am left in awe by two men wearing matching Boy-George-on-steroids hats. The girls behind me are now oggling over a woman being snapped by a photographer at the entrance who is rumoured to be in Bridgerton (I smugly think that I am the only one in on the Styles Secret). For a second my ego gets to me and I fear too being snapped by the photographer and weigh up pose options . As more incredibly beautiful and well-dressed people join the queue, the sun sets and the church is bathed in colour, now set against a candyfloss backdrop of sunset. I pinch myself and head into the venue (and sigh with relief that I was actually on the guest list).
Heading into the show
Inside the venue
I am overwhelmed inside as I am engulfed by designer and thick accents that whiff off fashion industry. My fear that I was overdressed dissipated a long time ago, and I feel confident as I notice the odd sideways glance at my dress when grabbing a drink at the bar (out of shock or awe, we shall never know). As I feign fake confusion for my seat just as an excuse to bask in the hubbub of cameras in front of the catwalk, I swear I spot Kylie Jenner’s ex Tyga.
In the decks of the church, I fight for a good view and for my life as my heels start to catch up with me. I have a balcony views which means I can survey the frow in full without looking too psychotic. A man no taller than 5ft 2 arrives and the whole room loses it, everyone is throwing themselves his way and the cameras can’t get enough of him. It takes me a short while to realise that the man in question is Mr Jimmy Choo himself and for a shoe designer, I am surprisingly disappointed by his choice of footwear, Before the show starts I do something that could potentially result in a swift removal from the premises if caught: take my heels off at a Jimmy Choo show.
The show
As the models come out, I pinch myself. Each designer has handpicked everything from the music, to the designs and even the models. Where one designer has dedicated their entire collection to ball gowns, a next look only features tuxedos. Some of the models come out vogueing and interacting with the audience, even getting a titter from Jimmy. At one point I think the show has been taken over by a Just Stop Oil protest but I realise that their voice is just booming over the speakers, adding to the dramatics of their collection. There’s feathers, sequins, and chiffon dresses that have been hand painted. I recognise a few of the models in the queue prior having a cigarette outside. Far from the relaxed demeanour they had puffing on Marlboro Golds earlier, they had now transformed into sashaying robots, carrying each of the designs with a grace and poise that also removed them from the clothes, simultaneously ensuring that each piece has it’s time to shine in it’s own unique way.
The Arrival Of Jimmy Choo
Beth’s collection is up next. Inspired by the automotive industry, her brand Landy Originals revolves around long lasting, durable menswear that is rich in heritage. It’s innovative, and having kept up to date with the creation process through Instagram stories showing the bones of design across time, whether it be building up samples or sewing machine compilations of label variations, I know that Beth has put her life and soul into it. Hoodies have been imprinted by tyres, and each of the six looks capture Beth’s nostalgia growing up and spending time fixing cars with her dad. The collection is suitably called ‘ Little Life of Mine’- a life that has now been evoked on a catwalk in front of Jimmy Choo. As Beth’s last model struts their stuff, balloon pants taking centre stage with Landy imprinted on the front, I notice Jimmy looking intently at the model. I feel sorry for the people sat next to me as I frantically clap and cheer for my promising designer friend who has just had their first official show at Fashion Week.
The Walk Home
When congratulating Beth at the end of the show, she proves to me that fashion week fatigue is a real thing. After telling her she smashed it and that I knew Jimmy LOVED her collection, I could not help but feel a sense of sadness wash over me as chairs were packed away and I found myself standing in a church again, and not a catwalk-brandishing building of style. As I walk out, I whip off my heels just as Tyga passes by me. Walking to the bus, I feel a sense of pride in knowing that Tyga may have taken a glimpse of my feet, a weird flex, but also having just been to an actual fashion show,
My night had been so exiting I hadn’t even realised until on the bus home that neither Harry Styles nor Ricky Gervais had made an appearance, but this I no longer cared for. Everything from the guests to the designers had been everything and more, I no longer feared nightmares of being locked out of Loewe shows and experiencing black eyes from being on the receiving end of a Fendi baguette.
Bethany Trott is a young designer who recently graduated from the Jimmy Choo academy of fashion and design. She has always had a deep passion for anything creative- from knitting to pattern design. Her Landy Original collection is a testament to her upbringing- combining family with fashion. Check out Beth’s Instagram where you can follow her on her fashion journey and check out the Landy Originals Fashion Week debut _landy.originals