Fashion What?

I let this year’s entire LFW frenzy whiz right past me, keeping my fashion week monster, as desribed by Garance, locked up behind bars. I had no time to organise any show tickets since my decision to fully throw myself into my styling work, so my trip to London was more about meeting some designers in person that I had been exchanging emails with.

Somerset House turns into a potpourri of streetstyle-needy bloggers that spend most of their time pretending to look very busy on their iPhones. Finding someone that is actually there for a proper reason becomes a game of where is Waldo. I teetered around on a pair of painfully high heels that I fell out of twice myself last season at Somerset House until I realised what stupidity I had let myself get swept along with.

The idea of fashion week may be to celebrate fashion itself but where does the celebration of fashion start and the glorification of oneself end? When the sidewalk literally becomes a catwalk for narcicissm in its most annoying form, my eyes are in danger of over-rolling. And although I truly celebrate perfectly executed streetstyle and hold fashion blogging in high regard when there is substance, my barf reflexes in regards to over-enthusiastic loitering took over this season and forced me to avoid the countless blahhh and quickly dash into Fernandez & Wells past the bullshit. There I ordered myself and Jana a glass of prosecco at one in the afternoon and got to catch up with some friends that I don’t get to see often enough.

My trip to Paris on Tuesday is for the same reason as London and I hope I’ll be able to control my barf reflexes slightly better this time. Until then, here are some impressions of beautiful London.