Fun times last night at the preview of Isabel Marant’s collaboration with H&M.
Having been offered a ticket, I thought I’d pop down and see what was on offer ahead of the crowds.
Right, well, now that I’ve picked myself up off the floor laughing at my own naivety, I can tell you that I was in no way ahead of nothing no siree.
I strolled into the Regent Street store, blithely unaware of the chaos inside to find…
Lots and lots of beautiful and focussed women (and just a few beautiful and focussed men) but no stock on the shelves.
It had all been swiped up in seconds.
The crowds were out in force and they were not messing about.
I do love the way that British people are so polite though, even when they’re nearly in tears at the thought that they might not get a slubby linen T at a bargain price. They’ll still offer you the things they’ve already tried, or laugh with you at the absurdity of the situation in hand.
My friend commented that I wasn’t prepared enough for the fight, I take the attitude that if it’s meant to be it will be.
What about you? What’s your strategy in these kinds of events?
Do you go? Would you queue? Are you crazy for it or is it just bonkers?
I’ll just be in the corner with a glass of champagne if you need me.
Couple of days ago I went to buy buttons. As you do.
I walk up the counter, a beautiful cool girl is standing behind it.
“Wow” she says “I love your jumpsuit, where’s it from?”
I am, for the record wearing a denim, well, it’s a boiler suit honestly. I look slightly as if I should be rolling up my sleeves, kissing my own guns and shouting “We Can Do It!”
On a poster.
“It’s vintage” I reply “but I’m not thrilled with the buttons. I think these will be better”
(That’s why I’m buying buttons, y’see. Oh look it’s not just thrown together this you know.)
The girl appraises my existing buttons and the new choice.
“Mm hmm. Agreed.”
I love London. I love that you can have that little conversation and that it’s totally understood what you’re going for. That you can wear vintage and no one accuses you of being a car mechanic. That people are open to discussing their outfit choices and being involved with each others decisions without judgement.
I know it’s not just a London thing. It’s partly a fashion girl thing and it’s partly this, the whole democratic, we’re all stylists now, World Wide Web.
But it is a bit London you know. I know everyone wants to be a French girl, bah oui, so cooool, de rien, all that.
It is beautiful, it’s alluring and interesting and yes, I do like that too.
But I’ll take being a London girl, born and bred.
Buttons and all.
Mmmm so many things for next season here, the watch? Yes please, the brogues? Yup.
Ombre hair? Well I gotta work these roots somehow.
The flowing yet tomboyish silhouette? Love.
The purposeful stride?
Oh roll on Back To School, I’m ready for you.