In a sea of black, black being the colour of fashion and designers, we all sort of look the same. Well, not exactly the same. My daughter’s looking mighty fine, but we’ll come to her a little later. The waiters, the bloggers, the designers, the inbetweeners are head-to-toe in black; it’s sublime.
We’re talking 2014’s Spring/Summer, as the rain bounces off the floor, and in my mind Christmas is a dirty word, but in the language of fashion we’re defying all boundaries and bypassing seasons. As a heads up, it’s going to be bright and bold or is it pastel? Colours, textures, fabrics, cloth, silks, and everything in between next season. It’s Spring, it’s fresh, it’s clean lines and very, very, very exciting.
Excited, I type away, standing upright. It’s a party and I am tweeting furiously, capturing the moment, looking up only to snap and stalk here and there. I am your worst dinner guest, rude, consumed and working on the fine art of balancing an iPhone, a spare iPhone, because for the love of God, if one goes dead, I’m dead, and the iPad. I’m doing exactly what I berate my children for. Like a wasp, I’m also poking it randomly in people’s faces; the silent assassin. People do look at you though, this is true. A quick once over to see if you merit importance and are you worthy of conversation? Who the hell are you? Ahh, the hired help?
Height and stature are problematic as I perched on my tippy-toes looking up at the beautiful. My Taggart voice, ‘there’s been a murder”, assists, when told to move. Engaging in brief conversation, why bother? When the model pauses to say I could be her mother, but I’m not laughing. LFW, more accurately WTF. The fashion industry is tough. And what’s worse, is that I will be seeing my beloved child on the back of buses, billboards, shops, magazines, need I go on. I am a mother of two, not twenty-two, hence I swiftly left London Fashion Week (LFW) as one of fashion’s cast-offs.
Click below to buy this season’s multi-coloured, striped, patterned and sequined pieces, all the designers are wearing it; honest.
As I boarded the train today with a neighbour and colleague, another 9-5 in front of me. Black shoes, black dress, brown bag, I know next month? All adding up to a mortgage and after school care and lots of todos. Talking about some work things, some moaning things, texting, liking; it’s not rude, it’s work, and I drifted in and out of the conversation, mind elsewhere, really anywhere. Stepping off, my companions started to sprint. It’s the morning and I’m still coming to. Had I not been listening when we decided to race? Love races, any kind really, or lets just have a chase, in Central with my equally trapped companions. It’s not just me. There really wasn’t time for thoughts. We are racing down the platform. It’s 8:30 and its a full blown mummy and daddy sports day race. Those two sneaks, but I can still take them. Swinging my bag as a weapon, I began taking bodies, leaping, cutting inside a few suits in a sea of badly cut cloth, swiping a few and running pretty close to the inside on platform 7. The barriers are always a stumbling block but I chose well and I was first, turning in triumph to parade my victory. The neighbours were nowhere to be seen, surely they couldn’t have beaten me. I was practically pushing people on the track, they couldn’t have. Nowhere to be seen, as they were queued in a long line of passengers without a ticket for the new non-workable barriers. So, there wasn’t a race. And we’re going exactly where we were going before, to work, for 8 hours. To pay for the football lessons, the swimming lessons, the shoes, the parties, the presents for the parties, racing to answer the cc’d email that’s blatantly telling on me, and in eight hours I will be racing to make the train to take the wee fella to the football classes I’ve worked to pay for, but there will be no platform races today or any other as I joined the rat race…
The French affair has awakened my love of France, their styles and fashions, and their ability to make even indiscretions appear alluring. Paying my own bit of homage to the French, here’s some elegant beauty products to make you feel très chic.