Monday, 27 February 2012


London Fashion Week is for the lucky few but London Fashion Weekend is LFweek's little sister and, as you may be aware, is open to the public. Unfortunately I paid £15 for a ticket to a show at The Harrington Club, London, last Friday. I had no idea what the event was and even the location was unbeknown to me. I followed my friends who knew the promoter, dressed up and eagerly anticipating the evening.

What a night.

While the overly gay (that's coming from the girl whose picture is next to 'fag hag' in the dictionary) and harassing ("Um, everyone, you should know that I like to the be the center of attention so what are you doing talking while I'm on the mic?") host needed to shh please, the free drinks we were offered took a long while to arrive, and everyone sat round the tables in anti-social groups.

And then the clothes. Oh wow I never thought I would come across a 'fashion designer' who had not a single concept of fashion. I don't want to name names, but we watched only a few collections before choosing to pick up our coats and bags (£2 wasted at the cloakroom) and heading off to Jalouse. I won't discuss the evening from that point on- mainly because I don't remember it and I probably don't want to remember it; note. I have never, ever, ever been that bad!
The only few designs I enjoyed were sported by men. Maybe that was for the wrong reasons... (cheeky!) but I did actually find the hooded collection a little appealing. One example;
A few of the looks may have reminded me of the dementors from Harry Potter (perhaps another reason for their allure). Moreover, I'm pretty certain I have seen very similar ideas before but nevermind. We shall move on.

One more thing before I head off to bed. Sorry for this abusive post but I must show you a photo from this morning. On my way to college I saw a lady who had clearly put effort into her appearance. 'Ooh' I hear you say, and yet I died a little inside when I spotted her (you might enjoy the pun of 'spotted' in a moment). Her leggings may have been black but her shoes matched her bag, which matched her shirt, which matched her jacket, which matched her accessories. They were all leopard print. I mean seriously, but helloooo?
It looked worse from the front, but I felt awkward enough secretly taking a photograph of her. No way was I risking her noticing me.

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