Not a Fashion Blogger: LFW Day 2 (Series 2/4)

You might know that I was at LFW with Plus Minus Magazine a few weeks ago, because it’s been pretty much my main talking point ever since. Yes, I am a one trick pony. If you’ve been following this series – or just read yesterday’s post – then you’ll have a bit of an insight into how clueless I was coming into this. I’m not a fashion blogger. I don’t dress like a fashion blogger. My “look” is a little maniacal 80s cartoon baddie meets Rainbow Brite, a little vintage Jem & the Holograms.

I’ve never been the type of person to let a little thing like having absolutely no idea what I’m doing stop me, which is maybe how I started blogging. I have a strange habit of jumping into situations head first, and it’s led to some of the best things in my life. Adopting a dog. Changing career. Opening an art gallery.  I’ve wanted to go to LFW for so long, so when the opportunity came along, it really didn’t matter that I wasn’t sure how to dress or what I would write. Sometimes you just need to wing it. 


Wake up, shower, go through all the physical tickets and e-tickets in a futile attempt at planning out the day’s schedule.
Give up.
Head to Topshop to get a blow-dry, because the other 51 weekends of the year I don’t even stye my hair. I am wearing a reasonably acceptable outfit of a short sleeved knit top with sequinned panels,  plain black skater skirt, Topshop distressed denim jacket with organza sleeves, and a pair of LOM “festival” leggings with rainbow pompoms down the sides. My shoes today – black patent-effect brogues – are a pair; left and right look eerily similar.
Meet Jen from Jennifer Durrans: Outside the Box at the Felicities media lounge in the ME hotel. At least I got the hotel right today; I am so flustered that when a waitress asks if I’d like a coffee, I say yes. I don’t drink coffee. It makes me hyperactive and annoying. I suck down that coffee in 3 seconds flat.
Walk/jog with Jen and Ben from Ben Pechey to Freemasons. See, I’m already shortening it, so I am clearly on the ball and more in the know than yesterday. Rookie? Nah, this is my second day! Such. A. Pro.
Start queuing. It’s still a novelty at this point, because although I *have* experienced the occasional queue before, this was a queue for a show! A fashion show! At Fashion Week! The excitement is palpable, my shoes are still comfortable, and that coffee is really going straight to my head now.
Mimi Tran “Fluorescence”. I’ve now realised that shows never start precisely on time, but am very chuffed we’re second row for this one and we actually have a decent view. 3 minutes in and I’ve already decided that I want to write this one up, so I surreptitiously take a few notes on my phone. These are largely incomprehensible, but I use the words “flower power” and “girl power soundtrack” so this looks promising. I probably look like I am checking my text messages.

Photos courtesy of PlusMinus Magazine

We rush to grab seats at CECI by Cecelia Chang, which is thankfully just upstairs. There is a copy of what I figure must be a press release on each chair, which tells us the theme is “Stateless Vagabonds”.
Grooming Room. Did you know the press have a dedicated room where they can get their hair and nails done, or a cheeky wee massage? Neither did I. This place is like a Green Room for journos, but as my experience of GRs has been musicians smoking cigarettes and eating bananas in a club’s back room, this is a definite step up. We hang out there for an hour so we can sort out which shows we want to go to in the afternoon; Jen gets her hair done and I get some fake eyelashes. Canapés whizz past, but my stomach continues to grumble because there is nothing veggie or vegan. Breakfast bars are no longer filling the void and I fear the rumblings might drown out the music at the next show on my list. Fuck. I need to eat something. Coffee is a crap breakfast.

Alex S Yu. A sportswear/sports luxe presentation back at Freemasons, which I manage to catch the last half hour of. I am really impressed with the use of colour and his play with volume, so I take a hundred photos. Someone strikes up a conversation with me because she remembered my mismatched shoes from yesterday.

Fashion DNA: Pakistan. I can’t see over the hat of the person sitting in front of me, so my photos are fairly useless for this one. I’m digging the music though; my head-bobbing is probably annoying the hell out of the person sitting behind me.
I drag Char from Memoirs & Musings to Pho with me because I swear if I don’t eat something soon, I will either go batshit or pass out. We wait around for ages and realise that I won’t have time to wolf down my food, so I ask for my order in a takeaway container. I am the only person shovelling cold rice noodles into my mouth waiting to get into a fashion show, and I am totally ok with this. When we get to the queue there are a few others from PlusMinus already waiting, so we sidled in with them. I tell the girl standing behind us I love her outfit, and I take my second every StreetStyle picture; she is dressed head to toe in pink, with pink PVC boots and hair the colour of Barbie’s dream house.

Malan Breton “Fantôme”. This is my favourite so far, and I take so many notes on my phone that at least half of them actually make sense; I adore the androgynous shapes, the precision tailoring, the textures, the colours, the interpretation of the kilt in modern menswear. Everything in this collection is right up my street. I am so in love with this show that I message the group chat as we are leaving the hall to let them know I want to claim this one for one of my write-ups.

Pret. This is the first of many visits to the Pret-a-manger near Freemasons, which is probably one of the things that kept us fed and caffeinated all weekend. I have begun to forget what hot food tastes like, but have developed a taste for coffee.
It’s getting cold outside, so I go on a hunt for a jumper with Shona from The Prim Girl and Jen. We accidentally come across a shop I’d spotted earlier that day, called Boom Done. Not only do I find loads of stuff to covet, but it’s also a brand new ethical fashion company. I buy 3 jumpers. I also make a mental note to write a blog post about these guys because I love the concept so much.
We realise that the next show we have tickets for isn’t until 7:30, so decide to have a drink. Every bar within staggering distance of Freemasons is absolutely mobbed though, so we find somewhere that looks like a time capsule from the 80s. We have time for one drink. We quickly give up on drinking. Are we the only people at LFW who aren’t partying? Am I old now? Am I having an existential crisis?
Aaaand we’re in the queue again. The fun of queueing has well and truly worn off.
Han Wen. He plays with silhouettes in a way that reminds me of both medieval garb and samurai, with a touch of fetish-gear thrown in for good measure. I am so tired and delirious at this point that I do an impromptu voiceover for Shona’s video of the show. I am likely talking utter nonsense.
We decide to go for a drink somewhere with the criteria being “anywhere warm and not filled with assholes”. This turns out to be a random pisco bar, and we finally learn what “pisco” is. It’s not too bad. I walk Shona to the tube and grab myself a vegan lasagne at Mister Lasagne on my way home; it is the first warm thing I’ve eaten since I left Edinburgh. Yikes. By the time I’ve climbed the stairs to the flat, I’ve uploaded all my photos to Instagram and checked my messages, but I am too tired to actual respond to any of them.
Sleep, blissful sleep.

Join me again tomorrow for Part 3 of the my LFW Diaries, with more shows, more coffee, and even less sleep. If you want to read about the shows I loved this season, check out the pieces I’ve written for PlusMinus.


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