Rise and shine, it’s 7 a.m.! The third day of fashion week calls for an inhumane time to rise on a Sunday. I leave my husband snoozing and wash my hair before chopping up a pear and a mango for an in-car breakfast.
I dress in a black ribbed asymmetric jersey top from Topshop, a frilled blue and white skirt from the upcoming J.W. Anderson x Uniqlo collab (I’m writing about how much I love it for MR — read later this week), white over-the-knee leather boots from Neous (so futuristic), bright blue architectural earrings from Annie Costello Brown (look heavy, but are so light) and a bright blue bag from Loewe.
I jump into my car, a G Wagon from Mercedes-Benz, which is pleasingly bright blue like my bag. Fun!
We head to the first show, Mary Katrantzou. I run backstage to snap some pics (I’m collaborating with Swarovski this season) and also to use the loo. I am never not going backstage begging to use the loo.
The show is joyous: candy-colored hooded dresses like parachutes, divine bauble earrings, platform sandals with crystals and pearls, her typical graphic dresses and low strappy 90s-style sandals which have my name alllll over them. It’s pure fantasy; not unwearable at all.
Next is Anya Hindmarch, where the show production is consistently the best and most innovative. In all honesty, it doesn’t matter if you do or don’t love the clothes (which mostly don’t go into production) or bags: it’s the scene, the vibe, the atmosphere. This year, they built a whole house, from which girls dressed in grandma-chic brocade coats, specs and thick bandanas slipped in and out.
At 11 I head home for my second breakfast: a piece of toast with peanut butter. My husband is still snoozing so I rouse him and make him watch The Circle with me on Netflix, the film version of Dave Eggers’ incredible book about a social network, starring Tom Hanks and Emma Watson. It is okay-ish.
A couple hours later I have a lunch of leftover chicken and rice and jump back in the G Wagon with my friend Martha Ward, a stylist and Contributing Editor at Harper’s Bazaar and Town & Country. I read the Sunday papers (all of them) including the Sunday Times Style’s fashion special (where I used to be the fashion features editor), for which I did a short cover interview with the heavenly Danish supermodel Frederikke Sofie.
Martha and I head into Versus, which is like something out of Zoolander. I see lots of young male vloggers in spandex Versus logo polo necks. The catwalk is a riot of neon and fishnet mesh. Who is the Versus woman? It’s something I ponder.
There is a huge fur protest going on outside Versus. There was one the night before, too. I fully believe in the right to protest, but one protestor spits in Susie Bubble’s face for which there is no right at all.
I get back in the car, this time with Lizzie Paton, writer for the New York Times. We talk about which brands are selling (and which brands aren’t) and the designer game of musical chairs. I begin to eat a chia vanilla protein bar, but it’s disgusting so I stop.
We arrive at Alice Temperley, a designer I am particularly fond of as she made my wedding dress last year. It’s bright and wearable fare: printed, backless jumpsuits worn with red lipstick and turbans. Alice designs for boobs, hips, bums. So many designers don’t.
We get back in the car but the traffic is bad and our route is not the most efficient, so we miss the Topshop show. I am very sad about this. From my phone, I see that it is a collision of the zeitgeist and I also enjoy the casting, which has been much more diverse this season (the industry seem to be s l o w l y getting there, albeit much slower than I’d like).
5:30 p.m. – 6:15 p.m.
I head in early to Hussein Chalayan, where I go backstage for a bit with Swarovski. Chalayan is about as far from your Instagram designers as possible: He’s renowned for his innovative design, bordering on avant-garde. The crystal-embellished headdresses may not be quite right for a dash to a CVC, but they’re breathtaking up close.
I head home for a quick change, which consists of a Blaze Milano pale blue silk jacket and Manolo mules over a nondescript black leotard and skirt.
It’s 8 p.m. now and I’m weary, but I head to the Peter Pilotto dinner, which is like a soirée with ramekins and oh, god, the townhouse is a dream. Christopher and Peter have taken it over for six weeks as a sort of pop-up store to celebrate Design Week and it’s the most exceptionally-decorated space full of pieces you can buy. I want everything and demand a price list stat, although there’s a 1% chance I will be able to acquire anything.
9:45 p.m – 10:30 p.m.
I chat to my friend Monica Ainley, a consultant and journalist based in Paris, who co-hosts the Fashion No Filter podcast with Camille Charrière. Then I slink home to bed at 9:45 p.m., to make myself some pasta (okay my husband made it 💘) and dream of furniture, as always — not fashion.