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| Models at the Nensi Dojaka SS20 presentation. |
Next, I hit up a presentation in which models in very cool and daring lingerie-inspired dresses wander the room, selfie-sticks in hand, looking listless and generally reflecting a message of caution towards contemporary behaviours and attitudes in a digital era. One of the models carries bundles of printouts of photos of another model that are spewing from a printer in the corner. I register this peripherally as I am at work trying to get “the shots”, on a time crunch. I do not register the model approach me, something that I have never experienced at a presentation before (A/N: presentations are an alternative to fashion shows in which models are dressed in the collection and allowed to roam a space for several hours, either simply posing or acting in some way to adhere to the theme of a collection). She comes at me with a print-out and I gasp-scream before chuckling in embarrassment (no one makes eye contact or laughs with me, despite the fact that I am surrounded by other attendees of the presentation) and meekly accepting the page. The model, God bless her, is a complete professional and doesn't even blink in surprise, continuing on her merry way. Thankfully, I have an out as I need to get to another show, so I scamper away.
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| Gayeon Lee SS20. |
At said other show, I have trouble finding my seat, which is odd, as there are finite, labelled options of seats and I can read. I go back and forth along the row of seats before asking for help. The sincere and lovely young attendant that I ask, however, quickly proves to not be very good at her job. She is as lost as I. On an amusing note, when she gets her hands on an i-Pad to look up the seating arrangement, I notice that I am listed in the database with a picture of the television broadcaster by the same name.I fail to get a photo of this but it makes me laugh and I wish I had. (They must have just googled my name and not looked into it to make sure they had the right Colette Fitzpatrick?) Eventually, it becomes apparent that someone has stolen my seat. Another attendant, who is much more on top of things, tells me to do the same so I squeeze in between two people and ensure I get my hands on a giftbag – look, I was given a front row ticket and there was a damned cute hat in the bag, I was simply getting what I was promised.
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| Sharon Wauchob SS20. |
Upon leaving the show, I make my way to Foyle's, the famous London bookstore, for my next show. I try, and fail, to resist the temptation of being in a bookshop and buy three books to add to the stack of books in my room that I have yet to read. When I get to the show itself I am immediately surprised by the increase in the number of people with zero fashion week etiquette, including professionals. It's always been an issue that bloggers, students, and randos invited along don't get the etiquette. They don't seem to grasp that everyone is there trying to get their shot, that a lot of the people are there to work, and that they need to get that shot in order to get paid. I see lots of people hogging prime spots to have a chat, which is simply rude. The etiquette, as I've observed it, is to wait your turn, get your shot as quickly as possible and then to step aside for the next person to do the same. The number of people ignoring, or ignorant to, this, seems to have increased exponentially since last season. I also observe similarly rude behaviour among the photographers this season, which is surprising. They're normally the very people that you can count on to get it! I don't know if it's because the market is so saturated and getting “the shot” makes it easier for you to sell your images over another photographer or if there are just more photographers that are very green getting involved but it was sad (and very frustrating) to witness. Irritated as I am, I leave once I've seen everything once, even though the usual bonus of a presentation is being able to carefully take in pieces and all their details. Rudeness is my Kryptonite so I have to split before I get so huffy (because, of course, I won't actually say anything), I knock myself out from a lack of oxygen.
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| Lark & Berry rings. |
On the second day of London Fashion Week, my true love gave to me...sorry, no, wrong song, different tune. But I do get a free ear piercing at Lark & Berry, which is pretty good. Some fashion week glamour rearing it's expertly groomed and styled head. The brand is really interesting, using cultured diamonds and gems (i.e. Lab-grown, did you know that was a thing? I didn't) and maintaining incredible transparency about their practices. Their gold is ethically sourced, too, and they plant five trees for every piece sold. They also treat me kindly, even though I'm aware (as fashion week consistently reminds me), that I'm a nobody in the industry (that's fine, I'm a somebody in my free time so I can't cope with a little bit of ego-testing). At the very next thing I go to, however, I'm booted from my seat in the frow when a more important person arrives late. I'm not the only one it happens to and I don't take it personally but it stings a little. The collection is v good though, I just wish I asked the name of the girl I was chatting to before being escorted to my new (much less good) seat as it's rare enough to talk to someone nice at fashion week, someone who isn't trying to figure out if you're important enough to waste their time on.
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| Riona Treacy SS20. |
The middle section of day two flattens and, aside from the Riona Treacy presentation, nothing is especially memorable. Fashion week is one long clamour of thousands of voices to be seen and heard and, unfortunately, not everyone can be. It's an exhausting energy to be around and makes me feel sad for people who place too much of their self-worth in it all. I also manage to go to the wrong show when I'm pointed the wrong way but manage to figure it out at the last minute and grab my seat. This time I'm not kicked out of the front row and the THISNORTHAT collection is a wonderfully cool palate-cleanser after a rather forgettable afternoon.
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| Simone Rocha SS20 |
Summer returns in full force for day three and I am forced to abandon the outfit of lace and velvet that I had packed specially for the Simone Rocha show. I battle through the hot underground and am glad I chose to change; when you're a regular pleb, there is too much use of public transport to allow for the perfectly turned-out looks of street style fame. The first show of the day is another that I don't find especially noteworthy, something that increasingly weighs on my mind as it feels more and more important not to put our planet under the burden of making things that aren't necessary or extraordinary. There is no longer room for that which is just "okay". The mad schlep out to Alexandra Palace for the Simone Rocha show exemplifies this. These are clothes that needed to be born. These clothes make the world sparkly and magic. These clothes are works of art that were well-worth the panicked combo of tube-train-bus and hour-and-a-half-commute-that-many-of-us-thought-left-us-with-plenty-of-time. We were wrong. More fashion week sweating ensued. But, as I say, it is worth it. I quiver with excitement throughout the whole show. Afterwards, Galway Now's very own Blathnait, who I haven't met again since a brief encounter years ago and not since beginning working with the magazine, and I finally reunite. We bump in Sinead Burke and, somehow, we end up talking about Peig Sayers on acid. The meeting and the show leave me buzzing so much that the next, once again, somewhat underwhelming show doesn't stop me from having trouble falling asleep for all of the ideas racing around in my well-stimulated brain.
Finally, I finish with the Paul Costelloe show, as is often the case for me, sadly missing Katie Ann McGuigan and Colin Horgan's shows as I don't plan to stay for the Tuesday. It's a fashion week rule: if you stay the extra day, nothing is on. If you leave, you miss something exciting. Thankfully, though, Paul is a great note to end things on. The collection is joyous and, of course, at the show teeming with fellow Irish folks, there is no shortage of kindness. I actually manage to miss my show at half eleven but there is another at twelve and the attendants all wave it off as nothing, assuring me they'll squeeze me in. They do just that and though the party vibes and social atmosphere border on rude at times (lack of that etiquette again; three ladies chatting on the runway had to be told to sit down after the lights dimmed and music cut out and everyone else cleared the way), I can't help be glad of the guaranteed kindness of this show to ensure fashion week always ends on a very positive note for me. In this case, there is no more tea to be spilled, and, sure, isn't that as well? Tea is to be savoured, with good people, not wasted.
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