Fashion Week Tea From London Fashion Week SS20

It's day one of London Fashion Week SS20 (Spring/Summer 2020) and, on a foot with a potentially broken baby toe (I fell down a stairs the night before in my friend's apartment as it was incredibly dark and the stairwell is next to a very narrow landing), I rush in for my first show of the season. I somehow make it with fifteen minutes to spare – an eternity in the fashion world where things nearly always run late – and join the dishearteningly long queue but I don't think about it too deeply, as surely they know best about how many people to invite? Wrong. They, in fact, do no know best, as we quickly realise when the one, very small and sweet and polite young woman being sent to man the ever-growing queue tells the majority of us that the show is at capacity and none of the rest of us will be getting in. Unwilling to observe people with egos berate this lovely woman who is only doing her job, I immediately duck out of the queue and into a nearby cafe for a nice breakfast. What's the point in being annoyed? It's not going to change anything and it's just fashion, it's not that serious. Lining my stomach with delicious food will make things infinitely better.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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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A Farewell from one Colette to another: 24 Hours In Paris

"Fuck it. Why not?"

It's been a year of that for me. Saying yes. Living in the moment. Spending my time outside, with friends and family and great people, all the time, instead of at home being a reclusive nerd. It was exhausting at times, I'll admit, but it was endlessly rewarding. I'll likely calm down in the New Year (about damn time) and not plan out every second of my life but I don't regret living that way for a year. I've strengthened bonds and done fun things and been new places and, sometimes, I've been spontaneous in the way that I've always wanted to be. Which is how I ended up booking a 24 hour trip to Paris, simply to say goodbye to a clothing store.

Colette closes its doors for good tomorrow and when I found that out, I was impossibly sad. It was the end of the era. The end of one of the coolest boutiques the world has ever known. I was never going to take another goofy photo underneath the sign, pointing up and grinning over our shared names. I would never again marvel over cool things I couldn't afford in the store or pick out a magazine from the incredibly hip curation of publications or wonder if getting one of the lucky bags was worth it. I wouldn't get to say goodbye.

I briefly entertained flying in for a visit to say my farewells but a browse of the websites of the airlines connecting Paris and Dublin made it apparent that it would be far too expensive. I moved on with my day, gradually coming to think that the whole idea was silly in the first place. Flying into another country for a day to say goodbye to a shop? What kind of madness was that? I forgot about the whole thing.

Then, some weeks later, Ryanair announced a sale on their site and I looked again, out of curiosity. 56 quid return journey. Doable. The price of taking a train to Galway for a night...I contacted a friend to see if he could put me up for the night and, suddenly, an hour later, my mad trip to Paris to say goodbye to a clothing store with the same name as me was happening.

When I told people, they frowned in confusion or laughed and waved a hand at me like, 'Oh, Colette, you're so silly'. My best and most supportive friend cheered me on for going for it. I didn't really care either way. It was something I wanted to do and I hated the idea of the store being gone forever and my regret at never having seen it again, at not being able to change that if I didn't go for it, at not being brave enough to say, "Fuck it. Why not?" one last time this year.

Cue Thursday last week and landing at Beauvais just before 11. I cursed Beauvais many times over the trip (as I always do, that goddamn shed) and flying there did cause several ordeals, even if it was the only viable option. An hour's bus to Paris, the confusion of trying to remember where the Metro station was at Porte Maillot, being mistaken for a local by several people who tried to ask me for directions in French, shaking my head wildly as I tried to remember what French hasn't melted out my ears over the years, finding the Metro, planning a route, discovering my stop was closed, getting off a the next stop in a panic, being unsure of how to proceed, stumbling across some Brits who turned out to be going the same way and finally ending up at my friend's house.

After all of that panicking, said friend welcomed me with Champagne (he'd gone to an acquaintance's vineyard and stocked up over the summer - as one does), fresh pastries and hours of conversation, despite the fact that we hadn't actually seen each other in years and the fact that he had work in the morning. While the whole trip was a little mad and fun and I got to hang around in Paris instead of going to work on a Friday, it was the people that made it for me.

When we finally went to sleep, I told him to wake me when he was leaving for work so I could say goodbye and thank again but the sweet baby angel that he is, he left me to sleep on until friend number two arrived. Said friend number two then acted as my guide for the day, having lived in the city for several years now. We rounded the corner and breakfasted outside with pastries and coffee (well, tea for me) as French schoolchildren shouted what English they could think of at us. So began one of the few times I've had 8 or more hours of unadulterated catch-up time with a pal as an adult and it was beautiful. It always is. You get to topics normally never broached and ideas you've barely ever even voiced to yourself before. We talked and walked all day so that, by the end of it, we were both hoarse and almost hobbling but it was worth it.

After exploring for an hour, we headed to Colette. It was abuzz with people though it has only just opened for the day but I expected as much. This was always the case, even when it wasn't days from closing permanently. We dashed around and I picked up a limited edition tee and a Glossier Cloud Paint (in Haze) and a small present for my blog wife. We marvelled at the Saint Laurent roller-skate heels and the courtyard full of Christmas trees and the cool books and wildly expensive things that we couldn't even identify. I got my last picture in front, though the name had been removed from over the door so I had to pose with the word "Colette" painted low on the window, between my legs. That, in of itself, was gas though and we laughed as people looked on, confused. I have few photos of myself where I'm genuinely laughing that I don't hate and while this one is definitely goofy, I quite like it.

After visiting the store, we went to the Medieval quarter of the city, Le Marais, strolling past the Pompidou, and had falafel in the place across the road from the "best in the world", as it didn't have a line, is apparently just as good (my friend had tried both) and the people inside weren't being as damn pushy. Then we wandered some more shops and the area more before heading to the Louvre. I really wanted to go to the Dior exhibition there but there was a two hour line and we were running short on time so, instead, we just went to the gallery proper. I had never been before and was pretty excited but we were exhausted by this point and each kept whining about our feet being tired. Despite this, it was fun to wander around, discuss art (and my favourite debate topic of the moment: Can memes be art?), and see the Venus de Milo, Da Vinci's "Virgin of the Rocks" (my favourite) and Raphael's "Baldassare Castiglione" IRL.

Then, sadly, time had well and truly run away from us and it was time to say goodbye so I got some food, headed back to Beauvais (ugh), stocked up on some Champagne in duty-free (yay) and embarrassed myself by trying to use my very poor Korean to tell the girl queueing in front of me that her bag was super cute (double ugh) and began the long-ass trip home.

Over in the blink of an eye but well worth it! I said my goodbye to a beautiful store that I loved, sure, and that was the reason for the trip but I got a lot more from it. Fondest memories were made and I was the kind of spontaneous that I normally only see in the (far too many) movies I have watched growing up. Life can actually be quite grand and magical in its own little ways sometimes, as long as you embrace it and just say, "Fuck it. Why not?"

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Primark SS17

Primark gets cooler and cooler each season and I'm pretty damn excited for SS17 to land in stores. In fact, I think a lot of the pieces could do with dropping right now. The silhouettes and concepts being presented are exactly what the cool-girls of Instagram are sporting right now - lots of streetwear, sporty, edgy pieces in an array of vibrant colours that people are normally too afraid to even dream of wearing.

This particular strand through the collection is very strong. Think Vetements-inspired oversized tees with text down the arms, the gothic fonts adopted by Kanye and many others, wide-legged pants with sportswear-inspired stripes down the leg, exaggerated silhouettes, neon oranges and a vast selection of slides (including some furry versions that evoke a certain Puma collection long since sold out) and baseball caps to choose from.

However, streetwear and edgier clothes are not all that there is to SS17. You'll also find a very pretty section of dresses, shirts and tees in pale blue, white and cream cotton that epitomise breezy summer dressing and look great layered or as is. This is complemented by gingham looks in the same fabrics that are tailored beautifully and offer a very feminine and sweet look.

In addition there is a strong strand of the collection that serves a seriously pretty rock and roll look: leather jackets that are both embroidered with roses and studded, broad-striped monochrome blazers and brilliantly tailored killer jumpsuits.

Finally, there is also a strong 80s vibe that runs through a lot of the collection: over-sized, light-wash denim, pink suits, metallic bombers and densely patterned floral tops and dresses.

It is in the accessories, though, that Primark really killed the game this time around. There will be plenty of awesome sunglasses, hats, shoes and bags to choose from next season, which make for a cheap, cheerful and easy way to incorporate new trends and ideas into your wardrobe without an overhaul of the whole thing.

Be excited. Be very excited.

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