The most wonderful week of the year....?

Whether you are a dedicated fashion follower, a fashion hater or a fashionista in the making it won’t have skipped your attention that this week is London Fashion Week. This is the one week in the year when the entire world and its aunt looks to our small island in the hope of style inspiration, fashion forward  thinking and a strong dictation of what to wear in the coming seasons. Stylists, editors, models, journalists and insiders in the know flock from near and far to see what we have to show for a year’s work, state of the art fashion schools and designers that consistently make the tabloids. In to our capital city we squeeze in run ways, makeup artists, models, entourages and egos along with top designers, wannabe’s and, if your part of the McQueen House, sets. As the Claridges Hotel guest list reads like a who’s who of the international fashion world, The Ivy stock up on edamame beans and Victoria Beckham carefully selects 2 month old Harper Seven’s outfits for the week, that cost more than our annual take home salary, the rest of us wait with baited breath to see who’s a fashion hit and who’s a fashion miss this season. For some of us it’s a case of logging on to LFW TV (it is also streamed in to the Living Room, just in case you are worried about missing it!) and for some of us it is a time to hide and avoid the tears and tantrums of fashion diva’s that the delightful British press love to detail every report of. And yet we have some of the biggest fashion houses in the world hear in the UK, we have the quintessential Burberry complete with beauty natural Emma Watson, eccentric Vivienne Westwood, featuring the stunning Charlotte Free and of course the drama and tragedy of the House of McQueen. So as the fashion eyes of the world peer at us through their Chanel glasses and scrutinise our style under their unnerving glare we wait with baited breath for their response.  But this all this glamour, excitement and high expectations seem to me to be an awful lot to ask of a country who coined the styling, culture and phrase, of  the ‘chav’, a country that celebrates the rise of the Primarni generation and who’s role model is Kate ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels’ Moss. I’m sure our chic sisters across The Channel en Francais are not tripping over their Chanel pumps to hit Primarni, our stylish state side cousins will not be jumping up and down in the latest DKNY with excitement at the prospect of seeing a real life chav and no Milan mistresses will be swapping Bellini for any type of bean. I am not sure Tyra Banks would say should she ask Kate Moss for a Coke (of the fizzy variety) and received a class A drug!

So how do we do it? How can we be known as one of the fashion capitals of the world when are known for some of the biggest fashion faux pas? Maybe is the bright lights, maybe it’s the beautiful sets with stunning models and clothes that we could only create in our wildest dreams, mixed with the champagne on, no doubt, empty tummies but something makes the likes of Anna Wintour and André Leon Talley gives our little island the big thumbs up.  Or maybe the true skill of the British fashion industry is the ability to create the illusion of a silk pure out of a pigs ear........

As I find myself guilty of being a self confessed London Fashion Week addict I found myself reflecting on fashion and its meaning. To me and many others fashion is about art, expression and beauty. A voyeuristic view of what isn’t but of what we would love it to be, maybe it is a touch of escapism that we all need. Fashion and art very rarely have survival value but yet give so much value to our survival. The fashion industry is without doubt fast being one of the UK’s biggest industries and in the current financial climate may be one of our only hopes to a financially stable future. With Samantha Cameron recently stepping forward as an active supporter of both London Fashion Week and the British Fashion Council maybe this is the future, al world where finance and fashion meet as one. Samantha herself was quoted as saying –

 “London Fashion Week is extremely important to the fashion industry in the UK and I look forward to being fully involved from next season. We have so much young talent that needs to be supported and nurtured to ensure we are building brands and businesses for the future”

For me one of the most fabulous things about fashion is its ability to continually reinvent itself, to surprise us and delight us. Fashion uses the past to inspire its future, maybe that’s something we could all learn from.

Can We Kiss & Make Up?

With all great relationships there comes a time when it all becomes too much, it drags us down and we need to take some time out for ourselves. Sometimes its work, sometimes it's our relationships and sometimes it's ourselves. But as that last final thing pushes you over the edge and you need a few days of time out. With all significant relationships there can be too much going on or maybe there’s not enough, whatever the problems sometimes space and time are the only answer. This is also often true about where we live and there occasionally comes a time when the city gets too much and an escape is needed. Last week the city and I needed a break, frustrated and drained with the constant noise, hustle and false promises I knew I needed some time out. So when an invite came my way to go camping I jumped at the opportunity. As I boxed up my Louboutins and folded away my 7 for All Mankinds, the urgency to get out of the city and into the country began to grow. Piling the scrap heap on wheels (aka my car) up with my Hunters willies and Barbour, the boy, my hair piled high on my head like a mad woman and concealing my lack of eye make up with some over sized Chanel sunglasses I put my foot on the pedal and hit the road resembling Toad of Toad Hall slightly.

As the city and all its bright lights faded in the review mirror, the open road ahead lay invitingly free and easy. The country air flooded in quickly through the car windows, the radio was loud and Haribo kept me fuelled as we hurtled deeper into the country side. Why is it that as you start to relax the Sat Nav decides it cannot find your destination? Cursing the piece of equipment that was supposed to be helping, I swiftly turned to my iPhone. No signal. Deep breathes were required as the boy and his tummy started to grumble and rumble. Crossing my fingers that a row wasn’t brewing, it seemed the only option was to go old school. A map was found from the depths of the glove box and once the lip gloss, tissues, old parking tickets and sweets had been peeled off it seemed reasonably reliable. Thirty five minutes later however we were still in the same lay by with no campsite in sight. Eventually a teeny bar of signal appeared on my phone, grabbing the chance a quick call was made for directions only to be told we had been parked next door the entire time!! Arriving late and desperate to get the tent up we were unpacked in minutes and finally was able to look round. That’s when I realised I was a million miles behind the camping jet set. As I perched on a blanket next to our tiny 2 man tent, I couldn’t help but be a little over awed at some of the fabulous tents we were surrounding by. Just as I was beginning to be a little consumed by tent envy, my beloved friend Mrs O called me over to her state of the art tent, to ask if I could help put the lights up in her tent. That was it, I was in full blown tent envy. We didn’t even have a torch. Fitting the lights to her tent ceiling Mrs O continued to leave me speechless with her fitted carpets and chic kitchen area.

As the wine flowed later that evening and the gorgeous homemade chilli was all eaten, it felt amazing to be in the great outdoors. Even the millions of flies and fifteen minute hike to the toilet all added to the charm out the great outdoors. The city and all its little annoyances were a million miles away. It was only the next morning as I woke up cold and achy that I began to miss my bed, in my house, in the city I had fallen out with. As I packed my bags ready to take the hike to the shower block, I began to wonder if we could kiss and make up.

Later that day as the car heaved its way out of the country and back towards the bright lights of home I reflected on the past 24 hours. Some times its good to step back and look at what we have, sometimes we need that space or break away to help us to see what we have and appreciate it. We live in a world that spins so fast it’s easy to lose focus on how we feel and what is important to us. So as much as I enjoyed a quick flirtation with the country, I know my true love is the bright lighted city.

New Season, New Start....?

When we are younger the word new is always exciting. New shoes, new friends, new places to go and new boys to chase. New is positive and bright, filling us with hope that this new experience will bring even newer things. Discovering new labels, new stores and new designers, the world seems our oyster.  It’s only as we sail past our twenties and into our thirties that we realise that the word new isn’t always as shiny and fabulous as we once thought. New car parts are never the words we want to hear, a new (bigger) dress size is not what we want to see and the words ‘he has a new girlfriend’ certainly don’t make us ladies feel like shiny and happy people. So what changes? Do we get more pessimistic as we get older? Do we have different expectations that are not met, that leave us disappointed? Is newness just an urban illusion that we are fed by the media? How many new starts do we get or make for ourselves? At times in our lives it feels every Monday is a new diet, new exercise regime and new weight loss attempt. Every pay day becomes a new promise to not spend all your wages by the first weekend of the month and we promise ourselves every new dress we buy will be the last. Yet in the bright lights of all the newness are we dazzled into a false security that this exciting and often beautiful newness will bring us even more excitement? Does it make us believe that our dreams are all the more reachable? Make up’s and break up’s provide us with yet another opportunity to create new starts and change our paths, often sending us in different and exciting new directions. New skin care products that promise to banish the wrinkles, make us look younger and correct all the blemishes we ever had, new just holds so many promises. It is easy to start to feel jaded at the promises that new holds, do we even believe them anymore? Do we reach a point where we admit there is no new, just belief , dreams and hopes?

This week, as we head towards a new season, the leaves start falling and the vaguely sunny days of summer pass into the warm orangey browns of autumn, it feels like a perfect time to find a happy newness again. Starting with beautiful (new!) tan boots. As I pulled on my new ‘I have great boot boots’ and took the first step towards the new season in them, I couldn’t help but feel lifted by the fabulous new newness of it all. Endorphins at the all time high only new shoes can give you, I took a bold step towards the future. Making a positive promise to myself that all my new beginnings would begin with a new positive attitude. So as the cross roads that we have previously crossed grow in to a dot in the distance and become part of the rich tapestry that is our past learning curves, maybe it’s time to put the negative attitude away into storage. No one has really has room in their Mulberry for excess emotional baggage, it weighs us down, holds us back and can often ruin our new starts. As I walk through the fallen leaves of the last season in my new boots, I can’t help but reflect on the issue of newness. Is it an image or is it real? For me it’s all a matter of creating the perfect match, like the way my new boots match the Mulberry, new should be teamed with positivity and accessorised with hope. So as the leaves crunch under my boots and my Mulberry swings over my shoulder, my excess baggage is firmly in storage and I’m focused, new season, new start.