Introducing . . . Flats

You may by now be beginning to recognise a few familiar names in the Fash-Pack family. 

I know so much time has been taken up by the travelling circus that is 'Fashion Weeks', but now it is time to return to what we adore best. Discussing, swapping and waffling about fashion.

For those of you who don't know Flats (code names are used to protect their fashion status, identity and ability to work undercover), she is a fashion assistant dabbling in PR and styling. She has access to hundreds of famous faces and spends an obscene amount of time working the room. This made her the perfect candidate for the Fashion Pack!

While readily admitting she loves a good party, Flats is no airy, fairy, fashionista! Not over thrown by the fashion darlings, nothing gets past this witty (very witty), fashion chick!

Flats will be reporting on What's Hot, as well as keeping us all abreast of the coolest fashion parties, who said what, to whom and where it all went down!

Welcome hun! Let the Fash-Pack Gossip Begin!

Fashion Bitch: Terminology - Stylist Rage

Phew, well even the title overwhelmed me a bit. Here at Fash Pack and in the fashion world in general, we have our own little language going on. Whether its the odd flippant phrase or even just a look, the codes of fashion are strict.

The first in this series of fashion phrases was coined by yours truly (though I don't know whether it has been copyrighted yet).

I christen it 'stylist rage'. This is a common occurrence amongst stylists, and usually results in the following circumstances:

1. The clothes that you want to call in for a shoot being 'unavailable', 'in production', 'in the showroom but not available to you, for no apparent reason', 'items arriving after the shoot' (which you then still have to take back).

2. Packing for a shoot. How best to pack it? What is the space like at the location? Do you need a rail? Steamer? Pins? Will it crease? Will it fit in the car? Have I forgotten anything?

3. People playing with your items on a shoot. Yes, team, I know it looks like I have a fancy dressing-up box, but this stuff is worth LOADS OF MONEY, STOP PLAYING!

4. Models. (Does this need an explanation?) No you can't smoke in the rain, in a ballgown, or eat pizza whilst wearing white. IT'S JUST NOT SMART!

5. Rain (after all who likes it?)

Well, there you have it. Stylist rage is serious and quite possibly an epidemic waiting to happen. Personally I live in stylist rage and it deeply affects the people that have to put up with me. But then again, I'd rather be a stylist with her rage than not a stylist at all.

Must go, I have an anger-management class to attend.

Fashion Bitch: Save It for Yourself

Rivkie pulled me out of bed at the ungodly hour of 10 a.m. today (I had to get up at 8, you beast), so naturally while I was waiting the customary 20 minutes at the Tube stop for her to show, I stumbled into a Pret to start caffeinating. Choosing a window seat so I could see the Rivmeister roll up, I had the unpleasant sight of watching someone bounce by in leggings and a supremely short coat. Lady, if you're watching this, you owe me the half of my Diet Coke I spit out.


Yes, we all went through the "Are leggings really pants, yo?" debate a few years ago with Lindsay Lohan (whom I still love dearly). But the woman in question shocked me for a different reason: the too-tight bikini pants underneath.

I'm not going to argue about whether it's OK to trot around the city in skin-tight cotton and Lycra, but what I can say is that whether you like it or not, people check out your bum and your bits while you're in public view. The least you can do is see that your rear end does not separate into quarters - if for nothing else than your own comfort. And you men who like the skinniest of skinny jeans, I hate to bust you, but people are watching you and wondering how you keep a low voice in those things.

When we get old enough to pay taxes, we should be old enough to train our eyes to look away when it's polite. But we should also be able to stop ourselves from feeling just a bit happy that the person with the 90 grocery bags can't squeeze into a crowded Tube carriage, from marveling at the size of the piece of cilantro between a stranger's teeth or from laughing at the person who slips on a banana peel (my friend has actually witnessed this - swear).

We're animals with eyes and a brain - we watch things and judge. In fashion, that's the name of the game. Not every day has to be a runway, but the least you can do is realise that you'll never do yourself a favour by making yourself, or your underwear, a public spectacle.

Fashion Bitch: Know Your F&@%ing Pant Size

Boys and girls, I was born in America and generally claim or deny my heritage in accordance with the political climate and how much or little Paris Hilton is making a fool of herself in the international news. But now I must break the silence on something that's been bothering me a long time.

What follows is an open letter to American males between the ages of 18 and 65. British men, ignore or take notes as you see fit. Some of this might apply, but do not be offended if some pop culture references escape you.


Dear Boys,

What's up, bros? How's it goin? I've got a little bone to pick with you and I thought maybe we could figure this out.

Let's just come out with it: What in the blue heck is wrong with your pants? (British men: I am using the American definition of pants and do not concern myself with your undergarments.)

My problem is not with the cost of your denim trousers, so please don't try to name drop your way out of this. That means you too, frat guys. I know I speak for more than just myself when I beg you to put half as much effort into picking your jeans as you do planning the lineup for your fantasy football team.

To solve your problems, I have kindly divided your sartorial problem into three areas: waist, leg room and length.

Let's start with that waist, yes? I once went out with a guy who probably could have fit in my jeans, yet he would buy pants that could fit Kris Kringle in his slightly skinnier off-season and wear one of several hideous belts to cinch the miles of extra fabric.

Please remember that this is not OK. If you're wearing a belt, stand up and remove it. There you go. Now start playing some smooth jazz. Just kidding. If your pants fell down after the belt came off, or if you can now reach one or both of your arms inside the waistband, you're thinner than you thought. Your nearest fashion retail associate can assist you with finding a smaller size.

Problem two is leg room. Your jeans should not be so tight that someone confuses you with Pete Wentz on a bad day, but they should maintain some contact with your bod. This will mean they take longer to get off, but more girls will check you out while they are on. On a related note, the carpenter jean is never OK.

Finally, jeans come in different lengths. This matters. No one wants to know how ample your leg hair is when you sit down, nor do they want to trip on one of your ratty threads when your jeans are too long. Dogs poo on the sidewalk, and drunks throw up there. Do you want to decorate your clothes with that?

What has made me think of this age-old problem, dear men, is a fine member of your species called L'Homme. This would be the French man, and if you keep acting the way you do, natural selection will take over and you will become extinct.

The French men I spotted on my way to and from the couture shows in Paris did not have these problems. Even the trinket salesman who proposed to me near the Eiffel Tower had better dress sense than a good deal of you. I think you see where I am going with this.

Please address these problems at your earliest convenience. I should hope that the next time I fly to North America I will be able to tell if you have been hitting the gym or not.

Yours truly,
Jill