The Scene: . . . Fashion Week Comes To a Close

Tonight saw the final round of closing parties, so the fashion crowd got dressed up to the nines to rock the night away, at some of the coolest clubs, to the best tunes but more importantly expecting free drinks!

After such a fun night with 'Heels' and 'Flats' at BBB, we decided we needed a second outing, this time joined by 'Black Boots' (you can see the theme right).

We trooped off to our first stop of the evening, Ghost in Farringdon. 

Not as easy as it sounds though. 

How many fashion girls does it take to decipher a map and a set of directions? 

Apparently four . . .  But maybe that's just us? 

Once we eventually found the club, we joined the queue of . . . two people. 

Yes that is right, two, NEVER a good sign. If you can get easily, lets be honest what's the point!

We also discovered a fashion first, a fashion show running on time! We arrived fashionably late (which in fashion terms means 30-60min late, which confusingly is actually on time) only to find that the whole show had been done! 

Never mind we were in time for the free drink of . . . beer and lemonade, sorry I meant cocktail (or fizzy fruit juice). 

Having discussed what or should I say who would make the best dance off competition ever (M vs T vs H - it's only a matter of time ladies), we settled in for the ultimate fashion sport . . . People watching . . .

Unlike BBB there was no set crowd (practically unheard of in fashion circles). Here Dazed kids were united with Vice-ers, while the Super Super crew through some shapes on the dance floor, fashion harmony at its best.

As the booze dried up, so did the crowd and the music. The rent-a-mob was off and soon the DJ stopped playing timeless classics, opting for some disco-funky-house-thing.

This was our queue to leave and with 'black boots' & 'flats' up early the next morning they disappeared of to bed, while 'Heels' and I (ever the party girls) joined an 'editor at large' who for this blog will now be called 'nikes' (yes I am a shoe obsessive) (I'm afraid the publication shall remain nameless, you will just have to guess) and friends ('buttons' and 'stylista') to head to D1's fashion party at Whiskey Mist.

Post bag-gate (is it lost / is it at home / was it stolen) we made it to WM only to get ID'd! No fair!!! After much prodding, was I really 18+ (it's my youthful looks!) we made it inside.

For those of you that have read about WM but never been, it is tiny, tiny, with pricey drinks (note there were no freebies, boo fashion week parties) and a costing cloakroom I would just keep reading about it! Having said that the music was quite frankly the best I've heard in ages!

As we shook our thing, with 'Heels' displaying some incredible 'Carmen Electra' shapes - (this girl can really move!), we attracted quite a crowd, though Im under no allusion that it was 'Heel's' skirt (to borrow from Bridget Jones, had gone home 'sick') that was creating all the fuss. 

This then allowed for a string of men, some desperately trying to compete on the moves front (don't try it) before 'Heels' found us Pedro the massusse - she really is a useful party companion.

Yes that is right, one moment, me and 'stylista' are shaking our thing, only to see 'heels' enjoying a foot and leg massage in WM! Apparently, though we are sure he was spinning a line, (he did have a card) he works for Chelsea football club. Either way, he had hands of a G-d and my back feels amazing! When he did crack my neck though, I must admit I panicked, thinking I had suddenly got stuck in some weird horror film. But actually Pedro, we love you! 

Thank goodness for 'Heels' (classy) little skirt! :-) - But yes 'Nikes' we are sure your massages are better. 

Many fag breaks later, post quick run to The Hilton to buy cigarettes from the concierge (we are a classy bunch) we had danced as much as possible. 'Buttons' was definitely tres tipsy, 'Heels' could barely stand (due to big shoes, not alcohol consumption) and the rest of us were in need of our beds, we headed off into the night (which was now early morning).

Until the next shindig . . .  

The Scene . . . BBB

BBB?

Decipher the code . . . 

Beach Blanket Babylon played host to 'The House of Blue Eyes' on the last night of fashion week. Being a Shorditch virgin (I know,  I know, what kind of fashionista am I) I had never heard of, no matter frequented the BBB establishment.

After a bit of dutch courage provided by my secret PR girls - (for reasons of confidentiality we will call them 'Heels' and 'Flats), we headed off to join the crowd of restless guests outside the venue. 

We eventually made our way to the front of the queue, (it should be noted that we were fairly lax about the whole thing, with no clue at all as to who's list we were on and to be fair we were far more fascinated by watching Hillary Alexander having a fag outside the venue than getting in.) Some how, though 'Flats' and I were being squashed, 'Heels' dragged us through and got us in. The venue was crammed, I should probably mention that at this point I'm beginning to realise that BBB is frequented by the more colourful 'Vice' and 'Bowery' style scene. As I'm past by an exotically dressed guy in full on feathers and hardcore make-up. I feel a wee bit under dressed, which is funny as I'm in pink leopard print!

Get some ridiculously expensive drinks and am served wine in a TUMBLER, I think I have fallen into some bizarre university party. 'Heels' and 'Flats' discuss wine origins (I reckon it was Tesco's finest) and start pottering about waiting for this master piece of a show we are all here for. 

Interval for much gossip (which you are not privy to, it would be far too much info and I would need to kill you).

Show starts (well to be honest no one is sure) a man falls down the stairs (actually he was pushed) - he is in a gimp mask and very little else, being pushed by a big man dresses as a crow. He chases him, then a girl in a feather skirt and red nipple tassels on what we reckon were man made breasts dances on a podium with a pasty looking chap in red leopard print pants. Its all a bit scary and weird. We huddle in the corner clicking our heels (or indeed flats) hoping we will be transported to somewhere else (perhaps a Chanel showroom).

There was then rather predictable music, think the Sex Pistols and then some predictable 'rebel looks' - cue safety pins and early Westwood knits. 

There was a couple of great dresses, an embellished body (the jersey kind) and a white cape that we all loved. The rest quite frankly left us foxed! 

Jodie Harsh made an appearance, fantastically flinging red wine on to 'Flats'. Then some more people crashed down and the nipple tassel lady, licked the leopard print, panted mans leg. It was all rather frightening. 

And then it all ended . . . As abruptly as it began. No one cheered or clapped, everyone just dispersed, had a drink and carried on like nothing had happened. 

We wondered off into the night, safe in the knowledge that the Leigh Bowery has left a legacy and influence for generations to come. While it may not be my scene, I think this particular scene has it down. As 'Heels', 'Flats' and I wondered into the night in anticipation for what new eye opening experiences we will get tomorrow night at Fash Off! Bring it on!