My Fashionable Life

On Tuesday I received a call from the beautiful Miss Hofit Golan, socialite extraordinaire and Fashion TV presenter. She was covering the Liberty 10 Corso Como launch event with her crew and invited Yours Truly to hop on board the party train. So off I went (another fashion mate in tow - one can never be too prepared for the awkward moments). We managed to bluff our way into another very sophisticated soiree on the 4th floor, full of ironic photography, beautiful people and more importantly free wine before realising the fashion party we were destined for was, in fact, three floors below. After a minor guestlist moment on the door, we were in and attacking the canapes. After some schmoozing with Hofit and her fashionista friends we headed for the central table to check out the collaboration collection. Liberty hooked up with the famous Milan-based concept store 10 Corso Como to produce a range of silk scarves, swimwear, shirts, ties, purses and bags. The line is sure to be snapped up by Liberty print devotees, especially the adorable bikini which strikes just the right balance between Pucci and paisley.

As we were browsing, people watching and generally milling around waiting for our photograph to be taken (it is one of the few sad joys of my existence that I'm still thrilled every time I get mistaken for a celebrity/someone vaguely important), I glanced to my left. Anna Wintour. No seriously people, Anna bloody Wintour. Now lads, I nearly wet myself with the sheer excitement of it all. Mouth agape, I was literally clawing at my friends sleeve trying to alert her, with all the powers of speech of a newborn child. Possibly the most influential woman in the Western world, bar Oprah (don't worry, you're still my number one), was standing right next to me for crying out loud. The camera crews buzzed around the far side of the table snapping and whirring, all desperate to get a shot of the real star of the night. That's how my dream came true. Let's not forget that I was beside her at this point. So that means that someone, somewhere has a photo with me and Anna side by side, looking like the bestest of best friends, laughing girlishly over our champagne flutes. Well not quite, I'll obviously have my mouth hanging open and she'll be staring in the opposite direction, but you get my drift.

Well ladies, I was on a high for the rest of the evening. I could barely contain myself on the train home. I obviously had a very loud phone conversation with my friend about this in front of the other late night commuters even though I doubt any of the financial suited-and-Aldo-booted types had the foggiest who I was wittering on about. I skipped home, burst through the door and dived into the story of my evening for my fashion-industry flatmates. For some curious reason, no one seemed quite as excited as I was. Just my personal heroine then? Anna love, you made my Fashion Week.

LFW: The Parties

It would appear that the parties of London Fashion Week amount to a bit of a mixed bag (Birkin obviously). I was invited to the Osman aftershow party in Luxx on New Burlington Street in Mayfair on Monday night. I had two tickets. I also managed to bag a super-scarce ELLE Style Awards afterparty ticket. Only one. This posed a problem. Memories of being the only English speaker at a party full of Parisians at my last magazine came back to haunt me - awkward hanging around the edges with a glass of champers didn't really do it for me. I checked around my fashion friends, Nope, not a single one was lucky enough to get an ELLE ticket.

After a long day of weighing up the options - honestly, this was the most important decision I've had to make in quite some time - my gorgeous plus one and I chose to give the ELLE party doormen a whirl. Now, she's a buyer and a very pretty girl to boot so I reckoned there was a chance she could work her magic on the doormen. Our taxi pulled up outside the Great Queen Street address where we were confronted by a queue of fashionistas tusseling for a space inside. We opted to save ourselves the embarrassment of a refusal and hop on over to Osman instead. Once inside, the mood was clear. It was populated by a gaggle of those edgy student types. The ones who look eternally awkward yet think they are teetering on the brink of fashion-fabulousness. All bizarre prints, funny little hats and deeply unflattering shoe choices. It was upsetting to say the least. Curiously, no one we spoke to had actually attended the show. How odd.

At least there was free alcohol. Or so we thought. Approaching the bar we ordered some glasses of white wine. Not possible. Rose? Champagne? Vodka Tonic? No no no. We only have beer. And they called it a fashion party. The "alternative" (read: achingly hip) band started up soon after. We left.

More on the glorious LFW party scene tomorrow...