When people find out that I get to go to fashion week as part of my job, their reaction is usually one of extreme envy and desperate pleas for spare tickets. Above is an artist’s impression of what the average person thinks of when they hear me say, “I’m going to a fashion show”. Here is a play-by-play of what went down at last night’s Julien Macdonald show.
This is where a fashion show starts. Outside, hundreds of people crowd around, all convinced that they are more important than the person before them. They all stand there shouting into their mobile phones, lying about what will happen if they don’t get inside – the word ‘consequences’ is thrown around a lot. Miraculously, after only a few seconds of waiting, I was ushered inside.
Once inside, I was treated to complimentary cocktails. The pale one is a Bellini. I know this because some guy who sounded like Bruno kept furiously screaming, “MORE BELLINIS!”. Not sure what the dark one was, but based on its taste, I’m going with the “ashtray martini.”
This didn’t mean I was inside the show, mind you. This was a reception area, aka a really, really crowded room filled with so many scented candles that it was difficult to breathe, where I would have to wait for the next 30 minutes. I used this time to drink as many free cocktails as possible.
And to steal some toilet paper. I needed to pick some up on the way home anyway, and this stuff was fancier than the toilet paper I use in my dreams. It wasn’t just quilted; it was quilted in SHAPES, like deer and stuff. I’m pretty sure it was quadruple-ply, too, which is something I didn’t even realize existed. If I were reviewing this show on toilet paper alone, it would get a ten.
Every few minutes, a hundred camera flashes would trigger at once, signaling the arrival of a ‘celebrity.’ Like, erm, whoever these people are.
After what felt like hours, we were let into the main show area. Some might think it is a little OTT, but that just means they’re idiots who don’t know shit about fashion.
Inside a fashion show is complete insanity. The main cause of chaos is the fact that there are 100 PR girls trying to make photographers get off the runway and back into the photo pit and 100 photographers trying to stay on the runway so they can get another 2000 shots of Juliette Lewis.
This is what a photo pit looks like. Most of those guys have been waiting here since before you were born.
As there’s a lot of money to be gotten from getting the perfect fashion shot, people tend to get a little crabby in there. I once saw a guy get dragged out of the venue in tears after getting into a fight over his spot.
Speaking of Juliette Lewis, I listened in on this interview she was giving for Lorraine, and she said, “I like that this show is in a church… churches are really… spiritual… and… um… religious”. I can’t believe Lorraine got the scoop on that chunk of wisdom.
Next celebrity to arrive was Janice Dickinson. Fascinating fact: This piece of shit invented the word ‘supermodel’ to describe herself as she didn’t think that the word model sufficiently described the way she walked back and forth wearing clothes.
More and more celebrities arrived, and eventually, the front row became TOO FAMOUS, and people started freaking out. One photographer kept shouting over and over about how he couldn’t get everyone into one shot. Seriously, he sounded like he was about to burst into tears.
Can you fucking imagine if this was something you had to worry about – whether to crop out Jude Law’s ex-wife or someone who pretended to sleep with Kanye West in order to make him appear straight? *Shudder*.
It’s a strange feeling being in the presence of so much collective accomplishment, though. It really makes you evaluate your own life, you know?
There were a couple of people there whose entire job was to walk around and spray perfume into the air. At one point, one of them sprayed it directly into my face. I shot her a WTF look, and she just flashed me a little “you’re welcome, babes!” smile and carried on.
After getting screamed at by a dozen or so different people for standing in the wrong place, I showed an usher my ticket and was taken to my front-row seat. Which was exciting for a minute, but then I realized it wasn’t a real, celeb-packed front row. It was a second, hidden front row for losers. I guess they put it there to make bloggers feel special, and you knowhat? It kinda worked.
Then, almost a full hour after it was meant to start, the lights dimmed, and the music started pumping, which, hilariously, was that Korn song that goes “aaaaarrreeeee yyooouuuu REEEAADDDDYYYYYYY!?!?”.
According to the program, the music was selected by someone who used to be in The Kinks. He was probably paid more than what my parent’s house is worth for this ‘task.’ If you listened really carefully, you could hear the sound of him laughing all the way to the bank.
I’m not sure I can fully get across how unexciting it is to watch people walk past you wearing clothes. Try it for yourself. Go outside now and watch some people walk past you. Now imagine they all look the same as each other and are wearing variations of the same outfit. Fun, huh?
The clothes were alright, I guess. A bit dated. It was like he couldn’t decide which year-old Shoreditch look to rip off: lacy goth girl or Florence and the Machine-y girls. So he just alternated between the two.
I guess the main difference between these clothes and the clothes girls were wearing in Shoreditch last winter is that these ones cost more money than it would take to give clean drinking water to all of West Africa for the next 30 years.
And, after about five minutes, it was over. The celebs seemed to like it. That desperate wave Janice Dickinson is giving to the designer is one of the most depressing things I have ever seen.
And then the room turned back into the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan. I guess you can never have too many pictures of someone who was once married to a member of the Rolling Stones.
By this point, I was drunk enough for my thought process to have evolved from “lol, these ‘celebrities’ are lame” to “a picture of Juliette Lewis and me would be THE FUNNIEST THING EVER.”
So I ran after her to try and get one. Unfortunately, my path was blocked by Janice Dickinson. I figured that, seeing as I already had my camera out, I might as well get one of me and her, too. When I asked, she rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, but hurry up,” which is why it’s so blurry. We both look great, though (just kidding).
Eventually, after a lot of pushing and being pushed, I managed to catch Juliette. I told her she was one of my favorite singers. Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t believe me. I know if I were Juliette Lewis, I wouldn’t believe someone who told me that. I asked her for a photo, and she too said, “Yes, but hurry up”. I guess that must be fashion-speak for “I’m a complete and total cunt”.
And with that, I headed home. Two hours of my life were gone forever.
Summary: Quadruple-ply toilet paper is in.
Written by Jamie Lee Curtis Taete. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram.
