My fourth Fashion Week. My, my, how quickly that goes by. And I can’t believe I wore trackies to last year’s. Genius. Who cares about getting street papped – I’m all about feeling like I’m in bed. If there’s one week in the year when you really need to learn to chill out – it’s this one.
Fashion is all about hierarchy: who is invited to what show, who sits where, what you wear and how many people give a damn who you are. Frankly my biggest problem about fashion week is that there’s not enough food. (But there is a pub down the road that my friends and I frequent during the week. Like all the time.)
I’m just there to see the clothes and new designers and write about how inspired I am (“oh my god like they’re so talented and the pieces are like so chic”) and how I have no money to purchase any (“devos”). People take it too personally when they’re not noticed and/or recognised and when they make that known it’s obviously quite awkward and desperate. Chillax.
And Game of Thrones coming back tomorrow as well! Will the Starks finally avenge what seems like their whole family tree? Can’t quite decide what’s going to be bloodier: that or the fashion pack.
And on top of that I’m going to see Benedict Cumberbatch on Sunday with Hannah-Rose! Now there’s the real highlight.