Harriet Verney is a London based stylist, writer and all round megababe. If that wasn’t enough she has a great eye for menswear and well.. ermm… men in menswear so who better to hit the LCM shows for us over the weekend and dish over her diary for you lucky Grazia Daily readers! Take a look at her diary below for everything from yetis to Daisy Lowe getting, well… Low!
DAY ONE: FRIDAY 9TH JANUARY
There’s nothing more American than a pastrami sandwich, ice tea and a wiener in a bun, and there’s nothing that simulates the American girl like a low rise button up crotch, leather flared pant. Brings me back to the early 2000’s when G-strings and builders bums were the hottest marriage and the film Coyote Ugly convinced us that bar jobs weren’t so bad. Hmmm. So sans the dancing on the bar and instead sitting front row, cushioned like hot dogs I sat watching the Coach men’s show. A khaki print here, a parka there and as model Matilda Lother squirmed “Furry Dunlops!”. Yep Furry Dunlop’s are IN boys.
DAY TWO: SATURDAY 10TH
If Gandolf did fashion week he would have gone to the Dazed x trapstar x Harvey Knicks presentation. A hooded model armed with a 6ft polished stick stood still and bowed to something akin to the sounds of a Moroccan Souk, Harif Guzman, (Trapstars latest collaborator) armed himself with a bottle of shook up beer and attempted a formula 1 style drenching. Cool.
I, in a slightly over dressed Westwood chiffon number was the first to duck and take shelter, a good opportunity to take in the sea of Nike Air Max’s and limited edition trainers I will never remember the name of. Next, slightly more fitting for the dress was Jimmy Choo’s x Esquire soiree at Marks bar. Like your posh granny’s Chelsea townhouse, but there’s Nick Grimshaw in the front room dropping Rihanna “pour it up” while his mate Daisy gets Lowe.
DAY THREE: SUNDAY 11th
Margaret Howell showcased her minimalist lines on minimalist models, French music trickled out as cashmere Tank Tops waded down the catwalk. And if you thought the 12 days of Christmas were over, well Moschino just extended it; with torso flashing, oiled up fur smothered models walking down the catwalk, they are allowed to. Moon Boots came back, bigger, fluffyier, kind of like what you would imagine Moschino would make you wear if you asked them to put your broken leg in a cast. Sandy tousled, salt sprayed wigs on the boys left me thinking of Sex and the City Absolute hunk Smith Gerald, remember him? While Jordan Dunn showed how to work a bikini in the (fake) snow. Yeti come and get me!
Aesthetically, musically, atmospherically watching Charlie Casley-Hayfords show was the highlight. Just ask Wiz Khalifa sitting front row, a cloud of smoke engulfing him (and the 4 rows behind.) Shaved heads and printed puffas graced the catwalk inside the Old sorting office, and when it came to the Casley-Hayford Bow, a standing ovation was the obvious cheer of choice.
DAY FOUR: Monday 12th
The closing ceremony of any London Fashion week religiously falls into Mandi Lennards hands, and low and behold with a Nasir Mazhar chocker wrapper around her neck, Mandi did what she does best; throw a great party. On the 7th floor of the ACE Hotel, in a glass box that sits perched on the side of Shoreditch High Street, drinking cocktails by Absolut Elyx ; Mandi threw the party alongside MACHINE A and Showstudio- whose creative director Charlotte Knight said she definitely saw UFO’s on New Years Eve, or were they Chinese lanterns?- Anyway.
There is something about men’s fashion week( LC