With London Fashion Week the feeling of excitement is tinged with a slight sense of anxiety. While the endless outfit changes and constant drinking and socialising can be enjoyable - if properly managed - the stress of the event does begin to take its toll after the first couple of days.
My anticipation for this particularly intense week of the year is sparked as I nervously look over my schedule. A show here, a party there - not too bad. The marathon of quick changes and shuttle rides around the city to sit for about twenty minutes and watch as a herd of long-legged beauties exhibit the new collections are not for the faint-hearted.
As I contemplate LFW’s tension, I have to nudge myself to remember the infinitely more stressful time the models are enduring. I shudder at the thought of having to quickly change outfit between shows and parties and the constant taking off and reapplying of make-up. But, then I remember the models have to do this in between every look for each show.
Every year I find myself wondering why I am included in an event that is so important to so many people. As much as I appreciate the tireless work that goes into creating such aesthetic masterpieces, I can’t help but feel lucky to be invited but also slightly out of place. I think a lot of people feel this way about fashion. I don’t really have any idea who is who, or what collection came when. But maybe the idea of fashion is that everyone just sort of ‘fakes it.’
If it is any consolation to anyone that reading this, I have no idea what I am doing most of the time! I am sent my schedule and told where to be and when. I like it that way. Other than a few occasions in which I do take a particular interest in a certain designer, I pretty much just get told what to do.
For example, one season, many moons ago, I was invited to sit front row at the Marc Cain show in Berlin. I arrived in Berlin to shoot a magazine cover and I was totally unaware that by the time I finished shooting, I was to be rushed, pretty much as is, straight to a large red carpet.
Having never walked a red carpet in this fashion before and being fresh from shooting all day in crusty makeup I was terrified. Luckily my boyfriend at the time stepped in and led a shivering Tiger passed the paparazzi...very gallant of him.
I was seated on my own, since no one, probably, had any idea who I was and waited for my two companions to sit either side of me. On one side, I had Lena Gercke and on the other, Irina Shayk. Sitting in the middle of these two gorgeous giantesses, all five-foot-six of me felt a bit like a squidgy dumpling in a world full of noodles.
You would think that with time and age these things get easier. To some extent this is true, but I still find myself feeling a bit dumpling-esque when I am immersed in the noodle soup of the fashion world.
Last season at London Fashion Week I found myself sitting front row at the Topshop Show. I loved my outfit and was feeling great, like I had my shit together.
Alas, this was not entirely the case. The room in which the show took place was mercilessly heated like a furnace and I spent the entire show aggressively fanning myself with the press release as I sexily sweated through my polyester suit. Gorgeous... really…elegant.
Luckily, I have learned that the best way to deal with the stresses of fashion week is to realise that it’s only fashion and to just enjoy it accordingly