Glamorous me

As one more London Fashion Week draws to a close, I catch myself thinking about the weird world of the beautiful clothes. Don't get me wrong, I love the whole buzz of it as much as the next consumerist lady. But it is a week based on image, and everybody (me on top of ridiculous heels included) tries to put their best one forward. Like when everyone is dying to see what is inside the goody bag, but has to pretend they don't really care. Even if 10 minutes later they are elbowing a fellow show-goer in the eye to get an extra bag forgotten on the front row.

Soooo, instead of talking about the catwalks, the models and how fabulous we all were, I decided to get real and reveal: MY BIGGEST FASHION WEEK FAUX-PAUS.



1) End of show, having a beer at the after party when one of the designers approaches. He gives me his card. I decide to show off just a little and thank him in my only Japanese. "Arigatô Gozaimassssss", I say. "You are welcome, but I am Chinese", he replies.

2) End of another show, general buzz, people leaving the venue in a symphony of chunky heels, many abandoning their yummy cosmetic-brand-sponsored goody bags. Never the one to miss an opportunity, I get a little carried away and end up with three bags in my hands. Not, I repeat, NOT a good look.

3) Waiting for the doors to open at a third event, I spot my favourite fashion blogger coming down the stairs. Having had more than my fair share of free beer, I yell her name, tell her I "loooooooooove" her blog, and proceed to introduce her to my two friends who probably decided to end the friendship then and there. Not only I manage to embarrass the poor blogger, but I make my friends want to hide in their stilettos. Nice one darling.