a step off the runway

I have always been a big advocator of what goes on behind the scenes, on the streets, and off the runway. It's not that I don't appreciate the goings on, on the catwalk, because I do, I really do. But there is just some magic about the street side aspects of fashion week, isn't that where it all really comes to life? London has not failed to disappoint so far and so I sit and observe in awe, the floods of images that flash up on my screen daily.

We have our street chic Alexa Chung in what looks to be a Burberry trench and LBD, we have the ubiquitous Agnes Deyne in a monochrome vest dress, we have platforms a plenty (mostly of the Acne kind), we have the Model, street side with a menthol in one hand and a lookbook in the other, we have the fashionistas with no name clutching the one designer piece they own and are hoping will be their ticket into the after parties, we have the pretentious posers who we outwardly hate but secretly love and lastly we have ourselves a little Peaches Geldoff because what would be London Fashion Week if she or her lesser known sibling, weren't at the forefront of our minds?

the model and the scarf

Once upon a time in a faraway land, known not to many of us, there were a number of off duty models who lived in various loft apartments throughout Paris, New York, London and every other grand city in between. These models were rarely spotted off the runway without their uber skinny leg jeans, their tailored blazers, their ankle boots of suede or leather, and the piece de resistance, the humble scarf.

This short fable and its illustrations above depicts the use of the scarf as an accessory of sorts for the model. An accessory that is often wrapped several times over and around their slender necks and is often highlighted by a wavy, glossy mane or the remaining wisps of their ballerina buns. In short, the scarf is their trademark and my-oh-my don't they own it well.

all points in any direction but south

The subject is music festivals. We say it’s all about the music but you and I both know that it is just as easily about what those around you are sporting rather than listening to.

For us mere mortals festivals usually mean footwear that is comfortable, carefully torn Levis made into shorts, accompanied by oversized tees and whatever eyewear the fashion gods have deemed us to wear that season. We have learnt to hold on all things fluro and we pray there are fewer males with tees on than off. And while we usually struggle in blistering summer sun as beads of sweat trickle down our legs and the minimal makeup we have applied melts deeper into the dust marks that now line our face, it appears that this isn’t so for those model folk. Case in point at last weekends ‘All Points West Festival', where their appearance was anything less than south of the border of fabulosity.

Yes that means you Agnes Deyne in your to-die-for-tie-dyed cape, and you Alexa Chung in your polka dot dress and even you Catherine McNeil in your slouchy tee and harem pants and to the reveller in the camel hued platform heels, how is it that you were able to navigate the grassy terrain all the while moving to the beats of Vampire Weekend, Fleet Foxes, Yeah Yeah Yeah’s, Q-Tip, La Roux and Lykke Li, just to name a few? I envy thee so…and look forward to my next festival in which I will focus solely on the music and perhaps sneak a few glances at those around me from underneath my Karen Walker’s.