Emerging Fervour

Hello, my name is Claudia and I’m sort of a fashion victim. I don’t know the difference between Haute couture and prêt á porter (and I’m sure there is one). My trainers are probably the most expensive and fashionable things I’m wearing. I’d rather have band names than brand names on my shirts. And when I talk about seasons I mean something you can watch on the telly. So you’re maybe asking yourself why someone like me is allowed to write for a fashion blog. And you absolutely have a point there. The explanation is simple: No, I didn’t hack into the blog, I usually write about music for Emerging Fervour.

But then there was last week, I mean THE last week. The London Fashion Week. And yes, I went there. I went to the London Fashion Week. And here is the story of my adventure: lost in fashion.

I have to admit I was a bit nervous when I was entering Somerset House. I’ve only read a fashion magazine so far, hence I expected millions of busy people running around on red carpets in a flurry of flashbulbs from everywhere. But no such thing. It was almost cosy, so there was no chance to overlook all the dressed up common people. Some pretty stylish, some completely over the top and a few arty farty “fashionistas” hung around the place. My absolute all time favorite will always be this great phoney “I’ve just fallen out of bed and give a shit about my outfit”-look. Looks like Pete Doherty with clean clothes and clean veins. And I guess most of them spent hours to look like they don’t care.
When I was observing the scenery it was interesting to see how most of the fashionistas seemed to be waiting for photographers and bloggers to spot them and take a picture. They were instantly striking a pose like a professional model. I was impressed by so much self-confidence. But maybe that’s because I’m not that addicted to attention and usually look like a real disaster on pictures.

So far so good, it was time to step into the holy place and see what the designers had to offer. So I put my pass on, felt temporarily important and was lingering trough Somerset House. Most of the time it appeared more like an art exhibition to me and I was wondering if people seriously wear orange tights on their heads with a little plastic village on top. Maybe they do.
But of course you could also see a lot “user-friendly” fashion. More interesting than the fashion was to watch and chat with the designers. I always thought they wouldn’t even speak one word with you, when you’re not writing for a famous fashion magazine, but most of them were really frank with me talking about their stuff. And some of it I really liked!

After that it was time to see a presentation. My gosh, that was weird! Like looking in a shop window with living dummies. The model was standing on a platform, presenting the collection and posing. Despite the fact that I’m not even close to model body measures, I could never do this job. Standing for fifteen minutes on a platform with uncomfortable high heels while other people are taking pictures and staring at you, must be hard to sustain. You can’t scratch your head if it feels itchy or blow your nose and apparently you’re not allowed to smile as well. I was wondering if you could chat with them meanwhile, but probably they drop dead with shock. I’ll try this later on this year.

Last but not least: the catwalk show. Why the heck do models always look so bored while they’re on the catwalk? They get money for walking up and down, they should die laughing the whole time. But I guess it’s like an unwritten law as well as being skinny.

Before I conclude, one word about the music as this was the only thing that completely frustrated me. Music was obviously not a relevant topic. I’m still trying to get over the Lady Gaga song I heard, when I first got into Somerset House, but that’s a matter of personal taste. I just can’t get used to the fact that music was only a gap filler. It was a wasted opportunity and there could have been so many wicked things to enhance an event with music. Why not set a tent outside Somerset House where bands are playing? Why not let models shake a leg during a presentation? Why use cheesy electronical tunes instead of significant music that fits to the designs? Here’s a point where designers and the event organisers have to realise that music is no distraction, but rather a great benefit.

So in a nutshell the fashion week felt somehow like being on a schoolyard. Everyone’s in a certain clique and although you can sense the invisible boundaries, they’re all reliant on each other and belong together. It’s the game of seeking attention and trying to join the circle.