Best fashion friends forever

Today was a total fashion fuck up.

Locked out of Christian Siriano. Then trekked over to the Waldorf Astoria for what was billed as a 'Red Carpet Event' but was more like something that resembled a suburban sewing circle meet up. I noted that the hotel is like a Grandma who stills wear red lipstick at 90 even though it bleeds into the cracks. My fash week partner and I stopped to have a glass of bad Champagne while taking advantage of the free Wifi. I stroked a fake palm tree before I left and clocked a few mafioso types in the gift shop.

We then hopped over to Chelsea for Alexander Berardi and lined up for 30 minutes in the freezing cold for a show that was then 50 minutes late. At this point you need to be really impressed by the clothes. Let's just say I was more enthralled with the new fashion friend I made when I snagged myself a seat. And this man's legs (yes, man).


On the positive side, in addition to new friend at Berardi I saw my cohort from the Toni Mess-o-rama show at the tents and met two charming Californians who're starting a menswear design company. They'd just got a plane to New York and blagged it into the tents and were pretty convinced they were getting into the Naomi Campbell for Haiti show. It is for the best we didn't have tickets for this, I've always known that if I met Naomi, I'd be tempted to goad her to see if she'd attack me with the heel of her shoe.


When I left the Left Coasters they were about to start enjoying the free bar in the tent. Why not? This is the land of faking it till you make it after all. And fashion is all about fakery.

And when you live in this make believe land they called America, a good business card is essential. My new ones from moo.com were waiting for me when I got home today. If it wasn't for the parties I blagged new invites for tonight, this would have been the most exciting thing to happen to me today.



Tonight is two fashion soirees. I should probably not call them soirees, that sounds like something a Southern housewife visiting the city would say. I have styled The American so he can look a bit fash too. He says It was like having Rachel Zoe in the apartment. I said if Rachel Zoe was here, I'd probably eat her. He said that was just silly, as there obviously wouldn't be any meat on her.

They have a free bar at these parties. I don't know that the New York fashion scene has experienced the combination of Welsh girl plus free booze.

It could get messy than a Toni Maticevski dress.

*

Can I offer your giraffe a biscuit?

Toni Maticevski.

No, I've never heard of him either, but from the line outside The Altman building on W18th, you'd think he was the next coming of Christ.

When I finally get inside I am shoved a ticket with 'ST' on which I assume is industry abbreviation for 'standing'. I trudge over to another line and accept my fate as bottom of the fashion feeding chain. At the shows, who you are depends not just on where you sit, but if you get seated at all. Those given a standing position are pet food.



But 20 minutes later I hear the golden words from a PR- "Grab a spare seat if you can" I forget my Britishness and scramble frantically over a line of tightly packed fash people to claim my place in the second row. If there was room I would do the running man in celebration.

The show begins. A freakishly thin giraffe necked girl stalks down the runway in a full chiffon dress. Kinda grey. Then another giraffe in more grey. Not understated good grey, just dull, not invited to the party grey. I am fascinated by a model who is doing a kind of Monty Python walk in her 8 inch heels. The skinniness is breathtaking.

More heart stopping is what follows. Somehow the clothes have mutated into a incomprehensible mess. Stretch transparent Lycra with unfathomable sequin embellishment. Knickers on show at the back, more chiffon in a dollar store floral with a bunched up grandad jacket.




It's like boudoir met punk in a pub and had a one night stand...in 1986. At one point a Madonna-esque sequin bra floats by in a haze of my disbelief. It all screams cheap, market stall tat. Is anyone else thinking the same?





Right on cue the man next to be lets out a gigantic yawn.

''Oh god!" he laughs "Am I that obvious?"
I smile and put my hand over my mouth to address him "What do you think of this?"
"Do you know the designer? he whispers
"Fuck no!" I say
"It's a mess!" he tells me "It's like a student show. A bad one."
"Oh my god! I think the same! It's like a customising project gone wrong."
"It's a horrible miss match and only two of the models can even walk properly."

I smile at my partner in bitchy crime and then when the horror show ends we chat and introduce and shake hands.

I have made my first fashion friend.