Fashion Night Out

Fashion Night Out, my very own pilgrimage. My transport to style central is sadly public, but the announcer only built my excitement, her voice counting down every station closer to the beginning of a chic night out. My armour for the journey was a navy blue checked blazer, paired with a snood to keep me warm on the cold September night. My matching shoes will later reveal the scars from my endeavor… it was totally worth it.

My adventure began at the Sunglass Hut, enjoying some pink champagne and a pair of gorgeous black Burberry Aviators. Resisting the urge, I put them back and head on, saving my money for something more weather appropriate. Deciding to skip most of Oxford Street and move onto Bond Street. I pass through Selfridges, browsing their Everything Museum. I leave quickly and follow the Siren call of the DJ’s at Bond Street. Battling the crowds, I start at Louis Vuitton strutting my stuff on my first red carpet, laughing with friends when we are welcomed by three models dressed as French maids, accompanied by their balloon dogs. I was relived that I made the right choice to leave Oxford Street. The crowd’s battle for a drink, while it is not busy I’m able to look at the collection. Walking upstairs on what I can only describe as Louis Vuittons very own yellow brick road. Eger to see more of Vogues wonders I cross the street to Dior’s Cab (doubled as the DJ’s hideaway). The sun setting, the windows glisten even brighter then before. Passing a choir crowded around an iconic red bus… spotting an old friend we catch up whilst committing happily on the ‘Gleeness’ of the singers.

Chanel was my next destination. The queue not as long as others but long enough to make the Pimms go down a treat. I wait with my friends to get a manicure, waiting was made interesting as Daisy Lowe was in front of us looking gorgeous in a floor length black maxi dress. Leaving Chanel, with three girls blowing their nails dry, I bump into Cher Lloyd who was nice enough to take a picture with me and compliment my snood (totally worth the splurge at Selfridges.) The must for me was to visit Alexander McQueen and try my luck at winning one of their timeless bags… sadly no luck, but the limited addition gold skull key ring I bought clangs happily every time I open my front door.

The fashion clock was ticking so rushed over to the end of Bond Street, in the hope to see David Gandy the male supermodel who has become the face of Dolce & Gabbana’s light blue fragrance, to D&G. Only later to find out that he was at Giorgio Armani, but looking at their Autumn/Winter collection was just as exciting. Deciding to walk back towards Bond Street Station, Hermes caught my eye, a game of bangle bowling was going on which I was lucky enough to win and get my very own Fashion Night Out bracelet.

Walking up and down Bond Street all night my feet where as blue as the rest of my outfit; time to head home. My pilgrimage and crowd battling led to an unforgettable night of fashion. 

The next morning I woke up extremely tired and with a serious case of bed head. My feet still sore from last night’s walking, I decide to run myself a bath… laying there soaking into the relaxation I begin to think about the fashion industry, not just as something I love, but as an multi billion pound industry. Fashion brings a different kind of beauty to the world, it provides something gorgeous for you to live every bit of your life in. Newspapers are full of sad stories about young women who have killed themselves because of their appearance, as well as men who have starved themselves into hospital. Fashion frequently gets the blame for creating images of unobtainable beauty and the destruction of self-confidence. My bath rudely interrupted by my stressed friend complaining she chipped her Chanel manicure from last night. I walk to my bedroom letting my hair dry curly and flick through the pages of this months Vogue. When I think of fashion I do not see the airbrushed pictures or skinny models but as an escape from the stress of modern life... the saying ‘retail therapy’ comes to mind. I personally have the challenge of finding the perfect pair of jeans or an acceptable length in shorts because of my pencil like legs, which have been the pun to many a joke, but I do not cover them up with a pair of baggie Levis but embrace my non-existent curves with a pair of extra skinny 28/32 jeans. After buying a new shirt or chunky knit cardigan I get that great feeling of satisfaction, only bettered by finding something in a sale, the same feeling of running a marathon or winging an award.

Confidence is as rare as pearls now a days, with super stars on every advert and all the pages of Vogue full of 20 something glamorous models, but I feel fashion can give confidence to the shyest of people. If you find it hard, like I do, to find a good pair of jeans, or do not like part of your body, accessories can save you from feeling blue. Women or men, skinny or fat, can all own a great pair of shoes, that when worn feel like a pair of ruby slippers. I know from experience that a pair of great shoes can put a smile on your face. You don’t have to be six foot tall and starved to work a pair of Kurt Geiger open toe glitter heels. With the right pieces, you can feel as chic as an A-list Hollywood star with all the money in the world.

After my life saving bath, I decided to wonder over to my town centre in the hope of gaining an insight into why people don’t like the way they look. Sitting in the window of a Starbucks, I glance at the wide variety of people walking by. Do people fall into categories like coffee orders? Can tall skinny guys be compared to tall Lattes, is a Grande the everyday woman with her heels and lip gloss, and the sprinkling of Venti’s; normal people trying to fit in a skinny world. If people are like coffee orders, then there is hope, there is always something in Starbucks for everyone. Fashion, like coffee, just needs to be tested and the right style for you will come along in no time. Realising that it is not as easy to identify why someone doesn’t like their appearance than it is comparing them to coffee, I decide to settle with the fact that you don’t have to like how you look, but you can still strut down Bond Street with you head held high.