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February 22, 2012
Fur knickers & snobbery
Why British fashion is giving itself a bad name.
I turned up early to number 13a North Audley Street, a glorious building in the heart of Mayfair. My invitation said enticingly: ‘9pm sharp. Cocktails and dancing.’
‘You’re too early,’ said the beautiful young woman with the walkie-talkie. ‘But Simon Le Bon and Suzy Menkes have gone in,’ I said. ‘Yes, but your space isn’t ready. Come back at nine.’
Alarm bells went off. I’m going to be herded into an unheated pen, I just know it, I thought. My fears were well founded. I was eventually exported upstairs, to a balcony area, where the press were able to gaze down at the real guests as they were eating. For two hours.
And while it was fun to study Rihanna’s dark roots and watch Anna Wintour move her saffron risotto around her plate (a Stella-clad model — Amber Valletta, Yasmin Le Bon, Shalom Harlow and Kate Moss — was installed at each table: I can’t imagine anything that would put me off my food more), I began to get more and more angry. My job is to report on this collection, which would have just about been possible had I packed a telescope. This was an expensive affair: hire of the building alone was £15,000, plus the cost of the orchestra, catering, champagne, flowers, security and, of course, models.
But as a public relations exercise, it was a disaster: as one man next to me in our ghetto quipped: ‘You know that the people having dinner would be the only ones in the lifeboats.’
‘You’re too early,’ said the beautiful young woman with the walkie-talkie. ‘But Simon Le Bon and Suzy Menkes have gone in,’ I said. ‘Yes, but your space isn’t ready. Come back at nine.’
Alarm bells went off. I’m going to be herded into an unheated pen, I just know it, I thought. My fears were well founded. I was eventually exported upstairs, to a balcony area, where the press were able to gaze down at the real guests as they were eating. For two hours.
And while it was fun to study Rihanna’s dark roots and watch Anna Wintour move her saffron risotto around her plate (a Stella-clad model — Amber Valletta, Yasmin Le Bon, Shalom Harlow and Kate Moss — was installed at each table: I can’t imagine anything that would put me off my food more), I began to get more and more angry. My job is to report on this collection, which would have just about been possible had I packed a telescope. This was an expensive affair: hire of the building alone was £15,000, plus the cost of the orchestra, catering, champagne, flowers, security and, of course, models.
But as a public relations exercise, it was a disaster: as one man next to me in our ghetto quipped: ‘You know that the people having dinner would be the only ones in the lifeboats.’
With apologies to Liz Jones and The Daily Mail for the long quote; there is much more at the link.
Posted by Ghost of a flea at February 22, 2012 08:27 AM