London Fashion Week: Highlights From Day 3

Temperley’s London homecoming show at the British Museum, which surely won ‘Venue of the Week’

On Day 3, I basically only had three thoughts which played in my mind on a loop at various points during the day: 1) I am so tired/hungry/thirsty/exhausted; 2) thank God for our shiny Mercedes; 3) I can’t quite believe I’m here/these locations are incredible.

It’s true, Fashion Week is a very glamorous affair. All marvellous couture, shiny supermodels, thumping soundtracks,Vogue editors, paparazzi, theatrical productions and fabulous soirees. But when you’re doing it as Liberty London Girl and I were – covering every single on-schedule show, presentation, event and party between us – this means a hardcore schedule of 8am starts and midnight finishes, with back-to-back shows and barely a moment to spare in between.

Billowing milk, sage and buttercup yellow silks at Richard Nicholl

Which leads me to Thought 1. Due to the above schedule, supper – where at all possible – usually took the form of one of us blowing off a show to make a very necessary, and very overdressed pit stop to Starbucks for copious amounts of caffeine and whatever passed as food. Hence Thought 2, and why our Mercedes (and our lively driver, Dan) was such a godsend – it meant  we could scoff coffee while uploading photos in the back of the car between shows, wear our 5 inch heels without a moment’s thought (I have huge respect for the girls who managed to do this for the entire week without the privilege of having a driver), make it to almost every show (though even with the car we still managed to miss Topshop Unique altogether, thanks to what seemed like every road in London being shut for roadworks, so who knows how anyone else made it on time) and safely home again (where we otherwise may have fallen asleep in a gutter somewhere along the way).

Between show essentials: The LFW Daily, Twitter, and a Mulberry foxy gingerbread (which was lunch)

Our shiny chariot for the week

Yet please don’t let me give you the impression that Fashion Week is attended begrudgingly: quite the opposite in fact. Because, gruelling schedules aside, there is nothing quite like the thrill of Fashion Week: seeing one’s icons in fashion and journalism in the flesh, mere inches away; the supreme people-watching opportunities the week presents; and the moment when the lights dim, the music starts, and the first model stomps out in beautiful couture – moveable art that heralds in a whole new season.

And so to Thought 3. There were certain shows, particularly the bigger names later in the week, who managed such coups of location (if such a thing can exist) that I had to pinch myself to realise where I was, and for what purpose. Mulberry’s enchanted forest in the ballroom at Claridges was a brilliant start to the day, but it only got better from there. we went to Nicole Farhi in the Royal Opera House, Antonio Berardi in the magnificent Draper’s Hall in the city, and the one that took the cake (proverbial obviously – you won’t find much cake at Fashion Week), Temperley in the British Museum (which sent actual shivers up my spine with the beauty of it all). This was Cinderella’s Ball at it’s finest!

Now, if only someone could arrange a show in Buckingham Palace next year…

Antonio Berardi’s show in the majestic Draper’s Hall (where part of The Kings Speech was filmed)

Hot pink and tomato red at Osman, confirming my cravings for vibrant rosy colours for Spring

What would be your dream Fashion Week show/location?

Love, Miss B xx