Article by CB Lux
Being a music journalist, I seldom frequent High Fashion parties, nor have I any desire to what with the whole hoopla of grooming, dressing, acting beautiful and oh-so-precious and generally feeling like an extra from Zoolander. Amanda Palmer recently described attending the circus that is the Golden Globes as fame whoring. Fashion is no different and to delve in that peculiar and superficial world means losing sense of oneself. Thankfully my experience of it only lasted one night and that was plenty for me.
Having received an invitation to attend a launch party for a product involving a fashion designer and a music artist, I naively thought the event would differ largely from the usual get-up seen in tabloid magazines (think Gala, think Hello!, think Grazia) and I would not, hopefully, feel like a fraud meddling with the beautiful and the talented.
How wrong was I? Very, very wrong. Luckily I had covered my back and got out my most beautiful outfit from Dorothy Perkins (a little green dress found in the brand section) paired up with my brand new sparkly purple Miss KG (that’s Kurt Geiger for you, dahling!), some yellow tights and my lovely RedorDead green clutch. I looked a million dollars… well, I’d like to believe I did despite the lack of manicure, my unshaven legs (that nobody noticed as I score way below the average catwalk model height with my mere 5ft). Well, it didn’t bode well with some of the punters milling around the club that night – I’m told some were famous (what for? Looking like you’ve just stepped out of a Brothers Grimm tale?) – and I’m certain there was plenty of bitching in the toilets about that Betty Uglylooking girl.
Invitation in hand, I made my way to the Mayfair club a fashionably late 45 minutes only to be told to queue up with the rest of the “press” gathered at the front. What? Queueing? That was never my idea of an exclusive, invites only, London Fashion Week launch party. Surely the fact that I’m disabled should sway the gorillas at the door. The look I got after I pleaded my condition to no avail was unequivocal – disability or no disability, I was not important enough to be let in without waiting. Hence we started a game of patience, in the rain and the cold for an hour and half. Having made the trip from Cardiff especially for the event, there was simply no question I’d go home with my tail between my legs: I was getting in that party even if I had to break a nail in the process. Well, I didn’t have to break a nail, I eventually got inside Aura almost an hour before the whole thing got wrapped up. Roisin took to the tiny booth only 10 minutes after entering the club and performed “Momma’s Place”, “Royal T”, “Demon Lover” and “Hold Up Your Hands” with much gusto and an extraordinary figure considering she’s only given birth to her first child, Clodagh, last December.
As my primary purpose was to report on Roisin’s involvement with designer Linda Farrow, I had very little insight as to the collection – bar one pair of sunglasses Roisin was sporting whilst performing – or the inspiration behind the collaboration between the two women. The shameful lack of organisation and the despicable treatment reserved to the lucky few attending the event as guests (as opposed to VIPs) most definitely compromised my desire to further explore the artistry expressed in couture.
Oh well, not a big loss.