Blog: Snivelling through London Fashion Week
- Published: 23 September 2008 11:45
- Author: Khabi Mirza
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- Last Updated: 23 September 2008 11:51
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Being ill is rubbish. My female colleagues may have my symptoms down as little more than low-grade man flu (i.e. a very light cold) but my head feels like it's in a carpenter's vice.
Even my teeth are aching. And what timing, this happened slap bang in the middle of London Fashion Week. I blame the Drapers team, flanked as I am by two snivelling specimens streaming with the mucous equivalent of Niagara Falls.
Three days jacked up on Sinutab has put an interesting if slightly disorientating slant on the week's proceedings, with my attention being distracted far too easily by the peculiarities which seem to buzz noisily around any catwalk show.
The Cure's Robert Smith is not the only goth to sport an enlarged tummy from time to time
Take the trenchcoat-clad chap sitting to my side at Basso & Brooke – nice coat, great oversized buttons, but what's this, no lenses in your phony Wayfarers. Or, the trio of super-trendy black kids who, with their bleached mohawks, colour clash neons, and spray-on vests, looked like the missing members of Afrika Bambaataa's Soulsonic Force. But, my hands-down favourite of this fashion week's more outré spectators was the macabre sight of a guest at one of the week's whirlwind of parties dressed in a costume more redolent of a Victorian undertaker.
With his flowing jet black hair, smudged eyeliner, bowler hat and floor length black dust coat, the man had more than a mere something of the night about him, striking fear as he was into the hearts of any unsuspected champagne-fuelled fashion fluff who crossed his dark path.
The shock-goth mystique was slightly tarnished though when I spotted him scoping shiftily side to side before inching up his shirt and giving his pre-Raphaelite tum a less than sneaky scratch. It could only happen in fashion.
