I am a small town girl from Minnesota spending a semester at London College of Fashion. I have had many new encounters in this “fashion capital,” i.e. fish and chips, the infamous tube, and British men in too-tight pants. But none of them compare to my adventure of representing Her Campus at London Fashion Week 2011. Come with me as I walk you through my first day at this iconic event.
12:00p.m. My plane lands at Heathrow in London, where I am returning from a mother-daughter trip to Paris and Amsterdam.
1:30p.m. I manage to lug my mom and suitcase, both of which are full of Dutch chocolate, back to the hotel. I have 1 hour to get cute, freshen my pits, and run out the door.
1:45p.m. I decide that my chipping blue nail polish simply won’t do. I quickly take it off and apply a fresh coat of lavender–trendy, right?
2:00p.m. I slip into my hot little Kim Kardashian bandage dress — over tights, of course — this is London Fashion Week, NOT a nightclub. Then I realize I forgot one huge detail. Shoes! Omg SHOES! Should I wear my 4” black stiletto booties? Or are they impractical? Then my mother made a tempting offer. I could wear her cute, vintage, leather black boots from the 1980s. Moms are the best, aren’t they?
2:30p.m. I’m on the tube, heading to Somerset House, the main London Fashion Week location. Regular commuters are staring at me. I feel like a model!
2:45p.m. I’m outside Somerset House, watching as important-looking people in sunglasses and fur coats strut around on their 5” platforms. Darn it, Dylan, you should have worn your heels! Oh, well, too late now.
2:50p.m. My mother takes a photo of me in front of the venue. Then we cut the cord, and I’m on my own.
3:00p.m. I walk into the booming lobby of Somerset house. I see a live DJ blasting a Lady Gaga mix. There is a bar handing out both coffee and cocktails. Men and women dressed in costume-like “couture” lounge on posh sofas, yelling at each other over the music. I knew this would be legit.
3:10p.m. I find myself riding an in elevator to the press floor, surrounded by Anna Wintour look-alikes. I’m keeping my eye out for the real Miss Wintour, Editor in Chief of Vogue, because I know she is here… somewhere!
3:15p.m. I get my Press pass, and I wear that baby with pride. Suddenly, in this sea of fashionistas, I have an identity: “Dylan McCann — Her Campus Media — International Press.” Boo yah, I’m in!
3:30p.m. I set out to totally exploit my press pass. I want to explore every inch of Somerset House. Outside each of the designers’ rooms two obese security guards stand, flanking the door. That press pass was my golden ticket. Inside the designer rooms were designers, PR managers, photographers, press, and other people pretending to seem more important than they probably actually were.
4:00p.m. I worked my way into an invite-only presentation to Tata-Naka. Did I have an invite? Nope. Was it amazing? YES! It was a room packed with photographers and press, loud music, people in black, and photoshoot set-ups with about 8 models working all different poses. Somehow, I wiggled my way to the front of the crowd of photographers, and was within 2 feet of the stages. I had to take a video of this.
4:10p.m. The rumors are true—models actually do make love to the camera. As I was snapping pics I began to feel almost violated with all of the “give me sex” faces I was getting.
4:15p.m. – end of the night: I spend the rest of the night networking, studying the trends for next fall/winter, and making sure that my Kim Kardashian dress wasn’t riding up.
While I did not meet many of the top designers themselves, I did make friends with their PR managers and models. I would call it a fashionable success. And I was so proud to represent Her Campus. I learned that many London Fashion Week insiders were actually much like myself– young, friendly, and perhaps even wearing their mother’s vintage boots.