It’s 2014. You’ve just come back from the mall, you throw your Hollister bag onto the nearest chair. The half naked Abercrombie hunks go flying. After a dab of EOS lip balm, you turn your attention to YouTube. Lights, camera, action. A harem of Victoria’s Secret angels come prancing down the runway like winged gazelles, so you tour around your room, pretending to embody Candice, Adriana, Alessandra and Giselle.
This may not be an entirely universal experience, but almost every girly girl growing up in the 2000s and/or 2010s has dreamed of prancing down a runway. Personally, I took every chance I got to pretend to be a model at school and university. However, focused on academics, only 5’5, and not a nepo baby, I never dreamed that it could actually happen outside of school or my four walls – let alone during a fashion week in the city I grew up in.
The entire week, I was scared that something would happen to prevent me from participating. I would drop a weight on my foot at the gym or catch a cold. With the power of caution and manifestation, I managed to recover from the festivities of Valentine’s Day just in time to prepare for the catwalk. I made a mood board and watched my favourite fashion shows as ‘homework’ to prepare.
The night before, I primmed, exfoliated, moisturised, tweezed and conditioned every inch of my body, taking notes from all the “everything shower” videos I’ve seen and the modelling advice I used to read in InStyle magazine when I was eleven. Clean hair and skin was a non negotiable. A face and eye mask were thrown in for good measure. The next day, I woke up to the sweetest note written on a napkin from my sister, placed delicately on top of the kettle I used to make detoxing ginger tea.
I was one of the first models to arrive at the Kensington venue, which took my breath away. It was St Cuthberts Church, Earl’s court. Wooden chairs were lined opposite each other in the lofty space, which also held an arched tower, stained glass windows, a high alter and an organ chamber that added a numinosity to an already exciting experience.
I was chosen to walk for two designers in The Creatives fashion showcase AW 2024. However, last minute I was also requested to walk for a third designer, Hydration London, who was boisterous, eccentric and apparently in love with my curves.
After immediately getting fitted, I had to rush to hair and makeup, where I was given an editorial look with red shadow in the inner corner of my eye. It wasn’t my usual choice, but I decided to like it. Rehearsals followed and I was so focused that I missed lunch because the boys had gotten to it first. A few of the models and designers told me “it’s clear that this isn’t your first time”, which is simply proof that faking confidence truly does work. I felt like I’d been preparing for this moment my whole life.
Backstage, everything was chaos, especially because there were stacks of church material floating around. A cross was pinned to the wall, over the vibrantly dressed bodies of thirty or so twenty somethings. I took a shot of the pink gin to calm my nerves. While waiting for everyone to get ready, I met a couple of cool fashion artists and illustrators, who sketched me in a shocking matter of seconds. Since we did rehearsals in our own clothes, I was thrown completely in the deep end when I put on my first look – a floor length red gown scattered with chilli peppers, a matching feathered head piece, and Louboutins. The shoes themselves were already difficult to walk in, with their pencil thin heel. But with the added gown and the issue of balancing the head piece, I was starting to panic.
I could see my dad and sister sitting in the second row and bit my cheeks both for that chiselled, buccal fat removal look, and to stop nervously smiling. Finally, I closed the first section of the show, swishing my dress to Ayra Starr like a flamenco dancer and praying not to trip over the super long hem.
Two more looks to go. I was feeling way more confident and really enjoying the walks (especially with slightly easier heels). My final walk was for Trimingham, the brand that closed the show. I wore her version of ‘the wedding dress’ – a strapless, cobalt blue gown made from sporty, duvet material. I had to get changed as fast as possible, but there was a problem with the zipper. A stylist helped me sort it out – by that point, I had accepted that everyone could see me in my underwear. All the Trimingham models walked out together at the end, clapping for the talented designer who literally ‘got her flowers’, and then we went straight into an editorial shoot.
Gunna and Lil Durk reverberated around the church hall as we posed togerther, hanging off the tower like a modern rendition of a da Vinci painting. In that moment, my life was literally a movie and I felt like a piece of contemporary art. But my head was pounding, I desperately needed food, and I had another event to get to at 8pm. I was also trying to narrowly escape one of the male models, who kept calling me a “princess” in an Eastern European accent and trailing my steps. I genuinely have so much more respect for performers and models after this.
After my family took me out, I went to the RUE AGTHONIS presentation at Rosenfeld gallery, where I was mingled with influencers, models, stylists, and a range of industry people. Regardless of who they actually were, everyone made you feel like they were someone. It was an energy and aura that only fashion people can emit.
Vividly, I’ll always remember running back home in the rain silently screaming to myself, and feeling like my life was forever changed. No matter what happened henceforth, I had lived that.
Why was LFW so inspiring
The creativity. You can wear whatever you want, however you want, and the louder you look, the better. I’ve always believed in the importance of fashion, but it’s only now that I truly understand Stanley Tucci’s words in The Devil Wears Prada. “Fashion is art because you live your life in it”. It enables you to be whoever you want to be with a mere outfit change. The reason that my favourite holiday is Halloween is the freedom and flexibility to embody another character (can you guess my star sign?). Fashion doesn’t need a holiday or an excuse to do that. You can pick a theme, a look, or an aesthetic and be as creative as you want with it.
The people. Admittedly, there was a fair share of arrogance and too much personality in one room. That’s to be expected when everyone thinks they’re the main character. However, everyone was also adamantly themselves, at least in their self expression. Their larger than life confidence was inspiring. These people are hard to approach but observing them can teach you how to act unapproachable. I also loved the importance placed on fashion throughout the whole week. While it is often sneered on as superficial by outsiders, it was treated as the most important thing in the world. Is that always the case? No. But fashion does have the power to make a political statement and even influence change. It can be a safe space for women and queer people. Those who get it, get it.
The opportunities. The fashion industry is notoriously cut throat and renown for paying little to those just getting started. Yet, people still sacrifice their lives to work in it. I was once told by a journalist that he used to sit next to Paris Hilton but have $20 in his bank account. Having worked in fashion full time a year ago, I had chosen to take another opportunity and move elsewhere for a similar reason. However, being able to dip my toes into this kind of glamour and excitement is a privilege that fills me with so much inspiration. Literally anything is possible. Being in a room with so many potential connections, from small zine owners to fashion designers that wanted to date me, showed me that this all about publicity and networking.
The starpower. Simply put, watching the models dictate the room with their walks (and being one of them), gave me chills. I loved how not everyone looked traditionally, hegemonically “attractive”, but they were so striking and held a rare power. There was a buzz and atmosphere in the performativity of it all which gave me chills, and I literally felt like I was in Gossip Girl despite not being born with that kind of extravagant privilege or power.
The lack of straight men – this is something I realised afterwards. Of course, I know that the industry is notorious for its predators, of every sexuality. However, my personal experience this time around didn’t revolve around men. Unlike other spaces I occupy, such as the gym, this was a break from the microscope of the masculine eye. I loved how most of the fashion I saw barely took the ‘male gaze’ into consideration and, even if some of the clothing could loosely fit that gender boundary on paper, it was clear that this wasn’t the outfit’s sole purpose and no one really cared about who looked ‘the hottest’. The ‘weirdest’ was the prize most of the crowd was competing for. Post fashion week, I did experience some strange, straight male interactions with some members of the aforementioned crowd. But that’s a story for another day.
My Goddess Complex 
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