When I started my fashion blog, being invited to a Fashion Week was my Holy Grail. Paris especially (London is a home turf so I wasn’t that bothered) was, for me an epitome of that old school glamour of the fashion world.
My first invite was to an off the official schedule show of emerging designers in Paris. I was happy and nervous and totally out of my comfort zone. I booked a hotel near Arc De Triomphe, tired looking under the veneer of four stars. I wore custom made caramel suede shirt, custom made coat, leather pants and suede caramel pumps. I had dinner on my own, I gave interview to a Pakistani TV. It was a great, if quite short experience.
Last year I decided to pump up the glamour. This time I was invited to coveted shows, not all of them of course but enough to have me stay in Paris for a week. There were invites to showrooms and drinks. I had a junior suite in a a glamorous hotel just off Champs Elysees and brought with me a suitcase full of designer swag. For a week I was living in a world where you take taxis from show to show, casually stroll into Chanel boutique and Isabel Marant store and come out with bounty, where your are being brought champagne to your suite and and where “real” word is miles, miles away.
But here’s a thing- it kind of got boring at the end. Not the shows- they are always wonderful. But you know, the one-upmanship of fashion bloggers and fashion insiders, with a large dollop of snobbery on the side, the continuing war wagged by fashion editors against bloggers, false friendships based on who you know and which show you are invited to and everything in between showing how cut throat this industry really is.
So this year I’m skipping the party. I’m concentrating on creating my line and I’ll be watching the shows on Instagram stories. And who knows if one day an invite arrives to Isabel Marant or St Lauren show, I may just hop over the channel 🙂
*Image via wishbonesandwanderlust