Sunday, 20 September 2009


The fashion world has no manners, that is obvious. But really, to be bossed about by bouncers and silly PR assistants brandishing clipboards certainly makes me feel like hitting someone with my mobile, so I totally understand Naomi wanting to bash people up. If this was my world too, I would be in court every week.

I had to rely on the only intelligent woman from Vivienne Westwood to understand that I wasn't just anybody. I am AMANDA ELIASCH. Thank you, Tizer, for helping me when all the other fools did their best to make me loathe the show before I even got in even though I had an invitation albeit on my blackberry. The people on the periphery are humourless and status obsessed. It would have been frankly stupid not to have let me in for many reasons. Number one: I love her clothes and buy huge quantities of her corsets. Number two: she loves music, and I could no longer talk to her if I had been turned away, nor to her divine boyfriend. Number three :I have a big mouth and a blog or two or three. Number four: I am the fashion editor for Genlux magazine, and Vivienne is up for an award in Los Angeles.

People should be better informed, and it surprises that with computers and information readily available, the PRs don't check who's who. Having been helped by Tizer, I was told to sit with the Harpers editor at large, Kim Hersov. Kim is a great friend and is behind all of us girls going to Top Shop on a regular basis. My dear friend Tracey Emin swanned straight past me, Victoria Harvey had flown in from Los Angeles, and some starlets who grace the pages of Heat, but not the circles I move in.

The show was interesting not for its new content, thank goodness. Vivienne, like Alaia, knows what suits a woman, and unlike other fashion designers likes real women. Her dresses were flattering, as were her harem pants, checks, waistcoats, shirts with ties, vests and a very small dog. What else? Two or three cute black dresses and the rest in pastels, plus flat shoes with dresses. After twenty minutes, we zoomed off to Sothebys for a show on African Art, where the Gettys had put on a small drinks party.

Brazil was calling, I had to go to check out Issa, I had heard so much about the designer and had lunch with her too. She is a great friend of my ex's new amore, Ana Paola. What a difference a continent makes. The PRs were polite, I went in without an invitation and sat in the first row. The audience was attractive, thin, elegant, and as Naomi walked on the catwalk huge whistles applauded her. Issa is completely different from the rest of the designers. She makes wearable clothes for her European and South American clientele. Think big boats, parties, beaches, Club 55, Rio, Sao Paolo, jungle prints, lipstick, red. Her generous goody bag deserves a huge thank you. I love cup cakes, delicious scents, little presents from Links, and a pretty T-shirt. Naomi looked divine in a beautiful shimmering silver swimsuit. No wonder my son Charlie loves her.

Later on, I bumped into her , where again a mobile should have been at hand. Bryan Ferry was singing for Phillip Green at the Ivy. The crowd talked and laughed all the way through. Wow! How did Naomi ever keep her cool?

1 comment:

Julie Anne Rhodes said...

More, more, MORE! I'm fashion gossip starved here in LA, and you do it so much better than anyone else.