Hi, I'm Georgia, Refinery29's fashion writer. This is my third London Fashion Week with work, but my first going to shows every day, as I'd previously covered beauty backstage and only managed one or two over the week. I'm so excited! I'm writing about my Saturday, from working in bed to Alexa Chung's party.
I wake up and feel so grateful for not having a really early start. Last night, after a full day of shows, I had drinks and pizza with our editor, Gillian, and editor-at-large, Sarah. We had a lovely old time plus I get a lie-in. Dreamy. My boyfriend, Rob, makes me a coffee as I start working from bed.
I've just published the photos of day one of street style. The take out? Lots of hi-vis orange, plenty of doubled-up checks, and snakeskin-printed everything. I live-stream the Alexachung show and publish the shoot and interview we did with her a week before in her studio. I've always loved her and seeing a sneak peek of her debut LFW collection was pretty thrilling. I decide it's time to shower and choose my outfit.
I lay out my clothes, bags and shoes all over our bedroom, much to the chagrin of Rob, who is just trying to enjoy his Saturday, fashion-free. My Ganni obsession is pretty obvious from this photo, non? I go for a monochrome floral Ghost dress and white Skechers, because yesterday I wore heeled mules and I think I broke at least six toes as well as gained some pretty nasty blisters – why do I never learn? I pair them with my beloved beaded Shrimps Antonia bag, have another coffee, make Rob take a photo of me outside our house for the purposes of this feature (see above), then head out for my first show.
I haven't eaten yet and am ravenous (read: feel a hangover creeping in) so dip into Pret – I have a cheese and pickle sandwich and some sparkling water, since you asked – and instantly feel more human, but still resent not having had breakfast... Despite living here for five years, I still underestimate London traffic, so skip a bus from my flat in southeast to central, and get an Uber instead.
I arrive to the J.W.Anderson show on time. The space has very British black railings strewn throughout, and a lovely coffee table book from his Your Picture/Our Future exhibition is on our seats with handwritten notes – can't wait to devour this later. I spot a very cute baby (Jonathan's nephew, I'm told) across the catwalk wearing a J.W.Anderson top and get all misty-eyed at how sweet it is and how happy I am to be at my first J.W. show. The lights dim and the show starts.
Woaaah, these women are swashbuckling seafarers, and I love it! Can we acknowledge the bougie bandanas with Jonathan's signature ring detail, and the stacked Converse?! This collection felt more playful than his last few, and everyone on the way out of the venue was talking about how wearable those silky separates and deconstructed shirts were. He's so brilliant at making elevated pieces that a woman living any kind of lifestyle could wear IRL. Swoon.
Time for House of Holland, so I speed-walk over to the venue while sending an out-of-breath voice note to my pal who lives in Vienna. I love voice notes.
The venue apparently changed last minute, so people unsure of the location delay the show slightly. I take my seat and catch up with a few fashion writers from other publications – it's so, so nice finding friendly faces in the crowd at fashion week. The show begins and I'm seriously into the soundtrack and casting (hi, Dree Hemingway with a neon pink buzzcut!). Henry always makes super wearable and statement-making pieces, and my favourite look is the hi-vis orange short suit.
Once I'm out and on a main road, I realise I won't make the Gareth Pugh show. I'm quite gutted about this as they're always a spectacle with a strong political agenda, but Sarah will be there so all is not lost. Instead, I wander into town and pop into The Edition on Berner's Street where the lovely girls at Aisle 8 PR are presenting Mango's AW18 collection. It's all pastel corduroy, snakeskin prints and floaty dresses – a 1970s-inspired dream, basically.
Sarah's in central too, so we meet up and get an Uber back to the office in Shoreditch to catch up on emails and file show reports. A bottle of red is left out from Friday desk drinks, so we have a glass each and tell ourselves we've totally earned it. After some work, Sarah heads to meet a friend for dinner. I call my mum as we haven't caught up in a week (we communicate in some form literally every day), and lock up the office before grabbing some dinner.
Okay, I know I'm embarrassingly late to the party, but my friend recently took me to Peckham's Voodoo Rays and it's blown my mind. IT'S SO TASTY. Why did no one tell me about it earlier? I get an Estrella and two slices of Green Velvet from the one in Boxpark. Those artichoke hearts, man. It's a Saturday night in Shoreditch so there are lots of groups of lairy lads around, but walking through the city, sober, at night, always makes me so thankful I live in such a wondrous place – even though I nearly step in someone's sick...
I meet Sarah and her friend, my former boss Alice and her boyfriend, and head to the Alexachung celebrations in Holborn. It's at the old Central Saint Martins building and it has velvet curtained walls and a disco ball and people are dancing – which feels like such a rarity at fashion parties. It's most likely due to Pixie Geldof and Aimee Phillips on the music; they look like they're having the best time, so everyone follows suit.
I have a prosecco, but down it very fast because I'm awkward and feel nervous, then get a gin and tonic before seeing my pal Naomi and relaxing a little. We have a boogie to bangers from Robbie Williams and Madonna, before I call it at midnight (how sensible Cinderella of me!) and get an Uber home. I get into bed, and set my alarm for 8am for another day of shows.