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subscribe to style file blog via RSSfashion diary: fashion east founder lulu kennedy
September 16, 2008 1:33 pm
Sunday, September 14
Wake up at 5 a.m. with a list of stuff to do already racing through my mind. Can’t get back to sleep…ugh! It’s a blazing hot day, so I put on a David David jewel-colored silk tee, pegged trousers, and my trusty old Alaïa snakeskin sandals. I sling a party outfit for later into my Kim Jones backpack and head off to the office. There, I load up on caffeine and tackle the e-mail mountain. My amazing assistant arrives with breakfast (I keep forgetting to eat) and we make a priority list, send interns to hand-deliver invites to VIPs (yep, they’re still requesting tickets to Fashion East this close to the show), and type up the credits sheet—there are so many lovely people to thank. My back’s killing me, so I nip round the corner for a pummeling massage at Cowshed spa at Shoreditch House. It’s bliss. I doze off as soon as I lie down.
Can’t sleep for long, though. Rush off to Topshop Unique’s show in the jeep. I listen to a selection of banging rave tunes from 1991 on the way and decide I’m going play them at my show…ha! Topshop’s show is real fun, bump into loads of people I haven’t seen in ages, have a right old gossip. Then I go check out Martine Rose, a new menswear designer I’m really into. Her presentation of paisley shirts at Blacks members’ club is stunning, and so is she in her vintage red Comme outfit—fashion envy!
Stuck in major traffic on the way to Gareth Pugh’s party. I change into a Louise Gray dress in the back of the cab, then spend the rest of the time on the phone with the production crew. Have a well-needed drink and giggle with Gareth at the Moët room—I love the blinding light installation he’s made. He tells me my new perfume (Carnal Flower) smells of holidays; I think it smells of cigarettes. Lovely Hanna Hanra (i-D magazine’s beauty editor) intervenes and tells us we’re both wrong. Later, at Bistrotheque for Charles Anastase’s after-party, I find myself talking about the seating plan for Fashion East to my colleague Richard Sloan. He rolls his eyes, tells me to shut up, and hands me a drink. Quite right.
Monday, September 15
Oversleep the alarm. Soooo exhausted that no amount of eyedrops or caffeine can help me now. Call in on Louise Gray to see how her collection’s coming on. It all looks gorgeous. I get so carried away listening to her show music and dancing round the studio that by the time I leave, I find I have a parking ticket. Call in on Natascha Stolle to see how her model casting is going. Her unbelievably glamorous stylist Fran Burns lets me borrow a killer crocodile-tiled jumper, which I bung on over my Marios dress, then race over to his show just in time. I sit next to Jeanette (how fab); we fancy ourselves in the long slinky dresses with bronze rope belts or maybe the rainbow jumpsuit. Whizz backstage to give Marios a hug in between his interviews with Suzy Menkes and Tim Blanks. Back to the office for more problem solving—a designer’s having trouble with shoes. A general air of panic is descending, which I laugh off.
I’m now running too late to catch Maia Norman (Damien Hirst’s missus), who’s previewing her Mother of Pearl collection at Claridge’s. How annoying. Hair is looking decidedly ropey but no time for a blow-dry. Instead, I throw on my favorite Louise Gray cocktail dress and some eyeliner and race off to 10 Downing Street…the prime minister’s wife is throwing a bit of a do! It’s very grand but dead normal at the same time—Naomi Campbell looking scarily flawless in the pap’s flashbulbs, juxtaposed with bowls of crisps and the same old-fashioned carpet my gran has in her house. Jonathan (Saunders), Roksanda (Ilincic), and I get the giggles running round corridors we’re not supposed to and have an impromptu photo shoot in the ladies loo which we decide looks “very Juergen.” We grab a quick bit and a fierce martini at Quaglino’s, which is also my show venue—I’m in love with its nineties opulence. Am so excited my show is going to be here in two days’ time I can barely eat.
Can’t get hold of my lovely friend Richard Nicoll. It’s his birthday, we’ll have to celebrate once this week’s done. At 11 p.m. one of my menswear designers, Christopher Shannon, calls me; sounds like he’s stressing so I haul myself round his studio though barely able to keep my eyes open. Go nuts for everything he’s made, try it all on in a frenzy, and coo over the hot boy model cards pinned to the wall. He gives me a very glam tracksuit top with gold zips1yay! Home at last, I look at the stack of dirty dishes and clothes all over the floor in disdain, and pass out.
tags: Fashion East, Lulu Kennedy
Who is LULU KENNEDY?
By stylista49 on 09/16/08 at 2:55 pm