January and February are a pretty lacklustre time in the shops. Christmas sales are never-ending as more and more reduction stickers get plastered onto price tags for woolly accessories that didn't make it as stocking fillers. Spring trends seem weirdly misplaced because non-fashion industry insiders prefer to shop for the weather they're experiencing rather than sunshine in four months time. And against bitter winds and grey skies, colour blocked pastels are downright offensive.
This week I went to my first catwalk show at London Fashion Week thanks to the lovely people at Fiji Water and I feel rejuvenated. I can absolutely see how you could become jaded if you attended hundreds of them but as
It probably helped that the show was for bright young thing Ashley Williams and filled with so much spunky attitude it left you feeling like you'd been headbutted by your cool little sister.
The show notes said "Vive la Megababe" and the sound system was pumping out The Primitives' "Crash". I'm pretty sure I walked out having subconsciously taken up smoking.
There were goth vibes with black lipstick and PVC mixed with candy pink over-sized shearling and sheer mesh. The open holes in the knees of black opaque tights made me think of Regina George shrugging off the holes in the front of her tank top in Mean Girls and sashaying out into the school hallways to set a trend because who gives a damn.
It reminded me that what I love about fashion is feeling transformed when I put on an outfit.
That clothes can be a costume or a mask for when you most need them. That you can dictate or subvert the judgements the world makes on you. That sometimes it's fun to give a fuck, but you don't actually need to. Vive la Megababe indeed.