Ahhhhh is the sound of clothes, relaxing. There is no better remedy for New York Fashion Week, which is the event equivalent of a clenched butt, than London Fashion Week, which is more like a popper. It started out strong with a presentation by Shrimps, the ethical, faux-fur-focused label started by Hannah Weiland, who made a great case for acid green as the most important hue for spring.
There was a sort of posh schoolgirl vibe about these clothes, all Alice-in-Wonderland Gunne Sax dresses and fantastical fishing hats, but imagine the possibilities of hitting up the club in green fur slippers and a matching oversize sweater, perfect for your rolling-ass friends to run their fingers through? The presentation was adorned with work by the British artist Faye Wei Wei, and her life-size paintings seemed to find a kinship with Weiland’s vision through a youthfulness that was just a smidge fantastical. I see all of this in my future, a grumpy sub-bass fiend in the corner looking all day-glo while I dance primarily with my hips.
Also fantastical: Pam Hogg, the punk doyenne of the PVC bodysuit, whose cabaret style catwalk showed she knows her way around a party.
Hogg showed her typical colorful catsuits, a staple in her repertoire, There was a sense of cabaret about the flashier pieces, like Cirque du Soleil or the American Ballet Theatre at a super-punk sex party. The tulle pom-pom suit on the left was somewhere between Carnival and a ping-pong paddle, with little pom-pom testicles added as a modesty embellishment. Funny! Speaking of balls, I’d give my left one for someone on an Oscars red carpet to attempt to pull off that baby’s breath pink look; except it’s edgy and feminine and formal and unconventional and NOT made by a major fashion house, so the closest we’re probably gonna get is, like, Charli XCX. ALAS! The beauty looks were terrific, too:
