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Flashing Lites: LFW

“Style is a way to say who you are without having to speak”.

Rachel Zoe raises a very good point, but let’s face it, you can’t be a fashion icon if nobody knows who you are. This was my problem. I was a fossil in the world we call fashion, with no more than 800 followers on Instagram and a pitiful reception to my #ootd uploads.

One day, I got an offer to attend London Fashion Week. Yes! Finally, I’d be able to pursue my dreams of being a blogger, model, it girl, and dj! I knew Alexa Chung went to my uni for a reason!

In fashion you don’t express yourself through words (ew), you express yourself through fabric! Self expression is stressful, so I lost a few nights of sleep trying to decide what my first look would be. One day, it came to me: “South London x Gossip Girl”. My vision translated to a silk white pyjama top, checkered brown trousers, miss-matched socks (on purpose!) and the velvet headband (if you know, you know). I had the refinery of Blair Waldorf but still looked like I could fuck with spoken word/ Fat White Family.

En route to my first show, I clearly wasn’t the only one who thought I looked fiery.
“How’s my outfit?” I said to my Uber driver.
“Great.. five stars” he replied.
“Shit seriously?”
“Yeah, five stars please!!”
The please was all I needed to hear. Immediately the pine air freshener in the Toyota Prius smelt less like pine and more like fakery.

Under the sea of streetwear, you have the big fish and you have the kelp. The big fish are the buyers, celebs (loose term) and press. Whilst they were caught up in their egos with help from the street stylers, the kelp stood watching, wondering why they weren’t good enough (queue violins). Each time I expected Anna Wintour to hop out of one of the GQ Guest Cars but instead got some dude who looked like he was in the music vid for Gwen Stefani’s “Harajuku Girl”. The joke was that these photographers capturing ‘style’ looked like a mix of backup dancers for JLS or ambassadors for ‘BooHoo Man’.

Although this was a joke, it was one I wanted to be included in. I mean, who doesn’t want their face on Vogue?

Then it dawned on me- this wasn’t just about me not getting accreditation, it was about my people (the gender neutral community). I’m talking about girls with short  hair, wearing brogues not heels, tinted moisturiser not foundation, breaking boundaries one day at a time. They had been let down by me.

Did it sting? Yes, but nothing is more unattractive than a pity party so I let it go.

Even us kelp had seats, and were ushered to them by the all- in- black- girls with their ear pieces and hard faces and there I saw something I will never forget. Seated, with a vibe I can only describe as ‘wavey ledge’ was Conor Maynard. Honestly after this sighting, the rest of the day was a blur, so I’ll just let the fashion speak for itself.

A quick trend forecast:

1.) – Dog chewed shoes !!!! *Shabby Chic* (Casely Hayford)


2.) A ClokWork Orange !! *THROWBACK!* (Liam Hodges)


3.) Check Urself Before U Wreck Urself! *WiSE* (Matthew Miller)


4.) Bad N Boujie  *buttaz* (Astrid Andersen)



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