London was just beginning to come to life this morning as I walked down Regent Street en route to the Kaviar Gauche runway show at the Royal Academy of the Arts. Stopping by the open door of the Burberry boutique I took a deep breath, drinking in the aroma of fresh couture. Shamefully, the experience thrilled me. One double macchiato later, my adrenaline really started pumping.
The Royal Academy of the Arts cut an imposing figure amongst the modern, designer boutiques. Photographers and PR assistants bustled around outside, smoking cigarettes and frowning meaningfully at each other. Meekly, I approached the doorway, feeling very self conscious and painfully conspicuous. I suddenly got the distinct feeling that I was under par; maybe a little uncouth, an Australian girl harboring an unhealthy obsession with John McClane amidst a sea of sophisticated big city fashionistas.
And so it was, forced to swallow my own mindless insecurity in the name of fashion (is there a better cause?) and with my hands shaking relentlessly from the caffeine buzz, I braved my first ever show at London Fashion Week. Luckily, my courage was not in vain as Berlin based label Kaviar Gauche delivered a beautiful show, with stick thin models stomping down the runway to Led Zeppelin's Immigrant Song in garments inspired by Mata Hari.
The models seemed to rise from the sea, like ancient, exotic creatures from strange, unknown kingdoms. As they floated down the runway I imagined a team of ruinous sirens; their inherent sexuality the source of their dangerous power. This sense of danger was evoked as the grace of the flowing garments was offset by heavy beading, sky high gladiator sandals and the stark contrast of black against the palette of pastel colours. Needless to say, I reveled in the mythology unfolding before me and quietly thought to myself, 'yes, London Fashion Week shall be very nice indeed.'