Review by Saskia Verhagen
Henry Holland. What an epic PR fiasco. This, unfortunately is my main recollection of the entire thing as the show itself was not only invisible to me, but also to Colin McDowell (I will explain). In amongst the media frenzy of thr arrival of both Alexa Cheung and Nicola Roberts, who have both been regulars at a lot of this season's shows, and those people who are not quite as famous, but are fairly convinced that they deserve the red carpet treatment and will push and shove and shout and scream until one of the PRs (dressed in the most hideous grey ombre Mongolian fur coats giving them an uncanny resemblance a frenzied pack of Dulux dogs) will deem them worthy of entrance and unclick the hallowed black rope of glory (make that a power-crazed pack of Dulux dogs). Are we not onto the actual content of the show yet? No. Because I hardly even saw the show, despite a bona fide invite, and the pre-show trauma was so intense that I feel the need to share the full extent of the drama. Where were we? Oh yes. 15 minutes after the scheduled starting time, a model arrives, and one of our Dulux doggies announces that we now have all the models so the show can take place (well thank the bloody lord for that - this is after the VIPs have been seated by the way) and lo, us lfw plebs are still waiting... Thank god for the hilarious bouncer telling the self-important fashionistas who barged to the front of the line (where, by the way, I was standing) to "chill the fuck out" - seeing the look on those mac-ed up faces? Pure lfw comedy gold. Following this, we are informed that the venue is at capacity and that we should all go home. Woe alas!But then, a quiet voice pipes up behind me, "Excuse me? I'm supposed to be covering this show?"
PR man: "Sorry mate, we're at capacity, health and safety won't let one more person in there"
I look behind me, to roll my eyes sympathetically - and there is standing one of THE legends of British fashion journalism: Colin McDowell.
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