Last night my friends and I struck a pose and catwalked it over to Vogue's Fashion Night Out. Conduit and Bond Street were packed to the shearling gills with uber-fashionistas rocking every look imaginable.
We tottered down Conduit street, passing an over-crowded Kurt Geiger, to check out the crowds outside Armani. Skinny celebs kept turning up to a flash of paparazzi camera's making for an interesting scene of cool-looking passers-by watching well-dressed paps and bloggers watching fashioned-out D listers. Such is the hierarchy of the fashion world.
Mulberry was by far the most fun place of the night - with cocktails for everyone, a prize draw and loud, loud pop music. Everyone was happy, the staff were jolly to everyone and the bags were gorgeous. Over at Matthew Williamson, the man was welcoming - clearly enjoying the assembled masses swoon over his new, tribal inspired line. Even Vogue Editor, Alex Shulman, cracked a smile!
It was great to see a usually calm and collected area let its hair down for the night. Despite the price-tags, there was no one to stop you pausing to stroke the odd furry accessory (although I did have a Westwood coat prised from my hand at one point). Most of the stores had made a proper effort and it felt buzzy, cool and exactly what London fashion should be about.
Finally, to end the night, we felt it only appropriate to inhale a tiny, overpriced sandwich at Sketch. By 10pm, the place was teeming with anorexic, trustafarian teenagers in couture and Doc Martens. Feeling very much like my Bedalian school days were a too distant memory, it was time to head home and dream of Vivienne Westwood coats.
