I hardly ever ask for show tickets. They come my way when and as nature intended. First, they are a surprise that makes me smile, a season later - an invitation to meet "my extended family". Admittedly, I get attached to the designers I meet and it's a wonderful feeling, a sensation of bonding and intimacy of discovering their collections first hand, touching the fabrics and learning about each piece. It's a happy addiction I would never want to be cured from.
This season I was spoilt. At least, the attention I was given was enough to get me out of my emotional coma and drag my prettified face and denim-clad bottom over to London on a very early Saturday morning for a Jasper Conran show.
Admittedly, his was one of the collections I've been dreaming of seeing in person for years, so much so that I broke the rule of not asking for tickets. Without any further agenda I emailed his team and told myself that all fails I'll still be live streaming his show on the blog anyway - the truth of life and business as usual.
And then, in its pink glory, came the invitation and I, as surreal as it feels, found myself in a brightly lit white room watching a very special fashion show. This was a kind of collection that perfect wardrobes are made of. Classic, with flawless proportion, a dose of fun, a mix of masculine and feminine, 1960s-style prints and 1970s shapes, it was a delicious palette of dark navy, white, olive, avocado, orange and dark chocolate injected with crayon brights and evening sparkle. Even now, a few hours later, I am still dreaming of the most gorgeous softly swishing white coat, stripped sweaters, midi skirts, white shirt dress with graphic olive piping details, contrast stitching on a suede olive trench and military-style olive dress with a sensual attitude of a frock that can easily seduce. I know that's exactly what it did to me. Clearly, Jasper Conran clothes leaves me hopelessly in love with them, even more now than ever before. Must be the "fashioned by love" magic...