London Fashion Week: Julien Macdonald, Bad Sponsors, Good Show

Had I time to include the Julien Macdonald show in my London Fashion Week round-up, I would have given him the Bad Sponsors Award. His show has never a highlight on my fashion week calendar, but I always end up going. The pre-show party which seemed so glamorous when I first started coming, is now really annoying. It wasn't helped by the fact that the L'Oreal name was on nearly every inanimate object -- doors, walls, window panes -- although this year not on either side of the runway as it was years before. The drinks being passed around tasted suspiciously of juice -- and only juice. A friend and I watched as the bar tenders mixed another batch. In a giant jug went five, yes five, shots of Belvedere vodka. Each jug probably poured 20 or 30 drinks which were served in tiny martini glasses. When we asked for extra (it was Friday night, we needed it!) we were told no.

When seating began it got even worse. They started calling people by row number, ala an airline. Front two rows first. I was in the last. (Which isn't as bad as it sounds. There were only five rows). As I sat back there waiting and waiting and waiting for the show to begin I couldn't help but ask myself what the heck I was doing there when I could be eating a nice dinner. I was ready to strangle the skinny Welshman myself (although I hear he's really nice) or even just leave, but then the show began and out came lovely sweater after lovely sweater. He showed the best collection he's shown in ages. (I'm not the only one that was on the verge of losing patience. Style.com stopped reviewing his shows in 2004.) Finally, he went back to what he does best -- knits. He started his career designing knits for Alexander McQueen and these were lovely. Heavy, chunky, warm things I'd wear myself.

The starlets in the front row looked decidedly perplexed. Where were the sparkly, fringy dresses they'd come to count on him to provide? Where were the diamond-studded bikinis? They sat in stunned silence. No whooping or hollering, just bafflement as they waited and waited in their little cocktail dresses watching all those sweaters go by. Finally, out came a sparkly, fringy dress...

and they perked up, a bit, until the dress got closer -- you could almost hear them thinking, "What kind of sick joke is this this? Short sleeves?" I wish I had a camera because the look on their faces made it all worthwhile.