Style & Design
Originally published on Tuesday, 16th September 2008
Gossip
Nothing nice to say? Come sit by us…
Overheard
Sloane at back of bus 1: Oh my God, I was sooooo pissed last night, like, so rat-arsed.
Sloane at back of bus 2: Oh my God, I know, and now it’s fashion week. It’s like they’re trying to hurt us.
Sloane at back of bus 1: Ya, I know. It’s so difficult. It’s like a job or something.
Heeled bitch 1: I want that fucking Moet Room key. This waiting area is so undignified.
Heeled bitch 2, pointing at lucky journo: Look, she’s got one.
HB1: Ugh, what a whore.
HB2: You know her?
HB1: Nope.
Rumour
So did Katie Grand charter a plane to fly a cabin load of top models over from New York in time for Giles’ casting session for Tuesday’s show? Only the best will do, Gilesy-poo.
We Love
The Daily’s Maude & Doris pieces; bitchy fabric mice in designer gear? If only our own childhood tales had been as hilarious, and deeply relevant.
The UJ photobooth at the On Off party. Need we say more?
Expensive prosecco over cheap champagne, apparently. Less painful the morning after, meaning you can guzzle the night before!
We Loathe
What’s with the fricking Sunday show kid infestation? Childcare, people. Invest in some, before we stomp on the little buggers. By accident.
The front row scramble. So the show’s about to start and they’re moving everyone forward, but is a bottle of Fiji Water and a swag bag of cheap products on the front row really worth body diving for?
Media Shmedia
At the linen-clad media suite at Vauxhall Fashion Scout:
Drooling Lady 1: Look, see. So there’s Pixie, Peaches, that girl from Girls Aloud, oh and that singer Adele. She’s cool.
Drooling Lady 2: Yea and there’s Russell Simmons, and Alexa Chung. Of course.
Overhearing Fur Lady: I always approach people with suspicion when they know all the celebrity names. I mean, then you can tell who reads New magazine.
Clueless American: Oh my Gawd, I don’t know any of these people. I mean I always see famous people and just like, think I’ve seen them somewhere before or assume they’re an old friend. Like hey, P Diddy, remember me?
Cue scathing glances all round.
