Yesterday I was reminiscing with a show producer friend of mine, let’s call her Lulu. Well she and I have done over 50 seasons in this business you know, and when you are stuck backstage waiting to do your bit for a bunch of corporates, you have to pass the time somehow. So I conjured up another book…

It occurred to me that the fashion industry needs to be taken down a peg or two from time to time. Don’t get me wrong I love it. But we fashion-types are deluded into thinking that our industry is crucial to the running of government and essential in the making of domestic policy.

Actually on a ‘necessary’ level it’s right down there with collectable ceramic pedigree dog ornaments. I digress.

Anyway, how about something along the lines of ‘Great gaffs of the gorgeously groomed.’ You know something to remind us all that despite the omnipresent style and sophistication we believe we have, no one is exempt from skidding arse over elbow and ending up with egg all over their marvellously cut and constructed vintage garments. All helpful title suggestions will be considered because I’ve got plenty of stories.

Of course I can’t name names. The book would never see the light of day but I can give you a feel for what I’m thinking.

There was this designer, who was nervously pacing back stage waiting for his clothes to be delivered. It had been cut very tight. The models were there and had been coiffed and groomed. The show producer and team were in place and the clock was ticking with the audience of top buyers and press beginning to gather in the tent ready for a show as part of London Fashion Week.

Still no clothes. Designer and show producer are getting anxious and bolstering each other with glass after glass of bubbly. Soon the former is crying in a heap and the latter is out cold, snuggled amongst the coats.

When Lulu a young and eager show production assistant noticed that her employer was ‘incapacitated’ shall we say, and that the clothes were coming through the door, off the courier van, squashed flat in boxes without hangers and all in need of a press, she consulted the designer for guidance. He dissolved into yet more hysterics and made everyone search for his Benson and Hedges before exiting to the pub over the road to drown his sorrows.

So the models were given anything from the box that didn’t look in need of an iron. There was no styling, no fitting, no rehearsal, nothing.

In true La La-Land spirit the show started and two un-experienced wet behind the ears, junior assistants – our Lulu and Jen as I’m going to call her who is now one of the most experienced fashion TV producers in the land, salvaged the day out of pure fashion chaos.

Picture the scene where said assistants were hastily playing dress-up with real life Malibu Barbies’ and clothes crinkled to within an inch of their ‘care’ instructions.

The press loved it and it was only when the footage was run later for the benefit of ‘absent friends’ that anyone noticed the lack of bottom halves. Yes they had sent many of the models out, without skirts or trousers as these were in another box that hadn’t been opened, but those foxy women had hit the runway in their pants and carried it off. Who says models don’t earn their money. The designer never recovered, but everyone else in the story went on to have long and happy (some more than others hic) careers.

Related posts:

1. All women deserve great fashion
2. This week I am mostly wearing…part 3
3. Lavish and lovely
4. Learning Curve
5. Jeans are great … but need help with colours and patterns!