Working backwards to the beginning of fashion week, last Thursday night went to a party down at LN-CC (click). LN-CC (late night chameleon club) is a double, double fashionable shop that one makes an appointment to visit. Cool. It's in Dalston too. It sells high end very designer stuff, all Damir Doma, Yohji and Dries (clickage). I'm confused by these sorts of gaffs as the stuff is so extraordinarily expensive considering who's into it. The fashionable young? The uber informed trendies?  Well, some of them at least.

For example the Yohji knit above (clickage) is £1739. Have nothing against any of it*, (except the 'what, don't you get it?' poses the models insist on striking), just don't understand the lineage of aspiration. There are some brilliant designers down here, well bought too. But its the same at Dover Street Market and the like. During busy periods, clutches of skinny, skint trendies stalk about in awe, while a few large framed older people mill round in couples with the right Japanese designers piled right on, some very large framed designer bins and their silly, old, faces. They're the only ones who can afford much of it I am guessing. This new place is  impressive in its newness of thinking, in a way, and the designers sold are certainly vaunted ones. Anyway, this isn't about those shops, its about this party.

I was meeting someone on route elsewhere and I was also officially invited. I was allowed to be there. Its near to my house, but I drove. I didnt anticipate staying. Past the thin lines of smokers, there is a sort of wooden tunnel constructed inside the space, and wooden chambres branching off. It's designed by Gary Card, who incidentally is brilliant. In these chambers people were talking, sipping Peroni or reverently gazing/fingering bits of Margiela and Jil. Like a four-by-two and chip board take on the set of Alien, the lighting was dark orange and the crew sparce.

Then there was an empty dance floor with two serious DJs, (could well have been the Bad Passion Project), playing relatively old,  American garage Music. I actually quite liked it, as my pal Micky the Black Cod plays alot of it over the years. The trendies were not so keen. Mind you, they had enough on their plates working out what to do now they were all gathering together.

The factions present were not coping well with mixing. I was content, on own, with my black C.P. Mille Miglia zipped right up. Could have the hood up and would have made no odds, as felt utterly invisible. I wasn't part of their 'scene', and they knew it. This left me free to 'LOL' openly at the sights that were filing about around me. I felt like a solo documentary unit.

(Wait... The copy keeps going small. How annoying. Maybe its the time of night. Taken this long to set the scene. Its too too late to nail the rest)

Must stress, this post is TBC, TBC I tell you...

Stubbs off.

* Massive lie actually. Elements of this sort of fashion can be utter shite. Spend the dough and look like an instant clot. Fashion's done it again.

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