Mulberry’s London Fashion Week Party Hijinks

Let me get something straight first: I very rarely go out on the town these days, and especially not at 9pm on a Sunday night; a week into a new job…but how was I supposed to pass up the opportunity to put on my gladrags and join Laura at Mulberry’s fashion week party? I put that question to you, reader, I do!

So out I stumbled of Bond Street station at 9pm in my new Russell & Bromley boots and African wax dress from Spitalfields’ market, and met Laura for a night of sherbet prosecco-fuelled hijinks at Claridges. Now, I’ve been to a few fashion week parties (and even shows) before, but never have I encountered such nice people (yes, really!) in such a fun environment.

Echoing the fashion show held there earlier that day, the theme was British seaside fun — there were giant icecreams! a teddy-grab! one of those stick-yer-head-through-a-hole-and-get-photographed-looking-like-a-tit boards! loads of male models holding vendors’ trays of prawn cocktails; burgers; fish and chips; hot dogs, and icecream! plus hundreds of inflatable zoo animals and helium animal-shaped balloons, causing our new acquaintance Kristabel to comment something along the lines of “you know a party’s good when you don’t even question the presence of African animals at a seaside-themed party.” Tru dat.

For lack of a better way to present what I beliiiieeeve are true and accurate proceedings of the night’s events, here are photos stolen from Laura’s Flickr, and some of what I can recall. If you’re interested in, y’know, fashion, you can read Laura’s write-up of the show here.

The drinks!

Upon arriving, there were rows of pretty boy waiters with litres of sherbet prosecco waiting to be guzzled. So, we did. Seen here is my Kate Spade bag, which lurkers may recall was a first wedding-anniversary gift from Jim.

This Converse-bedecked waiter was so sweet, shadowing us the entire night and ever so generous with his prosecco-hand. Obviously I blamed him first-thing this morning when I woke up.

After a few more sherbets, someone had a bright idea to snatch up a cup of jelly from a passing waiter and dunk the whole wobbling mess into her cocktail. Not naming any names *cough*

The food!

Waif-like girls at fashion week, eating burgers and hot dogs? It happened! And I’m not just referring to Laura and I *sucks in stomach* The back room had more non-Maccy D-looking burger-flippers (note: there was no burger-flipping on display) than your favourite Byron Burgers branch…

…And were so kind as to hover by our elbows just when another cup of prawn cocktail or fish ‘n chips cone was needed.

They even had vegetarian hot dogs! Tasted like cardboard, but Laura and I were thrilled with the finger-sized puppies. Funny story: as we were hoovering up hotdogs, a shortish chap came over and asked us what the food was. I replied by saying the burgers were meaty, and the hot dogs were veggie, and upon him grabbing a burger, I immediately took the piss and lambasted him by crying “meat is murder!” and moaned on in a similar vein.

Some woman from Harpers Bazaar ambled over and we all got chatted, but I stuck with my Heather Mills-got-invited-to-Mulberry’s-party routine and told him off some more — but not before he introduced himself by saying his name was Osman. As he walked off, Laura said to me “I just realised that was Osman Yousefzada,” head practically in her hands.

Can I add “I cried ‘meat is murder’ to a very famous and very talented fashion designer” to my CV, mum?

Fish ‘n chips cones, and a very arty shot by Laura on my (loaner) Olympus Pen EP-2. My African wax-print dress ended up being a good call for the party, though some fashwan guy fawned over me and said “you simply muuust come to my exhibition next weeeeek in that dresssss, it’s all about Africaaaa…”

The celebrities!

Part of us was hoping Alexa Chung would make her regular Mulberry party appearance, but it appears the ‘sleb quota at this year’s LFW is decidedly small. Kristen Stewart rocked up in a Chanel varsity jacket though (with her security stealing our sofa just as we were about to sit down). In our piss-taking trend, we hovered by her sofa concocting ways to muscle past her PR girl (who had a fake Chanel 2.55, I might add) and ask questions about R-Patz.

We managed a few sly shots of her, but as soon as she started munching a mini hotdog, her undercover security guy instantly cockblocked our attempts by mirroring our every attempt to lean past him with a subtle move of his own. I had to resort to jab angrily at my phone’s screen while exclaiming something about “my bloody boyfriend” to Laura, while trying to snap a few quick shots with its camera. My elaborate ploy didn’t work, and only served to make me look very foolish when I followed it up with an “angry” “phonecall” I made there to my imaginary “bloody boyfriend”…despite there being a severe absence of reception in that room.

We also whispered in a drunken fervour about how absolutely gorgeous she is IRL, and despite being slim, she isn’t unhealthy looking. Rather, she’s got that tininess 16 year olds have, before their hips expand and they develop a fondness for cheese. I bet her handlers never let her get a whiff of roquefort, poor sod.

Some band called The Hurts played. I sampled a few tracks on Spotify before I left the house that evening, and Jim made me turn it off because “if you’re going to listen to a boyband from the ’80s, at least choose a talented one.” Ever the prophet, that Jim — they kinda sucked.

Afterwards the lead singer-chap mingled in the crowd, and I attempted to speak to him to tell him his music blows and that he looked like a poor man’s Patrick Bateman, but Kristabel wisely stopped me by saying “you’ll give bloggers a bad name!” Apparently he’s with Alexa Chung…really don’t get her choice in men, has to be said.

Not pictured: Kelis, and Mulberry’s designer Emma Hill, who Laura and I both agreed should get her fabulous legs out more often. I’m not sure if the DJ was a “celebrity DJ” or not, but he seemed quite accommodating when I requested Club Tropicana, promising he’d play it later for me, once the dancefloor kicks off. It never happened :( but at least he didn’t point-blankedly shout “no” at me like Paloma Faith did when I asked her that one time. God bless you Hot Chip — you’re the only celebrity act which has ever played it for me. Could be because I forced Jim to ask that time, and the warm potato was so impressed with his audacity? Maybe.

The hijinks!

Laura played “grab a teddy” and had four failed attempts…before the PR girl reached in and grabbed her a furry friend.

Here’s the little cheater with her spoils now. Or should I say “cheetah”? Har har har.

Kristabelle and Laura with our stick-yer-head-through-the-hole-and-get-photographed-looking-like-a-tit card. I’m going to treasure mine forever, even if it has two random people in it with us.

I also had the good fortune to meet Carrie from Wish Wish Wish — can’t believe she’s only 19! So much more mature than I was at that age (she says, at her ripe old age of almost-26).

Claridges’ art deco loos had special additions that night (and I’m not just referring to the fashwan girl who farted loudly — and accidentally, I presume — while queueing for a wee).

Ahh yes, now I mentioned the zoo animal balloons and vinyl inflatable toys…here are my lost-but-not-forgotten vinyl zebras, which the security guard wouldn’t let us leave with. I tried insisting that “the poor children of Brixton needed them!” but sadly my plea fell on deaf ears. We did nick a load of helium balloons though…

…which made the nightbus home with Kristabel all the more fun. Well I presume it was fun — my memory is a little blank from midnight onwards! A few memories were jumpstarted this morning when I stumbled into the lounge and saw the balloons bobbing away there. Effie-cat is scared of them :(

I’ll leave you with this last photo, taken after we left the party. Just after I made like a lollypop lady to shepherd Laura across the road in front of an approaching car. While shouting “zebra crossing!,” natch. I spent the whole walk from Claridges to Regent Street replying to drunken men asking about the balloons by either trilling “neigh!” or “woof!” at them. That’s the sound zoo animals make, right?

Special thanks to Laura for inviting me along (and for the pics!); Kristabel and Carrie for the lovely company, and Mulberry’s security guys for not kicking us out.