GRADUATEFASHIONWEEK13

               Forgive my blatant enthusiasm (appreciate fashion is supposed to be nonchalant and all) but I just LOVE things like this. Graduate Fashion Week, 2nd-5th June at Earl's Court 2, was catwalk shows, designer exhibitions and social forum all in one. A mammoth effort of over forty universities finally coming together in four days of oozing innovation. All in all, a very cool crowd of Bright Young Things.

               My shitty pictures don't quite capture the degree of colour, ethereality or sheer energy invested in the Edinburgh College of Art designs. Shauni Douglas's (above right) and Melissa Thwaites's (below right), pull off the blasé, somehow, despite the extravagance that has gone into their collections: layers and layers of vibrant lace; mouthpiece moustaches and woollen horsewhips. I happen to appreciate the illusion, having worn Melissa's collection in previous shows and often run headless chicken-esque towards the catwalk (chest gaping, I may add) so she could do up the intricate layers of material in time. Ha!

           

                Outside the catwalk theatre, exhibition hubs positively buzz with their hundred low-light lamps installed against the cavernous darkness of the domed ceiling of Earl's Court 2; the atmosphere is pretty electric. Mannequins and hangers and large white tables boast collections that are selling for hundreds of pounds. Portfolios come beautifully in the form of newspapers, printed artbooks, specialist zines, telling stories through sketches, photoshoots - and hinting by the thickness of the binds at just how many long days and long, long nights went into these degrees. In return, the fashion world is rewarding the young innovators with something it doesn't give lightly: Time. One example is Henry Holland's Henry Holland himself, who visits and gives question time. In the middle of it all, bottled Aspall ciders tantalize at the bar - my favourite; Perfect. It feels chiquely, sheepishly exclusive.             

               This is despite the fact that, actually, Rose and I got our tickets for free. Stepping out of the tube and onto Earl's Court territory, free Coca-Colas were a smug perk. Complimentary programmes and goody bags were the cherry on top. Even those who paid for a ticket were only £12 out of pocket. Again, Graduate Fashion Week plays its illusion - the fine line between the aesthetics of the clothes and the ardour of the designers. The Week is refreshing because it embraces the concepts of inclusion, youth, hard work, without sacrificing the fashion industry's notions of exclusivity, timelessness and nonchalance.

              I'm not even a prospective recruit or whatever. I just went because (being honest) I could go for free, and I wanted to see the hard work of friends paid off. But there is something so electric about watching hard work come together beautifully, and know that the adult world has decided it is worth time, money and effort. I love things like this because days of such creativity and excitement, in whatever field and with whatever crowd, are the ones I aim towards while I sit at my desk and procrastinate.