...Some Nelly Furtado wisdom for you. Although I'd like to add that, in this case, all good things conerning Fashion Week will recur, and like the word "recur" suggests, in an unfashionably timely manner. So with that in mind, here's my final streetstyle post. What an experience Milan Fashion Week was...I'm telling you one thing, I'm most definitely going next year and I'm also going to test my body's limits, specifically the balls of my feet, by going to London and Paris, even if it's just for a weekend. My brain feels like scrambled eggs look so I'm going to spare you from my nonsencial talk and leave you to (hopefully) enjoy this overload of beautiful people. I did promise that it was only temporary! Tomorrow I'll subject you to my second outfit of Saturday in all its colourful glory (are you even surprised that I changed?) and give you some Milan shopping and dining tips.
After attending the Frankie Morello show (of which I was not able to take any photos - the amount of cell phones placed right in front of my face, just over my head and next to my ears meant my senses were pretty much out of service, pun not intended), Anouk and I hobbled to the next taxi that dropped us off just outside the Fendi show. That akward feeling that crept up on me at Frankie Morella was multiplied by about a thousand once I saw the mass of models, celebrities and photographers milling outside the main entrance.
My camera did allow me to hide 65% of my moony face, which automatically made me feel a lot of more at ease. Please understand, I have no problem with my looks but I am also not confident enough to hurl myself into a group of individuals such as the ones I spoke about in my post here and think "hey, this is where I belong, I definitely fit in". I'm rather that person that accidentlly snorts when they laugh or has food stuck in their hair.
But, for anyone that appreciates an inspirational outfit, Milan Fashion Week will leave you with various bugs trying to fly into your permanently open mouth. The attendees master that perfect balance between eclectic, chic, innovative and couture, something that you don't really see in Berlin and something that I don't really believe exists in such a way in London. Then again, each Fashion Week, may it be New York, London, Milan, Paris, Berlin or Stockholm, offers its own, unique mix of diverse but regionally influenced style that is impossible to copy.
What you're looking at:
Elisa Nalin: one of the few well known women that was laughing and smiling and bringing an air of lightheartedness to an event that feels like everything but.
An explosion of colour and tan skin
I have no idea who she is but she is incredibly beautiful and her Fendi outfit a dream.
Legs that go on forever, also knows as the incredible Maria Kolosova, editor of Harper's Bazaar and blogger of Kyklamasha. Anouk interviewed her for CofD previously. Read it here!
Our conversaiton started something like this, me: "May I take your picture? Are you from Germany? I thought I heard you speaking German...", them: "Ahhh! How exciting yes we are! We are the editors of InStyle! Where are you from?" And then we exchanged friendship bracelets and hugged it out. Just kidding about that last part. It was a close call though.
I find the small, surprising detail of the scuffed boots makes this outfit so spectacular, not to mention that beautiful bag.
The pyjama trend, finally making it acceptable to fall asleep in public. This should have been trendy back when I was in university. Maybe keep those bunny printed, fleece onesies safely tucked away in your bedroom though becaue I'm pretty sure that they won't fall under the "acceptable" category.
Ivelina, I, and the frumpy, rolled up jumper that makes me look like I'm smuggling the contents of a small supermarket underneath...I've decided to crop that badboy and allude to the fact that I do atually have somewhat of a waistline. (These two photos are by FriChic, edited by me)
I am wearing a J.W. Anderson jumper, an Asos skirt, an Anton Heunis necklace, a Moxham bracelet, a Celine bag and Christian Louboutin pumps.
Don't be intimidated by the influx of attractive women on my page, this is only temporary. Here are some of my first streetstyle snaps. The photographer feeding frenzy was most apparent in front of highbrow shows like Fendi. Like hawks they would keep a close eye on the Maseratis and cars with the telltale tinted windows. The procedure was the most hilarious thing to watch. If one photographer saw someone of importance first, they would adopt this brisk, stealthy, ninja-like walk in order to hopefully get the money-shot that the others would miss. Once the others caught on, the clicking, flashing, shouting and twirling would start and everyone would scramble to get that perfect shot. Of course I was usually last, sometimes getting lucky while trying to use those extra three Louboutin-given inches to squeeze my lens inbetween the sea of heads. You get so swept away by the atmosphere...I caught myself doing a fist pump towards Anouk after shooting Miroslava, while five minutes earlier, Anna Wintour had whizzed by me with her entourage of Avenger bodyguards causing me to frantically try to flip that ON switch on my camera in despair. I wasn't fast enough of course. You never have enough time to check your settings. Thankfully almost everyone wants to be photographed, some even coming up to you to request a picture.
There are still certain things that puzzle me. So please tell me:
In the land of pasta, red wine and paninis, how do you manage to keep your petite frames? Is it all just an elaborate hoax? If not, please share those tips or just that metabolism with me!
How do you Italian women manage to look so perfectly groomed? There is no cakey makeup, just dewy, beautiful skin and glossy, healthy and bouncy hair.
The thing is, they are also nice, approachable and even funny so you can't even fault them for that.
So, let me tell you what you're looking at:
Why this bag is moving away from me I'm still not sure. I did make advances towards it, gave it the look, batted my lashes, but all to no avail.
The first example of the influx of beautiful women on this page. Exhibit 1: Ivelina, author of Frichic, blogger extraordinaire and generally just the embodiment of awesome. Exhibit 2: Anna Stankova, Ash Jewelry designer, owner of the best pair of legs and a matching personality. Exibit 3: Anouk Bos, the fierce woman behind CofD and King Midas' wet dream.
Exhibit 2: Ivelina
Arriving at Frankie Morello.
Exhibit 3: Unknown man with an obvious foot fetish, Anouk Bos and me, donning a moonface, the rolled up 3xlovehandles jumper, clickety click pumps and ungroomed hair. (Photo by The Styleograph)
"Now where did I put those tampons."
Ear porn, ear swag, ear party. Name it what you wish.
Tweed perfection from Sandro that looks very much like the Math jacket that I am dying to own.
General, overwhelming beauty featuring an embarassing background of empty magazine boxes.
I was stalking this guy trying to shoot this jacket and the closer I got, the faster he moved away. Still trying to figure out if that was coincidence or not.
She needs no fu*king introduction. Pardon my French.
I just arrived back in Berlino (this makes me laugh everytime) and wanted to leave you with one little taste before blasting you with impresisons of Milan Fashion Week for the next few days. There is so much to tell you that I don't even know where to begin. This was my first time attending an international Fashion Week and to put it bluntly, it blew my mind.
I spent most of Saturday hunting my prey, a.k.a. elaborately dressed, perfectly groomed, size 0 women and ridiculously attractive, intimidating, James-Bond-lookalike men because that is 95% of the Milan Fashion Week posse. As you can imagine, I was right in my element. I was wearing a jumper by J.W. Anderson, the bottom of which I had to roll up because it produced a weird kink that made me look like I had three love handles on my left hip instead of one. With this came an Asos leather skirt and Christian Louboutin pumps that I neglected to reheal before the weekend, meaning that yes, I was walking on two nails... click click click, slip, shit, click. The accessories donned were my beloved Moxham Amarna bracecelet, my Anton Heunis necklace and the red Celine Nano Luggage. My perfectly tousled (unbrushed) hair that I like to describe as beach waves, together with a slightly red tipped nose thanks to an advancing blemish, and no makeup because I was afraid it would run (red lipstick not included), meant that I did, in fact, feel out of place.
But it didn't matter.
I had an amazing time meeting and shooting amazing people like Germany's InStyle editors, Maria Kolosova, Harper's Bazaar editor and blogger of Kyklamasha and the Lifestylehunters duo, Niels Oostenbrink and Linda Tol. In the end I didn't feel so out of place anymore, even though my blemish was.