London Fashion Week has always had the rep of being the wayward younger sibling of fashion weeks. She’s hanging out at the back of the bus with unkempt hair and graffitied trainers. New York is the shiny sorority girl with its American household names. Milan is the slick operator with its powerhouse brands. And Paris is the grande dame, mother to historic French maisons. London has a handful of homegrown megabrands, but it’s mainly a place to birth new talent. Where passion projects start and where things come together with the help of friends, little resources and a whole lot of magic.
I basically am that messy wayward sibling, dressed in one too many layers, with a mussed-up pony and never quite reaching the mythical land of chic. London is the first fashion week I attended nearly 15 years ago when
