1. LONDONFASHIONWEEKPORTRAITS LENSED BY DAVID YEOWORDS BYDAISY DUMAS
2. i tsSeptember.Inside, hallowed catwalks cut a Like Baudrillards Paris, girls The end of an- path through the sight of a hard- totter through the arcades of other all-too-shortened set of career voyeurs. And Somerset House whilst men in bright and sweatywhilst beauty and vision thrill dark glass sip from takeaway summer in Lon- the hard-to-please, make no mis-coffee cups and watch.take: money fuels this engine.fresh pinches ofautumn are begin- On the streets, though, is whereof the fashionscape.ning to creep into ideas and creativity really come Its the underbelly of high art, thethe mornings.alive. The pavements host theeconomic viability of a stylish living, breathing embodiment ofidea. Uniqueness democratised.A number 6 double-decker fashion and its heartbeat is notsweeps by and dissolves into AndlikeAldwychs curved, theatrical a buoyant dinghy, its atall, androgynous girl giggles.vein of cre- ...Without the Sartorialists,ativity thatThe streets these streets are Stockholms,refuses to be draggedIsabellas and Daphnes, the d o w nover - for hundreds of years.mind-blowing design and or over-The gum-trodden pavements world-class style we see oninflated.have seen all there is to know in private catwalks would seem as True, street fashionfootsteps, the sounds of a billion hollow as a set prop wouldntstories and the lights of lives and -lives played out in these worn,out the seahomely concourses. of publicitylocked behind doors and blink- and rambling modern-day docu-Where a young Elizabeth, cour-ered by guest lists. menters that London Fashiontesans, nobility, plumed horsesWeek proper brings. But withoutand ladies-in-waiting once trod,Its treading the pavements. Lit the Sartorialists, Stockholms, Is-now comes a more earthly pro- by the lamps of a stream of black abellas and Daphnes, the mind-cession: ripped tights, cottoncabs, watched by an audience blowing design and world-classshirts, leather shoes, doffed hatslurching by, eyes peeled through style we see on private catwalksand woollen coats. Plastic sun- crowded bus windows. would seem as hollow as a setglasses, leggings, piercings and prop.leopard print.The catwalk: our slabbed side-walk, of course. And our models: Like the Thames that onceAnd where once those who en-they come to see and be seen, totered Somerset House did so onsupport, to shine, to be part of Houses arches, London fashionstrictly regal business, an alto- a multi-billion dollar global in- has energy it surges, ebbs andgether different breed of gentrydustry, to parade, to work. To be swells. Its protagonists will visitphotographed, to photograph. To and will leave. Styles will comeand columned passages: fash-blog, cajole, meet, mingle. To in- and go and designers will burnions royal set. Designers, styl- form, learn and absorb. Today, in bright and fade. But Londonsists, fans, students, the hungry, this city, everyone is a model.paths, pedestals and palaces ofcelebrities, artists, wannabes.infectious creativity will remain.
3. Here, David Yeos reportagefrom the sidelines of SomersetHouses frenetic hubbub cap-ture fashion spilling into Londonlife and London life crossinginto the London Fashion Weekbubble. Its not a normal snap-shot of London fashion, but ahyper-condensed, concentrated,creative burst and its glow willonto some of the worlds best-known catwalks. The lense isturned away from mass-producedrunway models and instead ontotheir watchers so that gradual-ly, the audience is becoming asmuch a part of the circus-esquespectacle as the designer dressesthemselves. Taken on the hoof as naturally as possible, usuallyin a rush and at the behest of theelements - Yeos photographs ofphotographers, models, moversand mysterious looks expose therapturous buoyancy of the citysstyle.