My Devil Wears Zara Part 2

My trips to shimmering Paris during fashion week have always been momentous one way or the other,be it seeing Amy Wino/Winehouse live,up close and personal at the exclusive Fendi event, to mark the opening of their boutique on Ave.Montaigne back in...feb 2008 or simply queueing for almost 2 hours with my "devil" to get down and dirty with the mad masses at a discount designer shoe sale...only to appear an hour later dishevelled and disoriented with absolutely nothing to show for it other than bruises and a bleary eyed demeanour...it all remains clear as a bell in my mind ,something I shall always remember fondly.
One afternoon, as I was strolling with a colleague along the Faubourg St Honore between shows and after a rare lunch break that didn't consist of grab and munch on the run, she stop and exclaimed:
"OMG!"
Heads turned,she never was soft spoken and rather prone to over enthusiastic exclamations that bordered on the loud. There was Valentino strolling ahead of us ,perma-tanned and sophisticated in his light grey suit,  recognizably coiffed and hooded eyed.
"...It's Yves Saint Laurent !"
Towards the end of our stay, as we strolled content and sated after another "day full" in a "weekfull"... , my "devil" and her merry women;her then stalwart team of a few, one voice suddenly broke the silence: " You know what was really disappointing this time?...The collection in Zara."

The Devil is in the Details

G.Valli & MK Olsen-aftershow OCT 2007

Being Watson to my"devil's" Sherlock, I was pretty much by her side at many of the shows, ranging from the bizarre "Manish Arora" to the sublime "Gianbattista Valli and I was sitting pretty in most cases. That is when I wasn't rudely jostled and left swaying by Anna Wintour's gorilla's as she was escorted to and from her seat or being swamped by every member of "Paul and Joe" designer Sophie Albou's family and friends. This shamelessly ranged from the surly teenager flicking the pre Justin Bieber fringe,down to unruly 5 year olds playing tag while we were serenaded by the symphonic overtures of crying babies. It actually felt like I had  inadvertently stepped into someones private party with a side order of catwalk show to accompany the main meal.This was obviously before the show actually started and became less of a distraction from people watching as the seats started to fill.That and the mesmerizing mountain backdrop with the changing light from day to night dulled my senses and kept my urge to strike at bay.
For you to get the feel of things:Picture a jam packed venue,photographers on one end of the catwalk and the rest of us,the fashion hungry,the fashion savvy stacked up like designer club sandwiches around the catwalk in horseshoe unity. We sit on benches with postage stamp allocated spaces ,sweating artfully beneath the intoxicating aromas of perfumes already fighting their own air born battles, all the while unwilling to shed one item  of our carefully coordinated clothing  no matter how hot it gets under the unforgiving lights. We are cattle that converge together,chic and clean,manicured and plucked,content with our image preening to flashing bulbs.But other than being a celebrity,we invariably blend in rather than stand out. And yet wanting attention,we seek anonymity.
Now to the fashion:I have seen some of the most extraordinary examples of visually unforgiving clothes and accessories, this predating any of Lady Gaga's antics...and all this in the audience alone.The sharp intake of breath when the eccentric and artfully attired would walk in ,was simply an audible acknowledgement of true showmanship ,for where else can one perform than in this most publicized arena?A prime example of when the eccentricities of one becomes the focal attention of many is Anna Piagi.She may not be conventional but her presence at a show packs a punch. Another such character is the quietly fabulous Diane Pernet, a well know figure at these events whose website " a shaded view of fashion" is a trip. I would spy her at most events during fashion week and once had the chance to share my "umbrella,ella,ella"with her after a show. She cuts a fine figure in her all black attire and is rather more formidable than foreboding with her beehive,rivalling both  Amy Winehouse and Marge Simpson in the coiff department. I pity the fool who sits behind her during any of the shows. 
I believe it was during a Vivienne Westwood show when I began to notice the jerky foot mouvements from a young journalist beside me. It immediatly drew my attention to her feet,she was sporting the open toe boot du jour,something I have never found appealing.Is it for summer when it gets a little chilly after a day out on the beach or for winter on an unseasonably warm day? Seriously! What was unforgivable beyond the blatant fashion infraction was the state of her toenails.Protruding out of these contraptions were toenails that appeared to have been cut by either a short sighted pedicurist with a penchant for jagged edges or someone who mistook a hacksaw for clippers. The jerking indicated the need to pee ,so I gathered when she asked me to watch her bag and her seat,while she bolted to the loo.... to hopefully file her toenails ,before she slashed her way back to her seat.
She never made it back..the show began and  she was left stranded behind standing room only,while I was berated by my "devil" for foolishly accepting to watch her bag.
"Are you nuts?What if there is a bomb in there?"
"You better turn your head towards me. If it goes off,at least your face will be saved..."
Needless to say I spent the duration of the show with my head twisted in one direction while pushing the offensive bag away from me with my foot.

My Devil shopped in Zara...

To distance myself from any similarities of that famous book ,I must begin by stating the following facts: the only thing Anne Hathaway and I have in common is that we are both brunettes...at least I still am and that we both have been associated with men with criminal records.Ok...so in my situation it was barely a federal case,the guy in question did not rip off the Pope but he had come out of a brief stint in jail and was mightily affronted by the fact that I no longer wanted to be his penpal. Like that wee tidbit could be swept under my turkish carpet. So I was shallow and judgemental ...Lets get real,he was no Tony Soprano and I sure as heck wasn't going to be his Carmela.
Moving on....
Having worked for "my devil" for 5 plus years,I have never seen the inside of the magazine offices,let alone visited the "wardrobe" or ran out for coffee and "mamouls".I would be hard pressed geographically since the office is in Cairo,Egypt and I live in  the South of France.
I would meet "my devil" in London or Monte Carlo where we would host  events,or better still,Paris for  catwalk shows,parties and bargain shopping. Our mutual hunting ground would be behind the scenes,ignoring stars and designers while greedily sipping on a glass of bubbly waiting for our visions to clear and for our ears to stop buzzing. Did I get wined and dined in fancy eateries?...Not so much. In fairness she did host "magazine dinners" and would gather us round be it at the "Armani" restaurant in Paris  or  "The Saliere" in Fontvieille,MC...there we would gather, photographer, stylist, Paris/  London/Monaco correspondents,  her personal  friends and we  would be wined and dined like the best of them. Outside of these rarities...she and I  pretty much schlepped our way around from show to metro, on our own 2  swelling feet with barely a moment to spare for sustenance. Frankly,dehydration  was the look "du jour" I sported on most occasions and I must confess it did me no favours.Nothing like the puckering up of your innards to get you going....so much for expense accounts.Whenever a pit stop was made, I would always spy "my devil" nursing her white wine with quiet contemplation and pursing her lips around her faithful cigarettes. She made it a point to feed me,like a she wolf caring for her pup but rarely did she join me herself...nurture versus nature? Or purse strings versus Penne?

The Devil drank Cava

Well after 6 years of writing my own column for an Egyptian based fashion/lifestyle magazine  and loving it!.. my frazzled nerves could no longer  handle the ever tightening of the in house purse strings and so it was time to move on.  Here with great trepidation and pride is my blog... so with the opening track of "Star Trek" resounding in my ears and a hint of Buzz Lightyear I shall :"Boldly go,where every blogger has gone before me.... To infinity and   beyonnnnd! "

Wish me luck and stay tuned.