I must note that I have always loved London and everything about it, even before I breathlessly entered the Dover Street Market for the very first time.
Maybe it’s my passion for music, especially the 60’s British Invasion and late 70s/early 80s punk that has always rocked my world. I love that a place so royal, regal and right could birth the most rebellious trends with such long-lasting impact on global pop culture, whether it be the Beatles, Clash, Sex Pistols or Vivienne Westwood.
I guess one shouldn’t be too surprised that restraint leads to resistance and revolt. The Catholic schools always produced the wildest kids, at least where I lived. When things get tough, the tough get…creative.
And then there’s the perpetual drizzle and grey and fog that hangs around like that negative friend you can’t shake. It pisses people off. And so the colors come aggressively: bright reds and pinks, plaids, neons, prints.
Coincidentally, I have just moved to the “London” of San Francisco, up in Golden Gate Heights, a very foggy part of the city. And damn if it hasn’t made me want more color around me.
And so with this all close to my heart, I devour all that London Fashion Week has to offer. Much of it would look ridiculous on me riding Muni on my way to anywhere. But I don’t care. It’s fun and inspiring and entertaining and right now, that’s all I need. And a few Sharpies.
So as I continue to organize my old clothes into my new closet up in the clouds, I’m pushing colors to the front, as a big “Fuck You” to the fog, my homage to London and Punks. Let’s all follow London’s lead and give fog, or anything dark and depressing and dull, the finger. Turns out it feels pretty great. xo