At a dinner party a few years ago, I found myself seated between two arch-trendies ? the sort who can team clogs with Princess Leia buns and still look bafflingly cool. They were chatting animatedly about a little-known Dutch denim designer, and the exact positioning of his pockets, when one of them broke off to address me. ?I?m sorry, this must be so boring for you,? she said, looking me up and down compassionately. ?You shop on the high street, don?t you??
These days, I suppose, one might almost be able to take that as a compliment. Since the ?fast fashion? revolution began, a decade or so ago, even the most die-hard trendies have felt moved to dip their pointy brogues into the hitherto forbidden waters of the high street.
One of the most striking things about the pandemonium that broke out in Regent Street last week, when H&M launched its new collection by Donatella Versace, was how many fashion students there were among
the slavering mob. One undergraduate from the London College of Fashion told the press that he had set up camp outside the flagship store two days before the launch. Two whole days! And with absolutely no intention of bringing down capitalism!
One could at least argue that he had a professional interest in examining the warp and weft of Miss Versace?s studded leather dresses, silk bustiers and Hawaiian palm-print bomber jackets (one for the menfolk, as long as they don?t mind people pointing and laughing whenever they leave the house). But what about the hundreds of apparently normal people who queued overnight on the cold November pavement? Do they not have lovers to snuggle up to? Or televisions? How could they possibly have mistaken this experience for fun?
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