As the first day of London Collections Men drew to a close there was really only one sensible thing for me to do, drag my sickly self home to bed and pray that I wouldn’t feel any worse the next morning. But then, being sensible isn’t exactly my forte. Jimmy Choo had teamed up with Esquire Magazine to host a party that night and no matter how dire I felt – provided that I could still stand – there was no way in hell I was going to miss it.
Having been warned that the evening’s dress code was “smart” I decided to pop home for a high speed outfit change, you know me, any excuse to glam things up and I’ll take it. Seeing as I was already wearing my Peter Pilotto pencil skirt it only seemed right to add in the matching top, swap my Mulberry suitcase tote for a clutch and slap on some lipstick. Five minutes later I was back out the door, leapt in the nearest taxi and instructed my driver to take me to 5 Hertford Street. I wasn’t entirely sure where exactly on Hertford Street we were going and found myself wandering aimlessly around the depths of Mayfair until a flurry of paparazzi activity pointed me in the right direction. It turns out that “5 Hertford Street” is in fact not just an address but also the name of London’s most exclusive members club. Once inside, I understood why. The city I call home has come fairly fabulous establishments but this one really takes the cake. The décor was somewhere between antique stuffed English country house and exquisite Roman villa with old school cocktail bars and one of those indoor/outdoor smoking terraces I (and every other smoker in London) love so much.
David Gandy, Oliver Cheshire & Paul Sculfor
Tinie Tempah & Wretch 32
After realizing that no one I knew particularly well had arrived yet I made a beeline for the bar where I planned on playing with my iPhone and indulging in a cocktail sampling session. No sooner had I grabbed a pomegranate martini than Scott Schuman (AKA the sartorialist) wandered over for to say hello. Given that a) like everyone else in the world, I’m obsessed with his blog and b) I couldn’t believe he had a clue who I was, it took me a few minutes to stop gabbering but once I calmed down we had a good chat about fashion week. Whenever I’m talking to someone who’s work I really admire, I’m always terrified that if I let the conversation go on for too long I’m going to say something ridiculous and ruin everything. Luckily this one lasted just the right amount on time and as my second (or third?) glass of champagne threatened to go to my head I spotted another friend, made my excuses and slipped away. A trip downstairs revealed that 5 Hertford Street was one of those places that got more fabulous the further you ventured inside it. Amid the ornate wallpaper, tucked away nooks and oriental inspired furniture I spied Arizona Muse, Edie Campbell, Joséphine de La Baume and Tinie Tempah. Indeed it was one of those ‘do’s where the guest list is so unbelievably A List you wonder how the hell you made the cut and spend half the evening resisting the urge to ask anyone for an autograph. Other OMG attendees included Kerry Washington, Samuel L Jackson (I know!), Thandie Newton and Jessie Metcalfe.
Samuel L Jackson
Edie Campbell & Otis Ferry
Jessie Metcalfe & Cara Santana
Mark Ronson & Josephine de la Baume
Besides half of Hollywood, an absolute ton of my fave fashion friends were at the party and in between games of drunken backgammon and dancing to Mark Ronson who was on the decks, Jimmy Choo and Esquire gave us one hell of an evening. Suffice to say, I shouldn’t have gone and the next morning my lurgi had multiplied to such an extent I was forced to miss the rest of London Collections Men. But grim as the next couple of bed ridden days were, I don’t regret going even a little bit.
Love Ella. X