I’ve made no secret of my fondness for London: I went there on a year abroad in college, I fell in love for the first time there, I started my career in fashion there. And I’ve been looking for excuses to go back there ever since! Luckily, I haven’t had to look too far. This week, I had a whole slew of reasons to stick in Great Britain.
First, the recently opened ‘David Bowie Is’ exhibition at the Victoria & Albert Museum. Whether you’re a fan of Bowie’s music or his fashion or neither of those things but want to see a rad show, check this one out. The show starts with his first attempts in music, which was seemingly conservative compared to the glammed up, makeup-loving, gender-bending fashion icon that he turned into. The guided headsets are timed to each room, so you can hear his music and his own voice as you travel through the corridors and see the Kansai Yamamoto jumpsuits that are now so notorious, as well as ensembles from designers like Alexander McQueen and collaborative performance pieces from artists like Klaus Nomi. (If you don’t know any of these names, start Google’ing.) I never knew he only met Warhol once, and wasn’t a fan.
I saw the Bowie show with my buddies Lazaro Hernandez and Jack McCollough, who are the wiz kids behind Proenza Schouler. They were in London for, among other commitments, a dinner with Net-A-Porter, which was another excuse for me to see my favorite fashion impresario Natalie Massenet. I can’t remember what we had for dinner, and I only have a few memories of the conversations I had with my table mates (skydiving was a hot topic, oddly enough) because Massenet kept me stocked with margaritas all night. It was swell to see the boys, who are so well respected in New York, being lauded in the British capital.
And finally, as with all my favorite Shakespeare plays, this trip overseas ended with a happy wedding. Rachel Chandler and Tom Guinness got hitched in the Cotwswolds over a weekend celebration that I’m still recovering from. (If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times: Brits know how to party.) There was a rehearsal dinner in the pub that Tom frequented as a kid, a shaman ceremony, and then a dinner and dance party at a friend’s country house that was as mystical and magical as I could have imagined. I often find that weddings nowadays have come clinical photo ops organized by overzealous wedding planners, void of spontaneity and energy. Not the case here: Me and a slew of pals from all parts of the world descended on the Cotswolds for a weekend that was touching and drunken, special and serene. Lots of love and congratulations to the newest Mr and Mrs Guinness.
Captions, from top: The newest Mr. and Mrs. Guinness having a first kiss on the dance floor; the entirely memorable Kansai Yamamoto jumpsuit from the Bowie exhibit at the V&A; Freida Pinto at the Proenza Schoulder dinner; Lazaro, Natalie and Jack at dinner; the entrance to my hotel in the Cotswolds; my dinner mate at the wedding, Georgia May Jagger; the most wonderful shade of green in the moss of a wall in the Cotswolds; Mark and Josephine at the wedding; Fabiola and Jason at the reception; my long last travel companion, Jacquetta Wheeler, at the Proenza dinner; Sophia and Panos, two Greeks of Grief; Lazaro in the gfitshop at the Bowie exhibit; Tom and Rachel cutting their cake; Waris and Haider Ackermann, the latter of whom designed the bride’s dress; Lily and the groom; Mary and her leopard print jumpsuit; my favorite street in the Cotswolds, even if it was empty; Allegra, Cassie, Jo, Rachel, Sophia and myself: Wedding warriors; Fabiola and Rachel planting a kiss on Julien; me and the groom having a pint at the local pub after the rehearsal dinner