LFW diary: Schoolgirls and insiders at Charles Anastase, a Polynesia-bound departure at Betty Jackson and a birthday party at Louise Gray
If last night was about the British sort of celebrity, today was about my sort: true fashion characters. Front row at Charles Anastase this morning (a properly wet one, I might add) was Charlotte Dellal, exquisite shoe designer and Titian titan of society, her waves unruffled by the rain. Scott “The Sartorialist” Schuman appeared to be sans Garance for the first five minutes of their entire romantic history (she must have been in the bathroom). And I walked smack into Alexa Chung, but it’s not my fault… she was standing sideways!
It’s easy to see the insider draw: Charles Anastase makes clever and lovely stuff for clever and lovely girls. The clothes are not very celebrity friendly or even very sexy, but they do demand to be touched. His excellent a-line coats, for example, come in oxblood pony hair, cognac crocodile leather (with a matching shift dress, naturally!) or dreamy fuzzy peach wool. A few pieces were hung with mixed-metal and mixed-size rectangles that looked like scales. Bag-waisted frocks and round-collared jumpsuits were done in lush silks or velvets, some with gold flower appliqués. All in all: a wonderland of delights. Anastase designs for schoolgirlish girls, but not the boring ones, the ones who’d skip class to read in the garden. Even in the rain.
Next, at Betty Jackson, it went from showers to flowers. So many flowers! Hibiscuses bloomed all over the designer’s vermillion and black chiffon dresses, some of which were very sheer. It was a departure (Polynesia-bound?) for the veteran—and usually quite restrained—designer. There were a plethora of plush coats and cozy dresses in biscuit hues to rest the eyes on, and at the end there were loose frocks and jumpsuits in black eyelet. Cream latex stockings paired with ortho-platforms and mary-janes gave it all a naughty-nurse vibe (Richard Prince would approve). But red, all that red, was the big idea. Hilary Alexander seemed to dig it, as she smiled and bobbed to the finale song, “Wake Up, Little Susie.”
Later, it was on to Louise Gray. The brightest of London’s young things, she seems as if to spin a kaleidoscope and find a new way of seeing fashion each season. Through Gray’s eyes, fall is a kid’s birthday party, complete with primary colours, metallic polka dots on big fuzzy plaids, and mad-genius print mashups. As if that were perhaps not quite… enough, Gray showed it all with balloon hats, confetti-dot face paint, and Christmas-tree paper chains worn like harnesses over the clothes. With her bright red bob and harlequin makeup, Lynn Yaeger looked right at home. It was a rager of a good show: proof that we really do only go to fashion week for the parties.
![](http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=https://fashionmagazine.com/style/lfw-diary-schoolgirls-and-celebs-at-charles-anastase-a-polynesia-bound-departure-at-betty-jackson-and-a-birthday-party-at-louise-gray/&title=LFW diary: Schoolgirls and insiders at Charles Anastase, a Polynesia-bound departure at Betty Jackson and a birthday party at Louise Gray&picture=https://fashionmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/feb11-lfw-anastasejackson.jpg&description=[caption id="attachment_34301" align="aligncenter" width="600" caption="Charles Anastase and Betty Jackson shot by Antonio de Moraes Barros Filho/Getty Images"][/caption]
If last night was about the British sort of celebrity, today was about my sort: true fashion characters. Front row at Charles Anastase this morning (a properly wet one, I might add) was Charlotte Dellal, exquisite shoe designer and Titian titan of society, her waves unruffled by the rain. Scott “The Sartorialist” Schuman appeared to be sans Garance for the first five minutes of their entire romantic history (she must have been in the bathroom). And I walked smack into Alexa Chung, but it's not my fault… she was standing sideways!
It's easy to see the insider draw: Charles Anastase makes clever and lovely stuff for clever and lovely girls. The clothes are not very celebrity friendly or even very sexy, but they do demand to be touched. His excellent a-line coats, for example, come in oxblood pony hair, cognac crocodile leather (with a matching shift dress, naturally!) or dreamy fuzzy peach wool. A few pieces were hung with mixed-metal and mixed-size rectangles that looked like scales. Bag-waisted frocks and round-collared jumpsuits were done in lush silks or velvets, some with gold flower appliqués. All in all: a wonderland of delights. Anastase designs for schoolgirlish girls, but not the boring ones, the ones who'd skip class to read in the garden. Even in the rain.
Next, at Betty Jackson, it went from showers to flowers. So many flowers! Hibiscuses bloomed all over the designer's vermillion and black chiffon dresses, some of which were very sheer. It was a departure (Polynesia-bound?) for the veteran—and usually quite restrained—designer. There were a plethora of plush coats and cozy dresses in biscuit hues to rest the eyes on, and at the end there were loose frocks and jumpsuits in black eyelet. Cream latex stockings paired with ortho-platforms and mary-janes gave it all a naughty-nurse vibe (Richard Prince would approve). But red, all that red, was the big idea. Hilary Alexander seemed to dig it, as she smiled and bobbed to the finale song, "Wake Up, Little Susie."
[caption id="attachment_34302" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Louise Gray shot by Tim Whitby/Stringer"][/caption]
Later, it was on to Louise Gray. The brightest of London's young things, she seems as if to spin a kaleidoscope and find a new way of seeing fashion each season. Through Gray’s eyes, fall is a kid's birthday party, complete with primary colours, metallic polka dots on big fuzzy plaids, and mad-genius print mashups. As if that were perhaps not quite... enough, Gray showed it all with balloon hats, confetti-dot face paint, and Christmas-tree paper chains worn like harnesses over the clothes. With her bright red bob and harlequin makeup, Lynn Yaeger looked right at home. It was a rager of a good show: proof that we really do only go to fashion week for the parties.){kind=link}