When I saw this photo on The Coveteur I knew instantly what it would be. Britt Aboutaleb - formerly of Teen Vogue and Fashionista, now of Elle.Com - was being featured, and showing all her favourite things, including but not limited to hundreds of navy and ecru breton stripe tops, high-heeled sneakers and shiny costume jewellery. She is one of those effervescent fashion 'real girls' that you don't come across too often. Someone who admits that they like wearing tee shirts and jeans, that they're not a big high heels girl, that they still can't get over that wide-eyed fashion romance (she has framed kate moss editorials in her apartment). I love it, because it's what I'm like too. I'm not quintessentially "Fashion". I hate heels. I really do. I don't like wearing them. I'm more comfortable in simple, plain flats. I lust and lust and lust after Celine but I'm actually pretty happy in the cheapest items in my wardrobe - an oversized jumper and a pretty beaten up black fitted maxi. Sure, here and there are the spoils of style; a couple of beautiful bags, some amazing knits, and jackets and coats galore. But I'm a simple girl really. And I'm only young.
I love that Britt has framed her invitations from her first season of fashion week. I love that she said she did it because she was afraid she would never go back and experience it again. I love that. It is so refreshing. It's the way I still feel whenever I get invited to things - and with the RAFW invites starting to trickle in, I can't quite believe it!! - why is this happening? Should I pinch myself? I feel lucky to be chosen and can't help but savour every moment. I don't think it's because I enjoy it any more than anyone else there, it's because, like Britt said, it's twinged with that sense of fleetingness. Is this the first and last time? Will I ever get to go again? Every fashion show and event that I am invited to I end up staring and staring in wide-eyed, bright-smiled awe. I guess in a way it still feels foreign to me. Not that I'm not wanted there but rather that I don't quite belong. But to be honest, that doesn't insult me, but rather is quite fitting. I'm not a fashionista. Maybe I'm not supposed to be at home among goodie bags and champagne - as much as I love them both! If it means that everytime an invitation pops into my letterbox I get that butterfly feelings in my stomach, then I'll gladly accept it. There are much, much worse things.
I wonder if Britt, after 3 years at fashionista and now at Elle, still feels the same?
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