I went to my first fashion show last night, as part of the Loreal Melbourne Fashion Festival. As you know, I am not partial to fashion per say, because I am not one for the falseness that accompanies the scene. I don’t do over inflated egos and pretentiousness, especially when it comes to people thinking they are somebody just because they watch people walk down a catwalk wearing clothes.

The limited foray I have had into the fashion slash celebrity scene has left me cold. It seems that everyone has a superficial persona that they must maintain whilst moving within these circles, and it certainly does lack warmth and realness. From what I can gather, it seems that you must act nonchalant and removed to anyone that approaches you, in order to make them feel that they are privileged to speak with you for more than a few minutes.

If anyone was to approach you with a compliment, you must immediately look at them like they are pond scum, and have them question themselves as to why they think they are worthy enough to talk to you. “Yes, I know I’m fabulous, I don’t need you to tell me that.” To me, the fashion scene seems to operate on people who have an over inflated sense of importance of themselves preying on other women’s insecurities.

As I am the antithesis of all this stands for, you can bet that my invitation that had me attend such an event must have been special – and it was. Deb from Blacklisted had teamed up with Emma and Rob from Fleurage Perfumery to host a fashion event with a difference – the timelessness of true Melbourne style collaborating with bespoke scent, inspired by Deb’s recent trip to Morocco. You can read more about “Blacklisted in Marrakesh” in Onya Magazine next week.

As a Fashion Week virgin, there are many things I learnt, namely that when one is attending an event where they will be photographed, one must pack an arsenal of hair product in their handbag. I woke up on Thursday, and ran through the day’s events in my head. My conundrum was that I had an afternoon appointment in South Yarra followed by a 5pm appointment at the OPI nail bar in David Jones – oh crap, I didn’t have enough time to go home before the 6:30 start of the parade.

Sasha, my lovely manicurist from OPI, was kind enough to reach into my handbag and give my heels in exchange for the comfort of my flats, so that I didn’t smudge my manicure (in case you are curious, it was “Tickle My France-Y”, and I am now hooked on this colour).

I left David Jones at 6pm searching for the tram to Collingwood. Not having ventured to that side of town before, I was feeling a little flustered whilst racing up Bourke St in my six inch heels, hoping I would find the right tram. I alighted the tram and set about putting my face on, whilst looking out for the intersection of Smith and Easey Street. In between my mascara and lip gloss, I eyeballed my stop and dug into my handbag (whilst inevitably smudging one of my nails) for my notebook with the directions to the event.

My pre straightened hair was seriously suffering from the humidity as I traipsed up and down Smith St. By the time I arrived, my hair had gone all frizzy, and my make up had run half way down my face. I only wish someone had told me that parades during Melbourne Fashion Week are always fashionably late.