I’ve been a style editor for more years than I care to enumerate here, and so I’ve been to a lot of fashion parties, from Milan to Monte Carlo, most of which are as amusing as the act of sticking pins in your eyes, bereft of adequate food & drink, and full of cluster fucks of revolting people looking for photo opps.
Do not believe the photographs and breathless prose in the weekly gossip mags. Fun is not on the agenda. Even if the room is filled, as I have witnessed more times than I can count, with carousels, performing monkeys and semi-naked painted people swinging from the ceiling.
Most fashion parties are positioning events, designed to convey an idea about a brand to the wider public. The attendees are just reductive props in a lavish marketing campaign, however famous, successful or beautiful they may be.
So when a fashion company throws an event that manages to transcend all the marketing and the PR and the hype, (and avoids the use of monkeys or naked people), to become a thoroughly enjoyable, even fabulous evening, I sit up and take notice.
So, dear readers, I give you Mango’s excellent after-show party in Madrid last night which, by dint of a jaw-dropping location on the vast tiered rooftop terraces of the Circulo de Bellas Artes, rivers of Champagne and cocktails, enough food for an army (as, contrary to public perception, fashion editors do quite like to be fed), a brilliant mix of beautiful and normal people, (because beautiful people have an aching need to be observed and normal people like observing them) and a DJ touched by the hand of camp genius, was quite possibly the fun-est event, that I’ve attended in years of doing this job.
Really, the magic formula, as Mango proved, is simple. Forget the tricks, find a great venue where people can breathe and move about, supply lavish food & drink, and get everyone happy and relaxed enough to dance. That’s it.
Right. Photos: one of the terraces of pretty people, lit by large mirrored boxes of church candles.
(Goodness Spanish men are HOT):
The view over central Madrid:
And the food! Passed around by charming & chirpy servers were platters of grilled asparagus, enough spoons of mushroom risotto to feed the whole of Milan Fashion Week, trays & trays of sushi, plump mini burgers, tempura fish, huge legs of jamon, little squares of tortilla, bowls of crudités & cheese dips, endless croquetitas, foie gras, fat prawns…and that’s just what I remember getting my little paws on.
Somewhere in the middle of this eating orgy, Coco Sumner’s band Blame It On Coco played a perfectly harmless open-air set. Then the DJ took over. I couldn’t dance unfortunately, as I prefer being able to breathe/not die, but I perched on the side of the stage with a glass of Champagne, & my tux over my shoulders (bit breezy on the roof), to watch senior editors from some of England’s most illustrious fashion magazines stage a model walk off on the top terrace, whilst gyrating to Pump Up The Jam and mouthing the words to Betty Davis Eyes.
Never let anyone say that the British are backwards in coming forwards.
As I left, I snatched, gently helped myself to mini Mango cupcakes
and reflected that if doing my job was this much fun on a regular basis I would never get any real work done.
LLG is a guest of Mango in Madrid, and is currently suffering from dyspepsia.