24th September, 2016 13.24p

The tube in London is always behind schedule, despite the service updates, and #Fashion is never fashionably late. But, ASDA makes 5 double chocolate chip cookies for 50p and sometimes that makes everything feel better for just a moment. Cat-calling, though not what it is in New York, does exist here, and in a way its even creepier because of the whole accent thing. The last season of Dexter is not better just because you are watching it from a flat in London. Fashion school, is the newest uncharted territory in my repertoire. And the Evening Standard though supremely unaware, is actually quite amusing to read on the tube home at the end of the day.  

To get to my classes in Shepherds Bush I walk for about ten minutes down a semi crowded slate brick sidewalk. Among the shops down this street sits both a KFC and a McDonalds. I get to pass a load of trash put out at the local pub, and a few mums pushing prams down the pavement. Today has marked the ending of my very first real week at fashion school in London. It feels new and untarnished (we're ignoring last week) its so inviting you'd think it was heroin. No, Mom and Dad, it's not. The most exciting part of it all, no matter how trivial it is, I get to talk about fashion all day, and my heart swells and my smile brightens with just the thought of it. My Fashion History tutor, Demetra Kolakis, centered her entire lecture on the Alexander Wang Fashion Film starring MANGO, so if you haven't had the chance to watch it: here is a link. And if that doesn't do it for you, I'm sorry. 

All of my tutors have something new an exciting to offer, all of my classes are informative and full of such rich curriculum concepts, that I can't help but to embrace all of the good because it is right here, right now, and it's intoxicating. Because fashion is what I do, and it took me some sadness to get to the realization that for right now, at least, London is where I belong. My astrology chart told me that big things are coming, Jupiter is entering Libra whatever that means, and it only happens every 84 years, so voodoo doo doo me is ready to accept that. 

Voodoo doo doo me is also hoping that this Jupiter thing means that the tube will start showing up on time, so that I don't miss another fashion show. The one I did get to see at London Fashion Weekend wasn't Preen, but it was a trend show. The makeup was cool, and all there is to report is that velvet is coming back for AW 16 and we couldn't be more excited about it, also lace, and winter florals. Fashion Weekend doubles as an outlet for fashion names to sample sale off-season items that haven't been sold yet. A really good merchant had me try on a pair of black Saint Laurent pointed toe pumps, and draped a Westwood pea-coat over my shoulders and it was fun if even for just a moment. The people watching was the highlight of the night, and the free dry shampoo. I have Sharon Hunkins to thank for that fur vest that kept me cozy on my ride home, seeing as its finally getting chilly here. 

The Evening Standard is a free circular given out at tube stops on your way home. They took this week to comment on the goings on of London Fashion Week, from worshiping the women of the industry and commenting on how little Brexit impacted this years SS 17 shows. Because this is Britain and nothing, not even the government, can get them down. I'm guessing they have never watched Dexter. However, this is London, this is incredible, and this is who I am. And in this moment, just for right now, you can't touch me, because I'm in a whole other universe.