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Friday, September 19, 2008

London Fashion Week: Danielle Scutt

Hynam Kendall...

What's all the fuss about Danielle Scutt? The press was biting at our ankles like flies to fresh meat before we'd even walked through the door, shouting, “Who's that? Is that Aggy? Is that Agyness Deyn?” to all and sundry, flashing their bulbs, with visions of scoring the front page of the Evening Standard. Ms. Deyn, you see, has been touted as a fan. But sadly, one hour and much MAC gift-bagging into it, it wasn’t Aggy, but that doesn’t stop the brouhaha surrounding Danielle's spring collection.

Unlike other mid-sized names on the London Fashion Week bill, Danielle has accumulated the same sort of hurrah usually saved for bigger names: Kane, Luella, Temperley. Breath-bated queues of overdressed art-school luvvies in vintage knits, celebrated art journalists and, gasp, fellow designers like Henry Holland, who held his budding photographer boyfriend’s well-manicured hands throughout, Fuji bottle at the ready.

“The Topshop denim line certainly put me out there and created a buzz that was not necessarily missing before, but one that wasn’t so mainstream,” Danielle acknowledged to me backstage, with a flick of her trademark wispy hair that told of nights on the lash, late bedtimes and too many cigarette breaks. She described the horror of New York Fashion Week, in which she took no spare clothes and spent the entire time in denim hotpants. Her love of denim will later become apparent with the debut of a denim catsuit. She is then on her way to assess the finishing touches to her already 45-minutes late show, presented in the grand baroque salons of the Royal College of Art.

Now for the clothes. Well, unlike some would have us believe, it's not all hype. Danielle's actually got the balls to back up the furor. Among an abundance of sheer, jackets with button detailing and open zips that draped across the shoulder dominated, as well as tapered blouses, body stockings and shawl-camisoles in transparent cobalt and peacock blue. Sunnies, rag-tied hair and orange complexion are accessible to all, but the show's pièce de résistance—an abstract orange lycra unitard—is not for the faint-of-fashion-heart. A nearby woman, seemingly a buyer with her Maybelline finger on the pulse, leaned to model-partier Pelayo and rapturously sighed, “This confirms exactly what I’ve been saying the whole of London Fashion Week, that the nipple is the new accessory.”

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