It must be weird being a street style celeb. It’s almost like being an actual celeb, only weirder because you spend most of your daily life being a regular person, then a few days of the year being pursued by photographers during fashion week. The phenomenon that is street style has become an industry in itself; photographers like Phil Oh and Tommy Ton have gained recognition thanks to their work outside fashion shows, capturing “candid” pictures of editors, celebrities and models, while many journalists and bloggers have found a kind of fame from it and, in many cases, more work. Because as everyone knows, ‘tis the Instagram followers that maketh the man (or woman).
For me, this revelation is right up there with the faux hair-tuck, the move I like to call “I’ve just dropped something but am too mildly amused to pick it up” and the distant stare, which suggests either a deep consideration on the meaning of life, or an attempt to figure out where the closest Pret is. Anyway, while I accept how hilarious this insanity is, I could not help but enjoy the spectacle, which I’m usually trying too hard to avoid entirely. As I walked through the crowds heading to the next event (by that, I mean lunch), I negotiated my way past many bloggers, editors and even some minor celebrities, all making their fake phone calls in the name of a good picture. I, on the other hand, felt quite uncomfortable in the presence of all those cameras. So, I rang my mum.