"Is that? It is! It is! Oh my God!"
This is the sound I made, having seen one of my all-time idols in the flesh. In fact, on a chilly sunday afternoon, in the middle of the 13th arrondissement, I ended up seeingtwo people that I *almost* worship and one that scares me to death but who I would LOVE to be.
It happened like this.
"I have a surprise for you on Sunday afternoon". This is how le FP started my weekend.
"Tell me", I demanded. I hate surprises.
"Nope, you'll see" and he kept schtum from that moment on.
Four o'clock Sunday afternoon arrives and he tells me we're leaving in 30 minutes. He also tells me to dress 'fashion fashion fashion'. Shit, I hate it when he does this to me. What on earth to wear?
So I rustle up an outfit - Jacket by Francesco Smalto, sweater by Massimo Dutti, t-shirt from Armani, jeans by Levis and fabulous silver Nikes - and fix my ever growing hair.
We jump on the scooter and head off - in the opposite direction of anything that is fashion in Paris. I figured we'd be heading to the avenue Montaigne, to the Faubourg St. Honoré, to the Place Vendôme. Instead, we headed out of town and crossed the Seine on the pont de Bercy (still one of my favourites of all the Seine bridges).
He pulled up outside a dubious looking venue in the 13th. The venue was somewhat enhanced, however, by the presence of paparazzi and limousines. And a crowd of gawping public.
With a flourish, he produced an invitation - written on a pirate's treasure map, no less - and whisked me through the crowd and past the security.
"What the fuck...?!?" said I, still unsure of what was going on. It being Paris Fashion Week, I figured it was a show - but whose?
"It's John Galliano, baby" said le FP. Oh my. I love Galliano. This was going to be special.
We made our way into the venue and were stood chatting with a friend who we'd bumped into when it happened.
Now, this never happens to me. I see famous people and I'm rarely impressed - I think it's funny, exciting, but never does my heart stop. But this time it did.
"Excuse me" I heard a gruff voice say, and a security guard tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see that he was making way so that they could pass.
Who are they, I hear you ask.
Well, I turned and there she was. My heroine. My idol. The grande dame herself.
Grace. Coddington.
Mon dieu. My God. Mon gode.
And walking ahead of her was her nemesis. The Ice Queen extraordinaire.
Anna. Wintour.
Oh. My. Wet. Pants.
I grabbed le FP's hand and squeezed. He looked at me and we knew that both of us had just had one of those moments that you never forget.
I didn't know what to say. This was like the September Issue but for real. Oh my goodness.
"Our life is amazing" said le FP. He's not wrong.
We took our seats (third row, alas) and waited.
Then the chaos descended.
Lindsay Lohan was ushered into the front row directly ahead of us and the paparazzi descended.
It was craziness. Push, shove, Lindsay! Lindsay! Over here Lindsay! push, shove. Madness.
And then they stopped and turned.
I stopped. I turned. I nearly fucking fainted.
And there she was, walking in like the Queen of Fucking Everything. Beautiful, too beautiful.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you....Beth Ditto.
And that was the moment where I started to breathe again and thought to myself, "How is this my life. How is this what I do on a sunday afternoon?"
Reader, I don't know the answer, but I do know that I'm a very happy boy.
And a very lucky one at that.
