Lakme Fashion Week,for me,was all about the glitz,the glamour and intense loo conversations with top models Lakme Fashion Week is hardly about the fashion. Ok,fashion does play an itsy-bitsy role. But for a junior journo and a fledgling first-timer like me,it was about the sumptuous buffets,the free flow of wine and booze,the endless freebies and goody bags and the politics of the lobby. The lobby outside the Main Show Area is where all the action happens. Its where a Masaba or a Rahul Anand is hoisted to the big league,where fashion faux pas (that camel coat was so last season) are duly jotted down in the publics unforgiving memory,where fashions grande dames designate societys showstoppers for the next season. LFW also spawns gender types that proliferate at fashion weeks the way exotic plants thrive in certain climate and soil types. Thus the LFW woman hails from the planet of Thou-shalt-rather-die-than-veer-from-the-terrain-of-cutting-edge-fashion. She understands that clothes can maketh or breaketh a woman. So her Christian Louboutins might be killing her but she totters on in the firm faith that they will ensure her a place in fashions hall of fame. Fashion Weeks are also the one place youll see men even more decked up than women. The LFW mans origin is rooted in three types. The one in the pink panther pants,the twiddle-dee-dum walk and the contortionists body who seems to be on Oh dah-ling,you look so lovely terms with all the women is probably the editor of the countrys premier fashion magazine. The immaculately dressed one in the double-breasted charcoal suit is either a gazillionaire or the owner of an established fashion line. The one in the front row,chewing gum,casting lascivious looks and chatting with his best buds is Manish Malhotra. And hats off to the Lakme organisers for giving a common lounge for the media and the models. It was like trying to mix oil and water but what fun. We did spot two male models sipping coffee and discussing real estate between shows. It was a real duh moment for us. Blokes who not only serve ornamental purposes but actually possess opinions on real estate. Who would have thought? I also happened to have a mature loo conversation with a long-limbed vision in yellow taffeta,and loos,as you know,are definite deal-sealers. Some of historys most enduring friendships have been established in there. So she turns to me while touching her makeup and asks,Doesnt this loo stink? Was she speaking to me? Ok,I needed to respond. I needed words. Where did all the words go? Oh yeah,this place stinks, I finally croaked probably a split second before she labeled me a dimwit. A perusal of the next days paper revealed that I had been amicably chatting with Nethra Raghuraman. To think I bonded with a top model over the dismal state of Indian toilets. And talking about self-delusion,was there a moment on the ramp when I locked eyes with showstopper John Abraham of the dark and brooding good looks and the chiseled pectorals? We definitely connected. And I refuse to be deterred by the fact that his line of vision encompassed at least 50 people and he might just as well have shot that sizzling look at the wall post or the slightly defunct looking guy squirming in the snug,leopard print pants. A girl can hope,cant she? (anjuly.mathai@expressindia.com)
