I have just been into Vivienne Westwood and it felt like stepping over the threshold into a Carrie Bradshaw New York City library moment.
I am less of a fan of the clothes, the Vivienne Westwood aesthetic isn’t really my aesthetic. I have done quite a bit of research into the Derbyshire born fashion designer, pioneer of the Punk Rock era for fashion with her then partner Malcolm McLaren. Worlds End artists and hippies (the neighbourhood took the name when the iconic shop was renamed in 1979) didn’t know what had hit them when their magical boutique at the top of the kings road, Sex was opened from 1974 to 1976. I was in my 20’s.
When we stepped inside we were greeted with the warmest of welcomes and embraced into the no nonsense approach of the Vivienne Westwood way a combination of structure and whimsy.
The reason I am accompanying my god daughter as she navigates shopping for a gown for her friend, my daughter’s special day.
She chose me she says because I am French, technically Canadian to help with the shopping. As honorary god mother with grown up children and still working, I usually get invited along to pay, much to my other half’s chagrin.
We still share the same last name and have a joint bank account which I am reliably informed is no longer the norm.
Women must have their own money my God daughter reminds me as she asks if I had a budget in mind.
In the shop, where we had an appointment that lasted about an hour in total we were treated to an array of off the peg creations and in the back room for couture customers, not us in this instance, champagne, pins, mirrors and measuring tapes in equal amounts were spied through a crack in the curtain.
There was a lot going on. We had one to one attention which was helpful however my god daughter I think was much more comfortable left to her own devices. She buys and wears Vivienne Westward tailoring. She knew what she wanted and I think she got frustrated when the lady helping us kept returning to a gown which was beautiful but not 100% for her.
In her defense my God daughter like all twenty somethings wasn’t as clear in her thinking and description of her vision and when she couldn’t communicate clearly or decide the lady helping just went for the sale. Which I would have done too. Good job it wasn’t Ms Westwood herself.
No one likes a procrastinator at best, a time waster at worst out shopping, even when they are yours. And word of warning posh shops don’t like browsers lingering and chatting if they don’t know them. In my experience these expensive retailers know how to get the wallet open and tend to be less polite if you don’t spend in the end.
I did feel bad for them. Even I wanted her to just say OK in the end. I’ll go back alone to buy a gift to make up.