I’ve never been great at languages..
My main memory of learning French at school was watching ‘Mon Pere Ce Hero’ and coveting a white swimsuit all summer long aged 13, and after six years of studying, a B at GCSE and plenty of trips to Paris, my most confident expression remains ‘Ou est la piscine?’.
However, I’ve always been able to get on board with the cheese, the markets and the girls who dress for themselves. I love how French women never look too done, a sartorial point close to my (lazy) heart, and manage to do ‘chic tomboy’ like no other. Forget being hangry, if I feel uncomfortable in what I’ve got on, I’m zero fun to be around. Thus reaching for jeans, t-shirts and sweaters is part of my daily routine and one I’m loathed to given up even in the midst of fashion week.
I know it’s autumn when I don’t want to wear anything but jeans, especially after finding what might be the best pair of vintage 501s to date in New York. I found these in Reformation (where else) in New York recently and while they might still need a little bit of tailoring, they fit better than any other vintage denim I’ve sourced before, meaning I could barely think beyond them when it came to dressing for London Fashion Week.
As per usual, I hacked off the hems and made a little cut on the inseam to loosen up the ankle a little, a couple of tricks that always help to personalise vintage denim and feel that bit more modern.
For a busy day of shows, I let my inner tomboy out en Francais, teaming boyish denim with a baggy white tee and oversized blazer, finished off with the shiniest, primmest pair of shoes I own to save from totally morphing into un garcon.
Ph. by Frances Davison