MY WEEKEND WITH KATE (MOSS) PART THREE...

Day two - Officially THE most surreal day of my entire life...

Miss Moss arrives three hours late, but of course, fashionably so in her staple uniform of jeans, black blazer and again, those Louboutin knee-highs.
On her arm? Mr Hince.

As Kate is whisked off to hair and make-up, her then fiance joins me on the sofa and there we sit, happily reading the morning papers. 

By this point, there is mention of three male models arriving on set - news that is more than welcome to my pearl studded ears. And through the door they walk, perfectly chiseled, tanned: the epitome of handsome. One gives me a wink and a cheesy, "Hey", but yes I'll admit - my knees did wobble and I think my response was more a squeak than anything reminiscent of the english language. 

They start looking through the rails, obviously confused by the lack of menswear...

 Sorry boys, that's just it - there are no clothes for you - no, instead you will be stripping down to (and forgive the phrase) your tighty-whities. But that's for later... till then - have I introduced you to the sofa?

Queue Kate - hair and make-up done, we're ready to go. 

First look of the day? This Elie Saab number:

Followed by Valentino...

Note the sign of a true model, they pose literally from their fingertips to their toes:

 Oui - je sais... c'est juste magnifique.

With the shoot fully underway, the wigs come back out, spirits are high, Elton John is singing his heart out through the speakers and before we know it, it's 10pm. 

The male models? Fast asleep on the sofa - they've been waiting ten hours for their moment BUT finally, here it is. Time to flash those whites, and believe me they have no qualms about showing them off.

 With a touch of make-up, they're ready. 

Miss Moss? Not quite.

Another hour passes while Kate is in make-up, and in that time I kid you not - the boys stood in their pants, in a row, in front of the mirror - no conversation exchanged, just merely admiring their own reflections. 

Now I'm not one to stereo-type, but...

Et voila - the finished product. 

Poor lads - ten hours of waiting and they only got their arms in the shot, but hey, it's the experience that counts right?

 And what an experience.

To round it off, we finished at 3am with this Givenchy masterpiece and Elton John's 'Rocketman' on full blast.

WOW.

And in the words of the song:
I think it's gonna be a long long time
Till touch down brings me round again...

MY WEEKEND WITH KATE (MOSS) PART 2.

Wearing a grey cashmere sweater, jeans, knee high Louboutins (which I am now endlessly searching for on ebay) and a black floppy hat a la Faye Dunaway - Miss Moss had entered the room. 

"Hi, I'm Kate" - Yes, I know.

(To say I was a little starstruck would be an understatement.)

Her voice was raspy and childlike, making her seem almost fragile, naive - like she needed to be wrapped up in cotton wool, away from all the media attention and pressure. And yet, she was excitable, bouncy almost, desperate to play dress up amongst all the couture.

We started with the Armani Prive.

Wigs were flying, from a Debbie Harry blowout, to well, the little pink number pictured above. Mert (of Mert and Marcus) was sporting a rather fabulous multicoloured crimped 'fro a la Topshop Unique circa SS11, while my own head became prop to a thick fringed blonde bob - a look I certainly won't be trying out any time soon. 

  

Yes, the madness had begun.

Before I knew it, Kate had placed her engagement ring in my hand, asking me to keep it safe for her while she was on set. Now, I could of course, have run away there and then, made my millions and be living on a yacht somewhere... fortunately (for Kate) I decided it was probably a little too risky.

Oh and yes, the ring? Absolutely BEAUTIFUL.

By now, the shoot was in full swing.

Elton John was on repeat, followed by George - all the gay greats. Part of me wanted to give in to the music, find a microphone and belt out 'Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me' with the best of them (Karaoke is a regular occurence with the French Vogue team). But no, I reined it in, and instead, focused my attention on Kate.

She was beautiful. Once you see her in front of the camera, you automatically understand the reason behind her success. I found myself in awe, emotional even...

There I was, lucky enough to witness an icon, no a legend, at work.

It was simply incredible.

Stay tuned for Day Two in Part Three...

My weekend with Kate (MOSS) PART 1.

So a little while ago, I mentioned having spent a very surreal weekend with none other than Kate Moss herself.

Now, if I'm being honest, surreal doesn't quite cut it.

This was 100% THE most unforgettable 48 hours I have ever spent in my fashion career so far.

I just wish I could reveal everything, because believe me, it is fashion GOLD.

But if I did that, I would probably never work in this industry again - some things are best kept as secret...

I won't deny you everything though.

Here's a PG version of the most incredible shoot I have ever worked on:

---------------------

PART 1

Couture, couture and more couture.

Literally a week fresh from the Spring 2011 runway, myself and the other French Vogue assistant are busy unpacking the world's most incredible, and most expensive garments of the new season. Dior, Chanel, Valentino, Armani Prive, Jean Paul Gaultier... oh and of course, Givenchy, which did I mention, travelled especially on the Eurostar, accompanied by one of their PR's. Fedex? please, this is couture darling. 

There is an obvious buzz in the atmosphere - for everyone knows that the best of the best are all here to produce something quite incroyable. It's extremely exciting. Mert and Marcus are busy setting up, Emmanuelle is examining the rail, looking effortlessly fabulous in her staple ensemble (skinny black leather trousers, loose tee, navy Balmain blazer) and I'm quietly trying to channel Gaga by cramming my feet into some 8 inch diamante encrusted platform Christian Louboutin's (let's just say I wasn't born that way).

Queue Kate...

Stay tuned - there's nothing like suspense to keep you wanting more ;)

Me and Kate.

Last weekend was the most surreal of my life.

I spent it with Kate Moss.

I can't say much more than that (all will be revealed sooner or later, so stay tuned!) but until then, here is an homage to a woman that need only look at a camera to make it fall in love with her.

Me and Carine.

So... a few weeks back French Vogue called.

Carine was in town to shoot an exclusive Gucci editorial with Mario Sorrenti and required my assistance -  "Ah mais oui, bien sur, pas de souci" I replied. Then they hit me with a bombshell - her main assistant in Paris wouldn't be coming - this time, Madame Roitfeld was strictly in need of MY assistance, i.e. mine and only mine, yes one-on-one, little old me and one of fashion's most powerful figure-heads. Gulp.

The day of the shoot arrived.

All samples were due from Milan and Venice that morning, which meant I was at the mercy of international couriers. Now, if you work in fashion, you will know that this is definitely not an ideal situation to be in, but it is even less ideal when you are assisting the Editor-in-Chief of French Vogue and have not been involved with the initial preparation for the shoot. All I could do was wait, pray that everything would go to plan, and nurse my fears by attacking the free breakfast.

At 9.30am, I was presented with an enormous delivery from Milan. Hallelujah!!! Time to step away from the croissants and get to work. I got down on my hands and knees, armed with scissors and tore my way through mountains of tissue paper and bubble wrap. My heart was pounding with the excitement of seeing Carine's selected pieces... and there they were, waiting patiently underneath: a treasure trove of vintage accessories, spanning from the 1920s to the 1990s.
Pure. Gucci.  Heaven.

I began laying out each piece with tender-loving care, indulging in seeing my reflection holding such coveted and iconic maroquinerie, when an amazonian goddess entered the room.

"Hi, I'm Arizona"...
"Hi, I'm short... I mean Charlene!"

(Wow. There's nothing quite like an impossibly thin model to make you regret having just scoffed a croissant).

Radiating a flawless, ethereal beauty, it's hardly surprising that this girl has been chosen as the face for YSL's SS11 campaigns - mark my words now, she is going to be huge! Besides making me feel extremely inadeqate, Arizona's presence also reminded me of a hugely worrying factor - we had a model, bags, shoes and belts - mais pas de vetements... this girl was going to be seriously naked if the second delivery didn't arrive soon.

The Lord must have heard my prayers, because then, right on cue - the second box was planted at my feet. PHEW. With a silent prayer of thanks, I opened the second box, only to find jewellery... 

I frantically dialed the office in Paris - voicemail. Sweet Jesus, please send me some clothes! It's safe to say my heart was pounding by now, Carine would be here any minute and we had nothing to dress the model in. A few calls later, I was told that the final delivery - les vetements - were stuck in customs and wouldn't be at the studio for another 2 hours at least...
Three letters came to mind at that moment. F.M.L.

And then she arrived. Carine. Wearing a vintage suede Alexander McQueen skirt, her uniform Christian Louboutins and the most SUBLIME camel cape (that's French Vogue speak for amazing). We did the standard double french kiss, she told me how much my hair had grown (did I mention how much I adore this woman?) and then it was time to break the news...

No clothes? No problem. We will shoot her naked.

And that's exactly what we did.

Buy this month's French Vogue to see the real deal.

When girl meets boy...

Wow, I still can't quite believe it when I see my name credited in French Vogue!

Here is a shoot I assisted with Emmanuelle Alt, David Sims and the beautiful Raquel Zimmerman.

Get ready to unleash your inner Teddy-Boy for Autumn 2010.

This one is my fave!

Officially En Vogue!

OMG it's little old me... in French Vogue! 

Somebody pinch me!

To translate:

Charlene Barton - Student, blogger, and indispensable to all of French Vogue's London fashion spreads: at just 21 years old, this is a girl of many talents. Not only has she appeared on many TV shows, but Charlene has also sung for Prince Charles. 
This is someone Vogue simply could not allow to let pass them by.  

Merci, Carine!

xxx

Rising Star.

First things first...

Happy New Year!

Yes I realise this is extremely late and almost doesn't count anymore, but I have been a busy little bee!

Which brings me to the inspiration for this post:

Claude Simonon
Look out for him in the next issue of Vogue Hommes.
Only 16, Claude's star is certainly rising and what's more, he is so very down to earth, polite and an absolute pleasure to work with.

 Claude, La Voguette is definitely a fan!

Oh mon dieu!

Ok so I have been so so so busy with essays and uni work (oh the joys of student life) that I have failed to write about the many exciting things that have been happening to me...

I am working for French Vogue again - you could call me their Freelance London assistant... :)

3 weeks ago I assisted Emmanuelle Alt, Fashion Director; beautiful, innovative and generally - amazing.

And tomorrow... I still can't quite believe it... I will be assisting Carine Roitfeld - yes my friends, the Editor in Chief!

So bedtime calls, need to be fresh as a daisy tomorrow but roll on the christmas holidays and the end of essay hell and I shall reveal all.

Remember - Patience is a virtue.

xxx

She's with us!

It's fashion week, the next big show is Elie Saab of red carpet fame.

CRISIS

The junior fashion editor has forgotten her invites, cue a moment of panic and then a solution - I am asked to go down to Le carousel du Louvre, find the Vogue team and give them their invites. Hell yes I can do that.

A glorious day, I decide to walk down la rue saint honoré and then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in Fendi's shop window - oh no this just will not do. I look... so... BRITISH! why oh why did I decide to wear a Jack Daniel's t-shirt today of all days, this is fashion week not Beerfest!

 Now I wish I could say that I took myself in to Lanvin to make myself look more Fashion Week-esque but I think we all know that didn't happen - I could barely afford food (well that's not a bad thing in fashion - skinny?!) let alone a £1000 dress. So I would have to embrace the fact that I was a Londoner, embracing London style and ignore the voice inside me that was howling at the fact that I was not wearing my most amazing outfit.

I arrive at Le carousel - people are already queueing in a desperate bid to be allowed in without an invite, bless. No sign of the Vogue team yet, so I wait... and wait, and wait. Omg have I missed them? please don't let this be A Devil Wears Prada moment, my heart feels like it's going to explode out of my Jack Daniels printed chest. I run over to the people at the door...

"Bonjour je suis avec le magazine Vogue (God i LOVE saying that) est-ce que l'equipe est déjà entrée?"

"Non. Pas encore"

Phew. Ok time to breathe.

And then they appear, my god they are just so cool. A uniform of black, beauty and effortless style.

"Charlène!"

My street-cred has just risen by 100%, the Vogue team are calling my name!

"Tu viens avec nous"

... wait did I hear that right?

They take me over to the door and lead me in...

"Where is your invite Miss?" but before I can even muster up a response someone grabs me by the hand and says,

"She's with us".

Wow did that really just happen?

I am in awe.
We sit in the second row (erm... guys I had the front row at the Atsuro Tayama show - you're slacking) and then the music starts and fashion comes to life.

God I love you Vogue.

Coco Rocha, Jessica Stam, Sasha Pivovarova, Carmen Kass - you name it they walked.

And can I just say, Coco absolutely KILLS the runway - I ♥ her.

The designs were breathtaking, of all the shows that I could have seen this would definitely have been up there on my list. I love old school glamour, the Hollywoodesque, red carpet couture - and if anyone can achieve that to perfection it's Elie Saab.

And yes, I got backstage.
Now this was unintentional. The show ends, the Vogue team get up and automatically start walking in a different direction to the crowd. Oh god, what do I do? should I follow them? should I just go back to work?

I follow them... well I would have been stupid not to. And boy oh boy, was it worth it!

Oh hi Jessica Stam, great show! Tania Dziahileva, gosh how nice to see you! Vlada, loving the red hair!

I join the paparazzi crowd, get a sneaky shot and decide it's time to return to the office.

But wait, there is an extremely beautiful and tall goddess standing right in front of me on the escalator, still wearing her look from the show - I've never felt more inferior, short and normal in my life.

"Anna, Anna can we take your photo!!?"

What you don't want mine?

Anna Selezneva, I would kill to look like you. 

Fashion Week...

As I sit here typing in my student accommodation (not even an en-suite - mon dieu!) I can't help but notice that my life seems to have taken an unglamourous turn from the glory days that were French and British Vogue. James Joyce's Ulysses now sits on my desk, replacing my diary-esque Chanel lookbook and the closest thing I have to couture is my sewing kit. 
Oh the joys of being a finalist...

So I have decided to take this opportunity to reminisce about my experience at Paris Fashion Week earlier this year, it seems somewhat appropriate as the Spring/Summer Collections have just drawn to a close.

Where to begin?

The front row of course!

Now there was obviously some confusion that glorious day back in March when I, a humble intern turned up to the Atsuro Tayama show clutching my hand-me down invitation - you see, editors decide what shows they want to attend and any left over invitations are then left for little people like me.

"Wait here please Mademoiselle".
Oh gosh, ok...but why can't I just go in? I bet Carine doesn't get this sort of treatment!

So I stood waiting, eyeing up every passer by with thoughts of god help you, did you get dressed in the dark? or o.m.g i want your bag! I hoped that I was giving off some sort of effortless allure, you know - clearly this girl has been asked to wait behind because she is so blatantly a Voguette and not because someone is playing a cruel joke and given her a fake invitation. But then more people were asked to wait. Relax Charlene.

Finally, we get the go ahead and are asked to follow a man upstairs to the venue. This is when I was shown to a seat in the front row.

O.M.G.

I couldn't help but smile to myself, the wait was so worth it. Yes you may have the latest Chloé bag on your arm darling but enjoy the show from the third row won't you?

Cue the music, SKINNY models (these girls definitely lived up to the stereotype) and ACTION.

The pictures speak for themselves. The designs didn't blow me away but are extremely wearable.

Coming soon: Elie Saab show with the Vogue team...

HA! i love this.

I remember the first time I saw this ad.

 I was sitting in the fashion cupboard with one of my fellow interns; it was lunchtime. I was munching away on my daily pot of "taboulé" from Franprix - yes, we did eat and no, we can't all afford to eat in the building's canteen with Paris' business elite.

So there we were, flicking through magazines in a bid to relieve our minds from the idea of another afternoon of returns when I stumbled across this page.

"Omg this is us!"

We ripped out the page and stuck it up on the noticeboard, a source of inspiration for our future careers.

I wonder if it's still there...

Clothes, clothes and more clothes...

So what exactly is the role of a fashion intern? What do you do?

The amount of times I have been asked those very same questions is endless - it's time to shed some light.

You have probably all seen the Devil Wears Prada - and if you havn't... well shame on you! but even French Vogue (and I can also tell you British Vogue) do not have a fashion cupboard with the same surreal quality as the film - let's leave that to Hollywood shall we?

The Parisian version, shall we say, a little more humble. With a somewhat terrifying polaroid of Carine dressed in her signature furs pinned to the door, and a handwritten "Adults Only" beneath it - it is safe to say that for anyone, this room can be somewhat of a daunting place. But then the door opens, and the smell of Chanel, Dior, Hermès and all things couture invades your every being... that is until you see the mountain of returns piling up infront of the window. Yes, my friends, they didn't show that in the film now did they?

The real deal.

Time for some theory:
The main aim of a fashion story is essentially to sell clothes. As a fashion editor, you are still a journalist and thus your job is to "spread the word" - the only difference being that your 'gospel' is fashion. Therefore, designers and PR companies come to you to advertise their products- to get the word out about their latest collections. Et voila! The fashion story is born! Editors get inspiration from Look Books and fashion shows, and depending on the theme of their story - they then select the pieces they want to use.

Now you didn't think that they bought these clothes did you?

The next part is what makes a fashion intern - as lowly a position as this is - extremely valuable to the magazine. For each shoot, pieces are called in, whether this be from PR or in-house and become the rail upon rail of fashion paradise. The editor then makes their "choix" as they say in gay Paris and "les non-choix" await in the wings praying for a chance to win some limelight on those glossy pages.

So, off go "les choix" (accompanied by a few "non-choix" just in case) with the editor and their team for the shoot. And this is where the magic happens - fashion comes to life.

It's when the clothes return from the shoot that the role of an intern becomes... a little... horrific. Suddenly the Givenchy dress that hung so beautifully on the hangers and model is now another piece of clothing in a bag, labelled up and ready to send back to its original habitat. Every single piece of item that has been called-in MUST be described and listed, then folded and wrapped in tissue paper before it can be sent back and this is where the Devil gets his kicks. Imagine a magazine as large as Vogue, where there are maybe 3 shoots in one week, with at least 100 items of clothing each and that's not even including the accessories.
That is a. lot. of. clothes.

Add to that the phone calls from PR's asking where "la ceinture Chanel" or "le petit sac en poulain violet par Nina Richi" is and your heartbeat has risen by 200% as you delve into the mountain of returns to find them. Now, that is fashion darling.

So there you have it in a nutshell, the daily routine of an intern. Of course, you get to assist shoots and after showing your capability can be asked to be involved in selecting the pieces etc but for the most part, returns are your life. To get to the top you have to work your way up the ladder, or in the fashion world, that Louboutin stiletto heel.

The first time i met Carine...

I'll never forget the first time I met Carine Roitfeld - mainly because I didn't even realise it was her...

We had a call in "Le shopping" to say some packages had arrived for the editors/assistants so off I went to reception to pick them up and on my way... well you know what happens next.

There was a little group of effortlessly stylish women huddled in a group blocking the door, my exit. Now, as an intern - as nice as people may be, you know you're at the bottom of the ladder and extremely unimportant so I felt slightly daunted by the fact that I would have to break up this little rendez-vous and ask to get through. Well before I even opened my mouth, my presence must have been felt because around turned this immaculately made-up woman.

I have to admit, I looked at her and seeing the slight lines at the corner of her trademark smoky eyes did not expect to see the face of an older woman - her silhouette is age defying. She was wearing clothes that even I couldn't pull off at 20 - partly due to the fact that I'm not your average size 0 fashion martyr (I enjoy a bit of cake every now and then). But there she was, the infamous Carine Roitfeld and I didn't have a clue...

"Bonjour!" She beamed at me, yes BEAMED. I will remember that smile to this day because let me tell you, a smile like that does not come often in the fashion world. And even in my oblivious state, I still remember feeling - wow I like this woman...

It wasn't until later on that day that it actually hit me - O.M.G that was Carine!

Come rain or shine...

Next time I will go for this approach à la Marilyn.

Rain rain go away PLEASE come back another day!

Snow, ice, rain and sleet: as impossible a combination as these are, I found myself fighting with all four on my first day at Vogue; a day that I like to remember as “le premier jour du reste de ma vie…”

Now imagine those pitiful people, standing at the side of the road in a desperate battle with their umbrella as they try to avoid the complete horror of looking like they have swum fully clothed through a swimming pool but failing miserably, then voila - you have correctly pictured little old me.

I was wearing my vintage cowboy boots, a somewhat signature part of my wardrobe at the time (I should note it was February) which on leaving the house remained a perfect suede brown but were now a big fashion NO. They had somehow turned strangely bi-colour from where the rain and snow had darkened the entire toe area, making said boots look as though they should have been kept tucked away in the wardrobe of their original owner who was probably a blind cowboy and definitely not about to enter Parisian Vogue Headquarters.

So what did I do?  
I ran… People do not run in France, you see rushing is unheard of, you take your time about everything but I didn't care, I would not let this weather and whoever invented suede get the better of me! By the time I reached the gates of the Elysée building, let’s just say the disaster that was my boots had now escalated to the point where the entire foot area was a cold and wet dark brown while the remainder was its original chestnut. Yes this may seem a trivial matter to some, but when you are about to begin working with arguably, the best dressed people in the world, you want to look your best. But there wasn't much I could do about it now or I would risk being late for my first day so in I went, making my way to the Vogue floor while avoiding any eye-contact with my traitorous boots.

I made my way down the corridor, faced with an archive of canvas Vogue covers either side of me until I reached the fashion department and there, greeted by an array of beautiful and yes skinny women, my Vogue Adventure was begun...

Paris ♥

Ah Paris - comme tu es belle! cité de l'amour, la mode, le chic, le luxe... tu me manques

Photo taken sur Le Pont Alexandre III by little old me - this was my walk home everyday from the Vogue offices.

And yes... the view took my breath away everytime.

Let the journey begin...

So I started this blog and decided to give myself the appellation (isn't that a great word, I just discovered it!) of La Voguette. However, I have completely failed in writing anything that makes me worthy of this persona, in fact I seem to have failed in writing very much at all - bad blogger... commitment Charlene, come on.

While sitting here in my humble Hemel Hempstead home, I realised that I have experienced what is probably the dream of every young girl - the chance to live and breathe fashion in la vraie ville de la mode, and believe me live and breath it you shall!

The fashion industry is incredible but it is not for the fainthearted, to work with the best you have to be the best and that my friends, is a beautiful thing. That is why French Vogue is undoubtedly sovereign, the cream of the fashion crop (in my eyes anyway). I think it's time for said eyes to reveal what they have seen...

Let our journey begin.

Buried treasure

I was once in love with a Burberry trench...

It was beautiful; beige with a black scalloped trim (oh so chloé-esque). I would see it every day, hanging up on the curtain rail, its perfectly round buttons staring at me, like puppy dog eyes just daring me to take it down and try it on. I could imagine myself walking down la rue saint honoré adorned in skinny jeans, louboutins (i dream big) and that oh. so. perfect. trench.
But my fascinations always had to stop there because it would and could never be mine.

But why? i hear you whisper.

The reason being it belonged to my boss and fashion extra-ordinaire, Carine Roitfeld. I cannot even describe the respect I have for that woman, the times she would walk into the fashion department and her presence would just consume the attention of everyone in the room; all eyes on her outfit - and can i just say it was always AMAZING.

But yes, i will always have a little bone to pick with her and that bone is in the form of a Burberry trench. In my 3 months interning at French Vogue, that beauty sat on its rail and never left the fashion cupboard once. You see children, this is what happens when you are in the fashion elite - amazing pieces are thrown at you everyday but they just become buried treasure in the heap of pretty packages with your name on them.

Oh the life it could have had...

But life moves on, and so has my Burberry eye candy.

Say hello to this oh so classic trench from the resort 2010 collection. So simple and soo perfect for my first day at Vogue tomorrow...

I guess I'll just have to keep on dreaming...

La Voguette.

"I ♥ FASHION"

Boring! don't we all? I would estimate that at least 67.8% of my generation have been quoted in saying this very short and unimaginative sentence. In a time when everyone is trying to be individual are we not all subconsciously becoming a clone of one another? The short answer would be yes.

And yet here I am starting a fashion blog, joining the fashion brigade and ultimately becoming a sheep to la mode's shepherd... I can't help it, I want in.

In two days I will be swapping French Vogue's fashion cupboard, better known to myself and my fellow interns as chez moi, for la version anglaise at British Vogue. My soul has already been sold to the industry but now its time to document it.

Let La Voguette adventures continue...