Goodbye London College of Fashion

London College of Fashion Graduation

One happy graduate

It started with pink and ended with pink. On Tuesday I graduated with a First Class Honours in Fashion Journalism from the London College of Fashion. I spent the day in a bright pink dress to match the pink hood and trim on my gown. A mortarboard and smile were my accessories. 

My best friend helps me with a wobbly mortarboard

Juliette came all the way from Paris for the occasion

My mum and I

Practising my smile for when I collect my degree

During the ceremony designer Oswald Boateng was presented with an honourary degree. He took to the stage and gave a speech that I will always remember: “Lots of people ask me how you get to my position. Well the dedication that you have all put into completing your degrees is the answer. Carry that with you and it will be you on this stage.”

Boateng’s words inspired me, but so did seeing my friends and peers take to the platform to collect their degrees. As I collected mine I thought back over my three years at university.

My final day at the London College of Fashion

Libby's London College of Fashion Highlights

LONDON

Studying at the London College of Fashion gave me the opportunity to move to one of the best cities in the world. Being a student in the capital was an incredible experience. The city that once daunted me is now the place that I call home.

My first room in London, Hackney 2010

Lights, camera, action

I have always wanted to be a writer, but when it came to the second year of my degree I decided to specialise in broadcast journalism. Before university I had never picked up a video camera, but I was (and still am) intrigued by the changes taking place in journalism.  With even traditional print publications developing their online content and working with moving image, I wanted to broaden my skills. I have now filmed, edited and presented a broad range of subjects (including a film about a city farm, a documentary about clothing issues faced post-mastectomy, and my final project film about unpaid internships in the fashion industry). 

 New York New York

During my second year at university I went to New York to interview David Jay, photographer behind The Scar Project. Travelling by myself and meeting such interesting people gave me a huge amount of confidence and taught me that distance isn't an insurmountable barrier.

Project P&G

One of my favourite units on my degree was an industry project, in which we did research for corporate client Procter and Gamble. Working on a ‘live’ project was a great experience. I particularly enjoyed presenting our findings to P&G at Burlington House. 

3 is the magic number

My third year at university was by far my favourite. It was also the most challenging, but working on an individual project with which I had such a strong connection (my final year was spent investigating unpaid internships in the fashion industry) drove me to produce work that I am proud of. The flexible timetable of the final year allowed me to work part time at Intern Aware, a great learning process that had me giving talks at universites and Parliament.

Third year also meant a huge amount of one on one support from staff. 

“Things do not change, we change” (said Henry Thoreau)

After three years of studying I have changed in more ways than I could have imagined before starting my degree. Although I am still interested in fashion (why people wear what they wear fascinates me), I have opened my eyes to other interests and options. I have discovered broadcast journalism, which I love. I have spoken out about the immoral use of unpaid labour and become a stronger person for it. But despite all these changes and my career shift away from fashion, I am still glad I studied at the London College of Fashion.

When I was a school student living in my hometown of Gillingham and tearing pages from Vogue, I dreamt of studying at the London College of Fashion. I am proud for following through the dream I had when I was 16, but also for shaping my experience at university in such a way to fit new dreams too.

And in the end it was probably fate that I study at the London College of Fashion. The college colour is pink. 

Libby

Amazing Grace?

“I think there are a lot of interns that feel very entitled. 

They think we owe them something.”

Grace Coddington was my hero until she said those words at New York Fashion Week. Creative director of US Vogue, she is idolised by fashion students the world over and I was no exception. I admired her work and her attitude and I chiseled my way diligently through her brick of an autobiography.

Grace’s words echo the widespread notion that it is OK to mistreat someone because they are young and desperate for experience. Although internships can be great experiences, and mine have certainly given me an insight into the industry that I wouldn’t have had otherwise, they are exclusive and often exploitative.

I understand that the fashion industry is an extremely competitive one where experience is valuable, but I am tired of being told that to question the internship system is to feel entitled.

But maybe Grace is right, because I do feel certain entitlements.

I feel entitled to a day’s pay for a day’s work, just like everyone else.

I feel entitled to the same opportunities and access to the industry that editors like Grace had. One in five young people today have done an internship, compared to 2% of people who were my age 30 or 40 years ago. We are continually told that unpaid internships are a right of passage, but the reality is they are a relatively recent phenomenon, and not necessarily something experienced by those telling us to work for free.

I feel entitled to the same opportunities as people with wealthy parents who can financially support them for months at a time whilst they intern for free.

I feel entitled to fair access to experiences and to be judged on my abilities, not on my connections or my background.

I feel entitled to fair treatment, and I feel entitled to be known by my name, not just as ‘the intern’.

And why shouldn’t I be? Why shouldn’t interns be entitled to their basic rights?

As I read Grace Coddington’s words I felt like a phoney dressed as an elf had just told me that Father Christmas doesn’t exist. And then proceeded to slap me. Maybe it’s time to find a new hero and a new dream.

Or maybe I need to be the heroine of my own story. A better story.  

On Friday I will be raising awareness about the widespread use and mistreatment of unpaid interns in the fashion industry by demonstrating at London Fashion Week with SUARTS, NUS and Intern Aware. We will be representing interns and those who are shut out of opportunities because they cannot afford to work for free. Join us at 9:30am at Somerset House, or if you cannot be there in person, show your support online:

@LibbyLovePink @InternAware @SUARTS @nusuk #payinterns #devilpaysnada

Libby

Why I wear colour

­

First there were the Minnie Mouse leggings. I was four (one, two, three, four sticky fingers counted and held up proudly to show my age). They were my first experience of fashion, and my first experience of love. A shouty shade of pink, they clashed with the orange curtains that parted around my chubby face. I paired them with an acid green t-shirt, accessorized with a half moon grin. I would like to think that my taste has developed since then (I got a haircut and ditched the Disney), but some things will never change.

My name is Libby and I am a colour addict. My wardrobe looks like a Skittle shower. It is colour co-ordinated like a rainbow with only two or three black items acting as a full stop at the very end of the rail. I hardly ever wear them. Dressing in colour is an important part of who I am and bright shades are like the anti-shadow that follows me wherever I go.

I cannot imagine my life without colour, and I cannot imagine my life without Sally. Sally is my mum’s name and the name of the nanny who helped look after me ever since I was two. Both women have been huge influences in my life and have painted it many different shades.

When I think of my childhood and my mum I think of a soft pink jumper she wore when I was little, a jumper that felt like falling asleep it was so gentle to the touch. I think of the powder green stalks of her favourite flower (tulips), her forget-me not blue Aga and her marshmallow pink fridge. All of these things and all of these colours sum up how I felt about her as a little girl: she was my safety.

Nanny Sally is the most colourful person I know. Red was and still is her signature, but if it is not red it is purple, or fuchsia pink, all accessorised with vibrant handmade jewellery and a personality as warm as the colours she wears. Nanny Sally’s love of colour extends into her home, where cereal is eaten out of rainbow stripe bowls and cupboards are painted turquoise and apple green. I didn’t know this was allowed. 

My memories are punctuated by colour, like bright map tacs pinned into the collage of my life. A toothpaste green gingham dress marks my early school years. I saw in the millennium with dark green beads and a velvet skirt that felt soft and comforting to the touch. Bright tie-dye and a suede coat the colour of squashed blackcurrants signalled the transition into my early teens.

As I grew up my relationship with my mum changed: she wasn’t just the pink parent who fed me Calpol and put my school uniform on the radiator each morning, she was a poster for the kind of woman I wanted to grow into. And she was red. I would watch her put on her red lipstick or hug her through her thick red coat when she came back from work, and I would think to myself, “I won’t be a grown up until I can wear red.”

As I got older I also became more conscious of the clothes I wore. Now the first thing I think about when I wake up is what I’m going to wear. It is important to me, not because I want to look like a walking magazine (or think that I ever could) but because the clothes I wear have a huge effect on how I feel. Colour is a big part of this.

Last year I spent two weeks in two colours: one week dressed head to toe in pink and another dressed head to toe in red. I was interested in how colours affect my mood and the way people treat me, but most of all it was the one thing that fashion should be: fun.

People often tell me that I must be confident to wear such bright colours. Most mornings when I wake up I don’t feel sunshine yellow or confident cobalt. In fact I often want nothing more than to hide behind a mask of grey and black. But that is exactly why I wear colour. If I’m feeling blue I’ll put on blue tights instead.

I have always worn colourful clothes, but my wardrobe is definitely the brightest it has ever been. Earlier this year I became unwell. I spent six months in a glandular fever cloud. Most days I felt as though I had been on a treadmill for weeks and my body had turned to jelly. But I wasn’t just drained of energy; I felt like a deflated balloon with all the personality squeezed out of me. I spent several months in my pyjamas and developed a relationship with my duvet that was nothing short of possessive. When I eventually managed to escape the clinging arms of my bed I wanted to wear all the shadows of my mood. But instead I dressed like a sunbeam. Like a sunflower draws energy from the sun, I drew energy from the bright colours that I forced myself to wear. I still do.

The clothes you wear are the first things that people see of you. I want mine to smile hello.

Colour is my coffee in the morning and the person I want to be. But it is also my story. And although it may not be earth-shattering or twinkling with the sparks of fireworks, I think my story is more colourful than a little black dress. Isn’t yours?

Passion for Pin-Ups

 I think that when you go on holiday to Italy you are supposed to buy wine, olive oil and handbags as souvenirs.

I didn't buy any leather, or any oil, or wine. I did buy drinks though but they were soft drinks. And I only bought them for the bottles.

I have a passion for pin-ups.

The most expensive item of clothing I have ever bought was the dress I wore to my book launch: a hot pink chiffon number covered in pin-up girls. It turns out that I have more than got my money's worth - not only do I love it just as much now as I did when I bought it, but it is really the only posh frock I own so I have worn it many times. It often takes people quite a while to realise that what they thought from a distance was a nice floral print is, on closer inspection, a pattern of naked ladies.

I even wore the dress to the London College of Fashion when I was spending my week dressed head to toe in pink. 

In truth, one of the reasons I love pin-up girls is because I secretly want to be one.

When I came to uni one day wearing a high-waisted, flared skirt, a shirt tied at the waist and red lipstick one of my friends and coursemates said to me that I was dressed like a pin-up. It made my day.

I find it exhausting flicking through magazines and seeing fashion models who look like skinny breadsticks you could snap in half. Give me a good plump baguette instead. I don't want to look like a Twiglet. I know it might sound shocking, but I want the bum and the boobs that we are given the diets and exercise regimes to shrink. Heck, I even want the thighs that meet in the middle. 

I also just love the style of the pin-up: red lips, coy smiles and sexy knickers. Sounds like a winning combination to me.

The rise of all things vintage may have seen the phenomenon of last season Primark being sold as 'retro', but it has also created a pin-up renaissance that I for one am very happy about.

Not only can you dress like a pin-up, but you can also get pretty pin-ups on your crockery and walls now too. Here is a shopping list of my favourites...

Cushion, £60, Andrew Martin for John Lewis

Gift Wrap, £8.50 for four sheets, Crumpet and Skirt

Cushion, £60, Andrew Martin for John Lewis

Veronica Mug, £9.50, Crumpet and Skirt

Sophia Mug, £9.50, Crumpet and Skirt

Dress, £65, Bettie Page Clothing at Pin-up Parade

Dress, £95, Bettie Page Clothing at Pin-up Parade

Dress, £49, Fairygothmother

Knickers, £17 and Bra, £41.50, What Katie Did

Wallpaper, £75 for 3m panel, Dupenny

Earrings, £3, Jo Edkins at Folksy

Gaypron, £20, Jollyjapes at Folksy

And finally, I bring you the 'Gaypron' - a new interpretation of the pin-up that I thoroughly approve of.

Libby

Flower Patch Colour Blocking

 Take inspiration from summer's floral borders and add blocks of colour into your life. Wear with a sunny smile.

Warning: Do not attempt gardening in those heels. Serious health hazard.

Shoes, £37, Office, Trousers, £59.99, Fever London,  Sleeveless shirt, £38, Topshop, Necklace, £12.95, Sour Cherry, Jacket, £35, River Island 

It's raining sequins

Apologies for my absence. No, I haven't become the first person to die from hay fever and glandular fever (actually I feel like I've pretty much kicked the glandular fever, touch wood). I've been busy. I am now back in London and have officially finished my second year at the London College of Fashion. 

I may be getting less frequent visits from the glandular fever Dementor, but that doesn't mean I'm not ill. I have developed a new sickness that is perhaps even more frightening. 

Reader, I am addicted to sequins. 

It started in Topshop. I was shopping with a friend when a ray of light punched me in the eyes. But instead of blinding me, I felt like I was finally seeing clearly. Yes, this is the dress I have been waiting my whole life to find.

When I picked the shimmery skater dress off its hanger I think my friend was ready to escort me from the shop. She could see the look in my eyes and the seeds of an addiction planting themselves in my happy heart. 

I ignored her and headed to the fitting room.

It probably goes without saying that a sequin dress would be sparkly. But this dress wasn't just sparkly. It was really, really, really sparkly. I wouldn't be surprised if I got arrested whilst wearing it down the street for over exposing the public to sequins and potentially creating traffic accidents by blinding drivers with shimmer.

I didn't buy it, but I have been dreaming in sequins ever since. 

My main argument for resisting the sequin dress was that I wondered where I would wear it. Now I am regretting my decision because I realise that I would wear it EVERYWHERE. Perhaps I would look insane, and certainly insanely shiny, but I would be so insanely happy.

Dress, £80, Topshop

Vivienne Westwood sell similar boots: mine are cheaper and have sequins on them. Win.

Shoe, £24.99, Dizzy at Treds

I didn't buy the dress, but I did buy these. They are essentially short wellington boots covered in sequins.

My sister: Where are you ever going to wear those? You're not going to Glastonbury any time soon.

Me: It rains in London too!

I have worn them several times since buying them. I splash happily through city puddles and feel like a sparkly duck.

I know that sequins are not tasteful and they are not chic. But the one thing they certainly are is fun. Resisting my urge to paint my life in sequins is like resisting an urge for cake: perhaps I would be skinnier if I said no to the chocolate gateau, but life wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable. Maybe I would look more 'fashion' in simple black trousers and a Breton tee but what is the point in fashion if you can't enjoy your wardrobe? In fact, what is the point in life if you can't enjoy it - if you can't eat cake and wear sequins?

Libby

Good Enough to Eat: Outfit Post 3

A Hummingbird Cupcake Ouftit

 A 50s inspired outfit to be worn whilst eating pastel shade Hummingbird bakery cupcakes.

 

 Dress, Natasha Bailie Vintage Clothing, £95

Jacket, Fever London, £49.50

Shoes, Office, £62

Bag, Big Bags by Bridget Saunders at notonthehighstreet.com, £40

Earrings, Les Néréides, £63.10

Headband, Joy, £8

Frame image source: graphicsfairy.blogspot.com

Who shall I be today?

What goes through your mind when you decide what to wear?

If you are anything like me, the answer will be lots of things, often far too many things to deal with in a morning. Particularly if that morning happens to be a Monday.

What will the weather do today? (Winter coat or maxi dress and suncream?) How far am I walking today? (Walking boots or stilletoes?) How much do I need to carry with me today? (Suitcase, rucksack, handbag or no bag?) What am I doing today? (If I plan on visiting a farm wellies might be appropriate, if I am off to a party, perhaps not so.) Who will I see today? (Will I see the friend who saw me in this same dress yesterday? Will they think I don't wash? Am I off to visit my grandparents or is there a chance of me bumping into an ex? Adjust skirt length and cleavage accordingly.)

Finally comes the most difficult question. The million dollar question that often ends up with a mountain of discarded clothes on my bed as I rush out the house, late, wearing the first outfit I put on.

Who do I want to be today?

This is where I get stuck. Do I want to be Libby the Student, Libby the Fashion Journalism Student, Libby the Writer, Libby the Pink-Lover, Libby the Baker or Libby the Aspiring Blue Peter Presenter? Do I want to look quirky or sophisticated, fun or hard-working, feisty or approachable, country girl or city chick, girly or serious? The trouble is that I want to look like all of these things, all at the same time. But this might involve wearing quite a lot of clothes.

I was doing some research today for my university dissertation, when I stumbled across something that hit the nail on the head (not something that happens often when wading through swamps of academic stodge).

" When I rummage through my wardrobe in the morning I am not merely faced with a choice of what to wear. I am faced with a choice of images: the difference between a smart suit and a pair of overalls, a leather skirt and a cotton dress, is not just one of the fabric and style, but one of identity. You know perfectly well that you will be seen differently for the whole day, depending on what you put on; you will appear as a particular kind of woman with one particular identity which excludes the others. The black leather skirt rules out girlish innocence, oily overalls tend to exclude sophistication, ditto smart suit and radical feminism. Often I have wished I could put them all on together, or appear simultaneously in every possible outfit, just to say, How dare you think any one of these is me. But also, See, I can be all of them.”  Judith Williamson: Consuming Passions, The Dynamics of Popular Culture


Despite the moments when I think it might be simpler to either wear no clothes at all (socially and thermologically awkward) or instead to wear every item in my wardrobe, there are really only so many clothes that you can wear at one time. 

But just because I'm wearing this pink skirt covered in polka dots, that doesn't mean I'm not serious. Just because I'm wearing this plain grey dress, that doesn't mean I'm not fun. 


So next time I look into my wardrobe as if it's a mirror and ask myself 'who shall I be today?', if the answer that comes to me is a jumper covered in love hearts, I shall put it on with pride, and with one hell of a sexy pair of underwear underneath. Sexy and cutesy librarian? 20 year old with a five-year old inside? Why not.


Even if you can't see, I can be all of them.


Libby

 

The Last Fashion Victims: The Story

Over the past few months I have been working on a project that I would now like to share with you.

As a woman, breast cancer is something I cannot help but think about. (My book, 'Love Pink' raises money for Breast Cancer Care.) Something I had never thought about, however, was how breast cancer affects a woman's wardrobe.

Last year a family friend underwent a bilateral mastectomy. She got in touch and said that she was really struggling to find clothes to wear following her operation. She felt frustrated by what was on offer, and let down by the high street. As an aspiring fashion journalist, was it something that I would be interested in investigating?

After our conversation, I started my own research. I searched the web and trawled through specialist sites. I was shocked - the majority of what was on offer looked stuck in a different era. There was certainly not much I could imagine my friend wearing.

Together Lynne and I took to the Breast Cancer Care forum and asked whether this was a problem other women had come across. The response was overwhelming.

I then got talking in detail to several women who told me the problems they faced and what changes they would like to see. Of these women, I found three in particular (including my friend Lynne) who were happy to appear on camera.

Tripod and camera in hand, I headed down to Devon and up to Glasgow (in one rather hectic weekend!) and then across to Leeds. The women I met were interesting, inspiring and I felt privileged to hear their stories and capture them on film.

Next I got in touch with the photographer David Jay, whose wonderful photographic project, The Scar Project, had been shown to me by Lynne. I had found the images incredibly moving and wanted to hear more about the project.

I emailed David on a Wednesday. That day I received an email from him, thanking him for my interest but saying that to fully appreciate the images I needed to see them in their original 6ft state, rather than just on my laptop. Would I be able to 'pop over' to New York to see the exhibition before it closed that weekend?

At first I laughed. And then I thought, why not? This was a project I felt passionately about and an opportunity that seemed just too good to miss. I knew that David's images would add another dimension to my film and I was fascinated to meet the man behind the images. And, of course, it meant a weekend in New York. By that afternoon I had spoken to David, withdrawn from my savings, booked a last minute flight and found a friend of a friend's whose floor I would be able to sleep on for two nights.

I was not prepared for the weekend that awaited me. I landed in New York on Friday evening and although I was exhausted, I decided to make the most of my visit and spent the evening wide-eyed on the top of the Empire State Building.

The next day I headed to The Scar Project exhibition. As soon as I walked in I knew that travelling 4000 miles (plus a stop over in Charlotte) had been worth it. David was right; seeing the images online is one thing, but being surrounded by them in a stark white gallery blew me away.

I spent the whole day talking to David, filming in the gallery and meeting the many people who had made their pilgrimage to the gallery or been drawn in from outside by the arresting images. I was lucky enough to speak to Melissa, one of the women involved in the Scar Project, whose photograph hung on the wall. I also spoke to Doris, another wonderful lady who I sadly wasn't able to fit into the documentary. Throughout the day a whole range of people came through the doors. Some came alone, some were couples, or sisters, or friends. There were tears, but I also found it heart warming to see the smiles as well.

David Jay himself turned out to be one of life's wonderful people - as the project itself would suggest. I was lucky enough to join on a tour he gave of the gallery, in which he shared the incredibly moving stories of the women he had photographed. I found myself learning not just about the project, but about life, death and all that goes between. Being in the gallery made me feel at once alone but also part of something much bigger than myself. It was one of the most moving and powerful experiences of my life.

When I arrived back in the UK, (despite being exhausted and jetlagged!) I felt all the more determined to give a voice to the women I had met and that David had photographed so beautifully.

Fashion may be a small part of a woman's life in the grand scheme of things, but the women I have met have shown me that it can also be an incredibly important part. I also realise that as much as I would like to, I am never going to discover a cure for cancer. What I can do instead is try my best to make a small difference in the area in which I am trying to start a career, and to use what I am studying at university (broadcast journalism) to give a voice to those who are otherwise being overlooked.

That is my aim anyway. The video above is a short trailer for the longer documentary that I will post later. This site seems to have cut part of the shot of the video so CLICK HERE to see the full version on youtube.

Find out more about David Jay's 'The Scar Project' at www.thescarproject.org

Libby

Fascinate Me

Today was a sad day for rainbow feathers, as Ascot announced that fascinators will be banned from their Royal Enclosure this year.

In a BBC article Ascot spokesman Nick Smith was quoted as saying, "there is no doubt our customers would like to get back to a situation where it is universally acknowledged this is a formal occasion and not an occasion where you might dress as you would at a nightclub."

I am not sure where Mr Smith likes to party. I am clearly hanging out in the wrong places. I personally have never seen anyone wearing a fascinator in a nightclub. Perhaps I just missed them, but on second thoughts I am sure I would have spotted the explosion of feathers through the crowd.

Does this mean the death of the fascinator? Because you may say, if I can't wear my fascinator to Ascot, where can I wear it?

But ah, that is where you are wrong. Why shouldn't you wear a net and quill fascinator to a nightclub? Or why stop there? Why not wear one out to dinner, on the bus or in Tesco? Or just whilst you do your washing up? Ascot has ruled that wearing a bird on your head is too casual for watching horses racing. But if it is too casual for Ascot, that doesn't mean it's too casual for me. So keep your eyes pealed next time you're in a club. I will be the one with the feathers.

(Fascinators at the fabulous VV Rouleaux)

Libby

Strawberry Laces

Oh the joy of a new pair of shoes.

Perhaps it is wrong to admit it, but for me the thrill of new shoes is on par with the first bite of a delicious cake that you have been salivating over behind a glass case, a sunbeam warming your back through a window or the accidental happiness of a coffee froth heart. They make me smile, and all the more when those shoes happen to be bright red.

Another, perhaps strange reason to smile is that I know I shouldn't have bought them.

"I really really can't buy these," I said to the smiley shop assistant, "but obviously I am going to."

We are living in tough times so in theory have to justify our purchases even more than ever before. But I think that the best things you buy are the ones that you can't really justify. Yes, a grey cardigan or new pair of tights to replace those ones you laddered are a sensible idea. But you won't love them like a pair of bright red shoes. And equally, they won't love you either. Walking in my new boots is like walking with a permanent hug around my feet. (Honestly. They really are that comfy.)

So that is the story of how I came to be sat on my bed in a pair of bright red suede ankle boots. And a pair of laddered tights.

(These boots are made for climbing....)
Now I just want to save up for the leopard print pair... Because obviously my shoes need company...

www.martajonsson.com
Libby