Inside Style - Manners

Inside Style by Annmarie O'Connor - as featured in The Dubliner magazine - October 7th

Manners.  Apart from teeth, there’s no set quite as stylish. In fact, we fashion folk place quite the premium on convention; which would explain our inexplicable affair with tweed. But I digress...

Despite celluloid stereotypes of devils wearing Prada and supermodels lobbing Blackberries at unwitting assistants, there’s a tacit code that underpins sound sartorial behaviour – especially at fashion shows. Sure, it won’t make headlines or break the box office but it will ensure one’s standing in the community longer than Gallic chic in a Texan mall. Newcomers – pay attention.

Let’s start with faking it. Never do it. Just don’t. In fact, quit while you’re ahead. If there’s someone or something you don’t know, pretending will only land you in the proverbial. Trust me. My scarred retina has witnessed episodes of front row fraud to shameless fame whoring; not to mention social climbing that would make Jane Austen blush. Let me explain.

If attending any of the Big Four fashion weeks, remember the pecking order: celebrities at the front, everyone else in the back. Unless your ticket happens to be of the golden variety, take your humble seat and have done with it. Perhaps the girl who snaffled a seat next to Jennifer Saunders at Betty Jackson’s show last month in London didn’t get the memo. She was rapidly served by an angry clipboard with the impeached Ab Fab cohort in tow. Cringe factor? High.

Purloining the paps should also be avoided. Avoid the temptation to tailgate a celebrity, however desperate your desire to make it to the pages of Hello! Shutterbugs will quickly deduce that Cat Deeley cling-on as a pointless presence; especially as the door of her awaiting car closes...on you.

More importantly, when queuing for shows always observe the tenets of small talk. As a famous chain-smoking binge-drinking anti-heroine once said ‘introduce people with thoughtful details’. This also applies to you. Resist the urge to divulge the minutiae of your career path to the nearest available ear (‘I just graduated from LCF and I’m working on a book now that my In Style internship has ended. But I keep getting these calls from Vogue...). No one cares; they just want to get inside.

Do I sound blunt? Forgive me.  I sometimes think I’m too old for this caper. What I wouldn’t do for an armchair and a cup of Horlicks. Now that’s something worth blagging!