First, an admission: I am not a fashion girlie. I don’t mean I’m not into fashion – I know the big names, follow all the “it” models and personalities, even own a designer piece or two – but I am not and never will be the effortless type of insider that even the newest fresher at CSM seems to be.
Indeed, that seems to be the image the fashion industry loves to project: chic, unbothered, and way too cool for you. There’s a party going on, and you are not invited.
Enter Lyas. The French-Algerian fashion commentator is famous online for his unfiltered opinions, vibrant red lipstick, and now, his Fashion Week watch parties. The first was in Paris for Jonathan Anderson’s debut Dior show, a spur-of-the-moment event that Lyas announced via Instagram, cheekily commenting “if like me you’re not invited to the Dior show, come and let’s watch it together on a big screen in a bar in Paris !!!!!” Crowds flocked, the industry took note, and now Lyas is taking his concept on the road. The first stop? London Fashion Week, to watch Dilara Findikoglu’s SS26 show.
I was one of the lucky ones, nabbing a (free!) ticket the second they dropped (Lyas is quick to emphasize that tickets were a requirement by the venue: future events ideally won’t have any barriers to entry at all). But as I walked down the empty Barbican streets to The Jugged Hare I started to worry: could Lyas pull this off again? Or would this noble attempt at democratising fashion become just another exclusive party ‘not for you’?
At first, I wasn’t so sure. Stepping into The Jugged Hare, I was greeted by a swarm of fashion students, recent graduates, models, and people-who-are-so-hot-they-might-as-well-be-models. Everyone donned that air of effortless nonchalance, the superior aura of the perennial insider. I didn’t recognise anyone, this wasn’t my circle, I might as well go home. But I decided to stick it out for a few more minutes, and do a lap around the room.
As I pushed my way through the crowds, I noticed something surprising: Lyas was right there, in the middle of it all. I had expected this to be like all the other industry events I had attended: VIPs in one area, us normies in another. But here Lyas was, sincerely surprised at the turnout, bursting with excitement, animatedly chatting all things fashion, giving every person that approached him their chance to feel noticed, appreciated, and welcome.
The night went on, and the energy that Lyas embodied spread to us all. People struck up conversations with complete strangers: it turned out many people had come on their own. I met a group of recent London College of Fashion graduates, all of us taking refuge from the crowds inside with a quick smoke break; I bonded with a fellow American, visiting London for the weekend; took a selfie with Lyas alongside a girl working Fashion Week; struck up a chat with an aspiring fashion journalist. The intimidating aura that I first felt – or perhaps, that I had nervously projected onto everyone else – fell away as a crowd of strangers became a community of friends.
Not that this was a staid social mixer: it was, of course, a watch party. Cue: total chaos. The alcohol flowed as people crowded around the bar; waiters offered mini burgers, chips, and other classic pub fare; security shouted as people leapt onto chairs, craning for a view of the livestream. The usual social media obligations were made: TikToks filmed as Lyas danced to “”We Are Young”, Instagram handles exchanged, fit checks shot in the girls’ bathroom. Despite initially feeling so ready to leave, here I was, glass of wine in one hand, phone filming in the other, shouting “toniiiiiight….we are younnnngggg” alongside everyone else.
Lyas further hyped up the crowd by hiding a ticket to the Dilara Findikoglu show in the room – the winner was whisked away, only for Lyas to realise that he gave them the wrong address. Cut to: Lyas talking on multiple phones at once, frantically trying to get the poor person to the show in time. Not that they needed to worry about missing anything, for, in typical Fashion Week style, the show started an hour late.
But when the show finally did start, a hush fell over the room. Craning to peer over the tall model-types who somehow managed to crowd right in front of the screen (some of us are under 5’10”, dammit!!!), I watched as the future movers and shakers of the fashion industry cheered, clapped, and discussed the looks making their way down the runway.
Yet perhaps because I am, as previously admitted, not a fashion girlie, the show itself actually felt like the least important part of the night. Rather, it was the experience of watching the show with others that made it so special. Lyas’ watch parties are spontaneous and messy, they force people to shed their ego and make new friends, they democratise an elitist industry – in short, they are the polar opposite of the anti-social, cringe-conscious, carefully curated lifestyle that has defined the post-covid era. What might have been a solitary affair as I curled up in bed watching the show on my phone or scrolled on Vogue Runway the following morning, was, in Lyas’ hands, an opportunity for the next generation to insist upon their place in the fashion world.
There’s a party, and we’re not invited? Fine – we’ll make a party for ourselves. And what a party it was.