The late Dame Vivienne Westwood was every bit as fun and rebellious in person as she seemed, writes lifelong fan, Jacqueline Wake Young.
It’s not easy trying to find something to wear for gala dinner with Vivienne Westwood – and even harder when you haven’t actually been invited.
Around 25 years ago, while working on a Glasgow newspaper, the fashion editor pulled off the impressive feat of persuading Vivienne to do a charity fashion show in the city.
I was beside myself; she had been my heroine ever since I could thread a safety pin through tartan and, for one glittering moment at school, became cool.
I bought a seat at the show, but was told (in not so many words) that the dinner – which was the really hot ticket – was not for the likes of me.
The fashion show passed in a beautiful blur of deconstruction, asymmetry and anarchy.
Punk was in the building and, if Vivienne Westwood had taught me anything, it was that having a ticket isn’t necessary – in fact, it’s preferable not to have one.
I raced home and started pulling items out of the wardrobe, baffled that I owned not a single Westwood piece – a situation rectified later by my sister, who bought me a brooch of her famous logo with orb, sceptre and Saturn’s rings.
What do you say to your heroine?
After some ducking and diving at the hotel (a gatecrasher never reveals her methods), I took a seat in the ballroom.
There was Vivienne at the top table, looking vaguely bored. I ordered a bottle of champagne and sent it up to her – with a note.
The note was as tricky as the outfit. What do you say to your heroine? I settled on: “Thanks for making growing up in the seventies so much fun.”
I watched as she dug in her handbag for her glasses, read the note, smiled, and accepted the bubbly.
When she headed to the bar, I waved to her over the crowd. “Darling!” She cried, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the throng.
Vivienne oozed star quality
Everyone moved aside and gave us space, probably thinking we knew each other. Vivienne oozed star quality, and standing beside her was like being in the glare of a blinding spotlight.
She was so pretty, with dainty features and extraordinary green eyes, which flashed around the room, computing details.
“Do you know anyone here?” She asked, conspiratorially.
“Just my bosses, and I don’t want to see them,” I replied.
So, today, I raise a toast again to you, dear Vivienne
Then came the laugh, the raucous, infectious laugh, and she squeezed my arm, and that’s all I know. We did talk for several minutes, but I couldn’t tell you what about; I was too star-struck and she’d had champagne.
So, today, I raise a toast again to you, dear Vivienne. Thanks for making fashion, politics and everything else you got involved with so much fun.
Jacqueline Wake Young is a features writer for The Press & Journal who has worked in radio, regional and national newspapers and digital media since 1991
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