CARS Philip Astor dips a tentative toe into the fashion world, while racing around London in a handsome Mercedes
While being whisked between London catwalk shows, Philip Astor is won over by the charms of a world-famous model: the Mercedes S-class
‘Ooh, what a glamorous life Justine leads,’ is a frequent refrain I hear around the time of the international fashion shows. ‘All that luxury, all those celebs, all that glitz; New York, Paris and Milan. What’s not to like?’ In response, I have to plead that, strange as it may seem, those aren’t my wife’s unequivocal sentiments. The reality is that she tends to find the marathon merry-go-round she embarks upon twice a year, as editor of Town & Country and its sister magazine Harper’s Bazaar, both relentless and exhausting. She invariably catches a bug of some sort, and longs for a day off from the five weeks of consecutive fashion shows. Furthermore, and to bring it back to me, she is wrested from her beloved husband, who descends while she’s travelling into a semi-feral state, surviving somehow on takeaways and salami sausage.
The one Fashion Week when we do see each other, at least in passing, is London, but even then she usually leaves home each day at dawn, and returns late for the briefest of pit stops before the fashion industry’s version of Groundhog Day comes around again. This September, I volunteered to accompany her to a few shows, to see whether as a newbie I might be susceptible to the old razzle-dazzle that she, as a hardened editor, has become more inured to. I also wanted to experience being chauffeured around town in a Mercedes-benz limousine, Justine’s regular mode of transport during London Fashion Week; for, rightly or wrongly, the Mercedes S-class is often described as the best car in the world.
I should confess that I’ve always been rather bemused by that categorisation, associating the S-class with executive-courier services and airport transfers. Does it really merit being mentioned in the same breath as, say, a Bentley or Rolls-royce? But once I’d climbed into the back, with Justine’s trusty driver Rick holding the door for me, my doubts were rapidly dispelled. The phenomenal amount of leg room strikes you immediately. Forget first class; this is like being in a private jet. Even in the rear you can recline your silky-soft leather seat and stretch out further if you want to; and there’s a comfy little pillow on the headrest. My wife, who is generally so easygoing, can be scarily demanding in her insistence on comfortable car seats. Suffice it to say that she describes the Mercedes S-class as ‘by far the most comfortable car’ she’s been in. She also commends the elegance of its AMG styling: ‘There is nothing vulgar about it, nothing overstated; it’s pleasingly subtle.’
Our first outing together was to the Mary Katrantzou show at the Roundhouse. Mary was an early recipient of a Harper’s Bazaar Women of the Year award, and this was a suitably dramatic venue for her vibrant and geometric designs, paraded to the accompaniment of a rousing soundtrack by Vangelis. Unfortunately, leaving the event proved as perilous as some of the shoes the models had been wearing. Even though Mary hasn’t used fur for years, her shows are still routinely picketed by a gang of persistent and menacing protesters. How reassuring, therefore, to spy the sleek but unobtrusive lines of our Mercedes-benz as it waited like a beacon to guide us safely out.
Even without such irksome distractions, the atmosphere during Fashion Week can be pretty manic. Roksanda, another Bazaar favourite, was the first show on the Monday morning. It was a beautiful affair, but it started late, so there followed a mad rush to get from the Serpentine Gallery in Kensington to the National Portrait Gallery in time for Erdem. Despite frustrating roadworks and the sheer weight of traffic, Rick negotiated a smooth passage, and the S-class remained an oasis of calm amid the general mayhem without. It will come as no surprise that its six-cylinder three-litre diesel engine offered no more than a discreet purr. I dare say that the gentle strips of ambient lighting worked their soothing magic too; and Justine and I could both adjust our air-conditioning and seat temperature to create our own respective microclimate. Mind you, sometimes it’s the little things that can make all the difference, such as the heated cup-holders that kept the editor’s tea at just the right temperature; or the Polo mints and crisps provided by the ever resourceful Rick.
Whatever the secret, there we were, relaxed and secure, seated on the front row in time for the start of the Erdem show. I found I had landed in some kind of fashion heaven, with the legendary Anna Wintour to one side of me, Kristin Scott Thomas on the other, and the engaging Edward Enninful (yes, he of a rival publication) sitting opposite. And with each uplifting design that passed me on the catwalk, I could see why Justine has always been such a loyal champion of Erdem’s work. Having touched such heights, I concluded that that was enough fashion for me, Ed. No such early release for Justine, though; that afternoon alone she had to dash hither and thither between Christopher Kane, Emilia Wickstead and Riccardo Tisci’s debut for Burberry. She’s a big admirer of them all, but I could tell that her head was spinning at the prospect. At least I was confident that she would enjoy some welcome comfort and relief from the remorseless programme in the S-class. For, as Justine herself acknowledged: ‘There are times when the most glamorous thing about London Fashion Week is the Mercedes-benz.’ Mercedes-benz S350d L AMG line, from £77,235 (www.mercedes -benz.co.uk).
THE LEG ROOM STRIKES YOU IMMEDIATELY. FORGET FIRST CLASS; THIS IS LIKE BEING IN A PRIVATE JET