01.

So I was always THAT kid. The one who would go to the library and work at lunch, the one who would sit and read at playtime. My mum used to take me to the library after school where I would love the bookworm challenges, would fixate on filling my sticker book to the end, would race to pick up a book and read it the whole night under my covers…until I got told to sleep. Five times.

I loved books. I loved seeing a story in front of my eyes, it was like being in another world. I used to dream about the books I read, dreamt about the characters, being inside the very scene I had just read. I had one of those run away imaginations when I was young – I could finish a five hundred paged book in three days maximum. We used to pre-order every Harry Potter book before it came out, and me and my sister used to sit in silence, just reading.

We had these boxes at school, you know those ones that were plastic and where they have the colour dot and if you were that colour, those books were meant only for you? I was at the near empty box at the end, where there was only 10 books or so, barely touched, a little dusty… a little older than the rest. It was the box for the quick readers, the readers who needed a challenge (or the ones the teachers didn’t have to worry about.) I was so proud of myself being in that box, that reading time with mum was always the best time of the night. I had to finish the next book before anyone else. I had to be the best reader.

I was always surrounded by books; I was THAT kid.

"Just sew the bloody thing!"

It ripped. The whole shoulder. I had actually ripped it. I stared. Are you kidding me? That moment, it felt as if my whole world was dangling by a Gutemann 120 black thread, dangling in front of a miraculous pass or an inevitable fail. I walked up the stairs, pin box in one hand, the ripped jacket in the other, hot tears rolling down my sleep-deprived cheeks, heart pumping back up at 1000 beats a second, the thought of that fail glowing red in front of my eyes.

No one tells you how pain staking brutal studying Fashion Design is. The little pin holes in your thumbs from the 20 pins you dropped on the floor of you work room, the flakes of skin peeling from the edges of your thumb nails from the handling of fabrics, the acceptance of 3 hours sleep and how this is a luxury, how normal it becomes to not shower and to not wash your hair, how easy it is to skip meals to get one extra hour of technical work finished. Reality is no longer possible, and your days are measured in hours and how long a new toile will take to make, and how much of the portfolio you can finish by 2am. At 10.55am Monday morning, I finally handed in four years of work (squeezed onto a memory stick and into a velvet presentation box.. screw the black satin ribbon). I had slept three hours that night. Flitting in and out of sleep in my Travelodge hotel room, napping purely so I could focus more on the garment evaluations and illustrated lineup that I still had to do. Every half an hour, a plummet of adrenaline welcomed itself into my veins, widening my eyes and making my breathing jump. “I’m not letting you fail!” screamed my brain as it fought with drowsiness.

The moment alone after I had handed in, felt peaceful. I had actually felt sun and oxygen on my skin – staying in doors for days on end really had felt like necessity to prove I had done work. I deleted my lists of my phone, the reminders that the swing tags HAD to be done by 3pm on Saturday. I scrolled through Instagram, I rang my mum, and I started breathing normally. I took a photo to post online and I really looked at myself. My hair was dry and had no life, red sleep deprived marks hung under my eyes, and spots had claimed their place on my previously smooth skin. My stomach rumbled – I hadn’t given it a decent meal in two days. It was over. I had made it to the end and I had survived. Just about. I felt peaceful.

I had gone through the most stressful few weeks of my life, to date. My anxiety flared up, my panicking started showing its ugly face. I stayed resilient and I kept my stamina. I counted the days down seven days before the hand in. I was used to crying, crying out of frustration, out of sleep deprivation, out of feeling like I wasn’t going to hand in. I had done away with being a normal twenty-three year old, I said no to dating, to nights out, to spending more than hour being social. I gave everything away, for a grade.

The morning before my hand in, I had ripped the lining of one jacket. I ripped it out of force, out of the realisation the lining was. Just. Not. Going. To fit. The only thought that entered my head was just to sew. Sew the edge to the shell, gather it and pleat it to make it fit. Just sew the bloody thing. I gave up on caring; I gave up on being perfect. I said no to remaking the whole goddamn thing. I realized how much I had given, how much I missed my life, my friends, my writing, the sound of my own laugh, the feeling of waking up and being able to enjoy breakfast. The comfort of sitting on a sofa, watching TV. I sat back in that desk seat, jacket in one hand, pinned together, pinned ready and set for self-destruction. I focused. Just sew the bloody thing.

It's not you, It's me.

You are a brute. You chewed me up and spat me straight out. You made false promises and let me down. 

London, it's over.

It's not what you think though, I promise. It's just a break, we need to take time away from each other. We've spent too much time in each others pockets, both living in a bubble and knowing nothing else other than each other. You flirted with my taste for excitement, you played with my spontaneous nature - you made me feel a sense of false security, but now, it's time to have some space. I spent all my money on you, I dedicated so much time and effort,  Only to realise that we're just not working out.

I have done the inevitable, it's time. I'm moving out of London - moving away, moving home, and turning to the dark side ; becoming a commuter. From the green depths of surrey, I moved to London four years ago, to chase after the dream to be in fashion. And god have I made my mark, and proved I'm part of the industry. Along the way, I have danced to the early hours of the morning in Fabric and Ministry of Sound, fallen out of the Uber (stylishy, may I add) on a Friday night in Mayfair, spent my sundays daydreaming in the V&A, sipping coffee on Kings Road.. even rummaging through the thrifts shops in Brick Lane. I've discovered my love of spas (Mandarin Oriental, you will always be "the one"), I've sat front row at London Fashion Week and drank triple shot mixers in the Mens Fashion Week after parties. I've grown with London, I've played with London and I've worked with London. But every relationship has its time, and my time of renting in the big smoke, is over.. well, for the next few months at least.

You see, they don't tell you what London is really like, apart from "it's where the work is! It's where life is!"And it is. It's 100% about living. It can swallow you up for all your worth, and spit you right out. All of course with good intentions. It was never a bad relationship. It had its ups and its downs. London taught me the meaning of resilience; the meaning of focus, motivation and multitasking. A relationship that made me appreciate being alone, but also how much you need others around you.. and how important they are.

We just need time. To breathe, to sort out what we really want, where our heads are at, and how much we really love each other. However, at this moment in time, London, it's over. 

Amelia Stephenson Launches Amelie Louise London

Through the intricate relationship between Pain and Pleasure, both power and beauty can be perceived and demonstrated – a key crossover that, for her preview exhibition for her launch collection, Amelia Stephenson has chosen to explore. Fulfilling the intimate setting of Blessings bar, Stephenson presented a collection that played on the sense of empowerment, of beauty and elegance juxtaposed through tie and restraint. With intricate emerald and black lace detailing, exposed through cut out and asymmetric line structure, it was indeed a collection of thought, of attention to detail through a delicate design relationship. But where exactly did Stephenson start exactly? “I’ve always loved the female form, I’ve always admired it. I developed my style from a general womenswear attraction, and really realized that lingerie design was more my passion through studying my foundation diploma - it comes naturally to design the way I do.” 

Walking through the tasteful exhibition, of the pain versus pleasure photo shoot undertaken by Stephenson in collaboration with Pip Jay King and model Jessica Talbot-Smith, there was a definite sense of fragility and strength, as the Stephenson pieces were exhibited through a raw and gritty environment, a characteristic that Stephenson is unafraid to show within her aesthetic. I questioned, what was her favorite piece and indeed, exhibited image? “The cupless body for me is my favorite, just because the detailing on the back is really different, it’s unique and stands out from your classic lingerie pieces, through the way it can be seen when worn under a garment as well as its own construction detailing. It’s a piece that can be styled as underwear, outwear, over the top of a garment as well as underneath.” 

It was clear that the Amelie Louise London brand is one of longevity, and that the exhibition was only the start of what Stephenson has in store. Where did Stephenson see herself in ten years time? “I really have high hopes for the brand, of us going out there and really showing what the Amelie Louise brand is about. Obviously, at the moment, it is just I, so hopefully there is a future for the team to expand, to really push the brand identity and to take on more than what is possible right now. I am confident that the Amelie Louise London brand can only grow and develop, as this is just the start.”

Images with credit to Pip Jay King. 

See the Amelie Louise London brand here : 

Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/amelielouise.london/

contact - amelia.stephenson@allingerie.com 

See the photographer - 

Pip Jay King - www.pipjk.com 

See the model - 

Jessica Talbot Smith - https://www.instagram.com/jessicatsss23/?hl=en

contact - jessellents@hotmail.com