One Spanking Good #FNO

The whole point of Vogue Fashion's Night Out was to blow open the perceived-to-be exclusive world of high-end fashion to a larger audience. However several designers missed that point, invited their famous friends and blocked the door with stoic men in suits and a chick with a guest list.

So, Gwyneth showed up at Stella McCartney wearing Stella McCartney, had her picture taken and spent a few hours supporting and celebrating an already well-publicised friendship between herself and Ms McCartney. How is this different from any other designer fashion event? It's not.

What was revolutionary, what was recession-bustingly fun and inspiring was what Diane von Furstenberg, Matthew Williamson, Burberry and many others did. They threw open the doors, opened the bar, popped the bubbly and FNOed.

They FNOed so hard they let people like me walk up to them as they smoked a cigarette outside their shop. Well, Matthew Williamson did. Moments before, he'd been greeting guests, posing for photos. He was happily in his element, a proper host and had also hit the right note with a Moroccan-themed party for the event.

I asked him if, over time, he believed FNO would break down a barrier and open his brand up to new customers who are as passionate about fashion as Gwyneth, have money to buy themselves a designer item once and a while, but find the Bond Street zone intimidating.

Yes, he said. "Absolutely, that's the idea. To broaden the appeal of who you are selling to. To make it a bit more fun and relaxed." He asked me if I'd heard the band and if I'd enjoyed it. Yes to both, thank you. What a party, what a dude.

Diane von Furstenberg served cocktails from Claridges beneath disco balls on account of the Studio 54 theme. Everybody was trying on dresses, myself and my friend included, having their hair done, examining and admiring the fashion and deciding what they thought of DvF designs.

I decided I liked this emerald green sequin dress and matching cropped leather jacket. Do you?

Burberry was a partier's party. I actually met the organizer, who I mysteriously knew from a past life. He recognised me too, but we couldn't figure out which past life it was in the short time we had, which was about 30 seconds cuz the poor chap was running the whole show, I think. His name was Ben and I'm pretty sure it's from when I first moved to London in '99 and worked LFW for a Fashion PR in Soho. Anywho.

We drank much champagne, me and Inni, who knows her Burberry. And we walked around the vast and cavernous New Bond Street shop reviewing the merchandise like we were Vogue editors. Or fashion students. Whatever! We enjoyed the flowing champagne, we respectfully tried on jackets and coats and talked about fashion, our lapsed/lost passion for fashion and where we'd go for pasta afterwards.

Nice eh? Burberry FNO party

The whole night for me came about because of twitter, of course, but also because Inni, my former flatmate who now lives in her home town of Oslo, was back in London so I decided to sculpt an evening of art and fashion, without involving too much public transport; it ruins momentum.

I'd been waiting for weeks to see Hussein Chalayan's I Am Sad Leyla at the Lisson Gallery after reading about it in the FT. This is where our FNO night began, at 4pm. Quite perfect.

The exhibition is centred around a poetic, complicated song, I Am Sad Leyla, based on a classical Arabic story of lost love. We took our time, relaxed and turned up our senses to this stunning, haunting performance presented in variations in four rooms. My favourite was the room with speakers and canvas sound buffers.

A quick tube journey later we were on South Molton Street browsing in Browns. Inni tried on an Alexander McQueen jacket and said she missed him, not because he sadly left our world last winter, but because she hadn't bought anything of his in a long old while.

We then made our way down to Bruton Street, the aforementioned bombdiggity parties and a rush and buzz in the streets brought on by my old forgotten friend, fashion. The whole reason I moved to London.

Inni in McQueen, whom she misses