Welcome to my life. My diary. My truth. For those who have read my critically acclaimed book ‘Dazed & Confused Magazine’, you’ll know that I have a passion for, you guessed it, fashion. So when I was asked to go to every fashion show across the globe over the upcoming month or so, I said: what’s the fee?

Well, it was an economy class front row seat at every show and a stale bag of Popchips — so naturally I jumped at the chance. I had to find somewhere to wear my heeled Havaianas in this heat, and where better than a fabulous faszionne show?

As a model myself (Google Marni xoxo), this fashion week I’m looking for glamour, expense, a social conscience, and a husband. So join me on my foray into the fab world of high fashion as I traverse the parties, the buffet tables, the backstage, the frow, and the contents of a Eurostar tiramisu pot. This is The Diary of a Fashion Girl.

SATURDAY JUNE 12

London. The home of punk. The home of stationary brands owned by Tories. An eclectic mix of young home-owners and actual cool people litter the streets of central London, all desperate to get the ticket I have: to Lion King: The Musical. 

After a quick nap in the stalls, I realise I’m late for fashion week. So I take a small car-shaped bus down to the BFC show space where I’m told I’m not on the list. Not on the list? I invented the list! I screamed and upon a quick Google the head of PR for fashion did indeed find my self-written Wikipedia which confirmed I did indeed invent the list. I swooped right in, just in time to watch good friend and long-time massage client Matty Bovan win the International Woolmark prize. 

Applause, acquire Matty’s bank details, and leave – just in time for the unveiling of McQueen’s new collection images which I shot and starred in. They looked gorgeous, and Sarah (Burton) – my dear friend – told me the collection was all about healing, and I said “yes” although I’ve never heard that word before. 

Luckily I was just in time to make it to the Reuben Selby show which I opened and closed. It was magnificent, especially the lavender suit worn by Bimini Bon Boulash on the front row, who flipped the bird at me as I strutted the catwalk. But that’s just what happens when you’re an internaçionalé supermodel, I guess. 

SUNDAY JUNE 13

I ended last night eating saffron risotto on the roof of a ScrewFix in East Kent with my good friend Chloë Sevigny and [redacted]. It was scorching hot, and of course I only had factor one on, which meant that I was as sizzled as one of the aforementioned Popchips. Nothing a little concealer can’t sort out. 

After Chloe and [redacted] smothered my body in MAC, I jumped into my fashion week sponsored blimp and made the seven hour journey to central London just in time for the university of Westminster BA show which was to die for. I particularly liked the chairs in the show space, which relieved my burnt behind after seven hours stuck to the plastic driver’s seat of a BFC sponsored blimp.

No husband today, sadly, although I did cop off with a journalist from British V*gue, but I blocked his number because he kept asking me whether I’d be on the cover of the next issue. Too much!!!

“Not on the list? I invented the list! I screamed and upon a quick Google the head of PR for fashion did indeed find my self-written Wikipedia which confirmed I did indeed invent the list” – Crystal Rasmussen

MONDAY JUNE 14

Today is a new day. I’m feeling good. I’m wearing a Charlotte Knowles bikini and these stunning Ecco Orthopedic shoes which people keep commenting on. “Hideous”, said Kate Moss as I entered the show space this morning. I’ve never heard that word, but I can only assume it’s a compliment since we walked the Versace show together singing “Freedom 90” and we’ve been friends ever since. 

I’m particularly excited by Per Götesson and Ahluwalia today, and I’m thrilled to be wearing the new JW Anderson Tom of Finland collection to a secret Zoom party tonight. Next up Milan! Best brush up on my Italian. How do you say bank balance?

Check back for Crystal’s Milan rundown later this week.