A Petty Imparting of FOMO onto All My Friends Who Sold Their Don’t Walk Ticket

Learn From Your Mistakes, Grow and Be Better

Written by Caroline Caterini, Co-Founder, and Madelyn McLaughlin, Creative Director

Photography by Madelyn McLaughlin, with a random contribution or two from Caroline

As ardent supporters of the importance of the diversity of individual experience and subsequent integrity of this review, the following contains the varying perspectives and opinions of two different attendees, Maddy and Caroline. You’re most welcome for our dedication to your content quality x

Caroline:

You made a mistake. I’m sorry if that hurts to hear, but you brought it upon yourself really. If you were one of the people who chose an impending deadline over being young and wild and free and going to Don’t Walk, like I get it, but be better. As penance and in the interest of your personal development, allow me to take you on a journey of regret that will hopefully lead you to make better decisions in the future. I do this because I care about you. Deeply.

If you were in attendance--you sexy thing--allow us to refresh your likely spotty memory and assuage any regrets you may have about your decision to go to Don’t Walk as you now sit, hungover and hurting, attempting to finish the coursework you put off to go. Legend.

The night began full of promise when an immensely altruistic bartender offered to spike our already complementary gin and tonics with absinthe at the corporate and press drinks preceding the show. I, ever the professional and knowing this to be the drink of literary geniuses from Hemingway to Baudelaire, accepted. Unfortunately, the only review it prompted me to write that evening was one of Rocca’s sandwiches on Tripadvisor at around 3:00 am, but I’m here now and that’s what counts. On the topic of complimentary drinks, before I get into the dirty details of the event itself, I feel it necessary to note the level of professionalism, courtesy, and general perks that Don’t Walk provided their press and sponsors, which stands out in striking superiority. I felt like a special, special snowflake. All-access press passes, an abundance of free drinks, bribable bartenders, and corporate bathrooms were but a few of the perks at our disposal. While the percentage of guests experiencing all of this was admittedly not the majority, it reflects the consistent quality of execution and professionalism that persisted throughout the evening.

My night began very differently to Caroline’s… I had spent my entire week staring at a blank Word document that was meant to hold my 2,500 word English essay that was due on the Friday following Don’t Walk. When I arrived at The Adamson for the corporate and press drinks, I still had 600 words to go. I needed a drink and I needed it now. Thankfully, as Caroline mentioned, we had made a lovely friend in the bartender, who helped make sure our glasses were never empty. By the time Caroline, my friend from home, Charlotte, and I got on the bus, the thought of my impending deadline had disappeared and I was ready to enter the Inferno.

Caroline:

Do you know what the best thing about an actual buildings is, besides their imperviousness to the fickle whims of the whether? The fact that they’re...you know...actual buildings. I could kiss those solid, architecturally integritous floors of the Bowhouse Brewery in Anstruther, which didn’t shake or bounce or buckle as your unsteady and intoxicated limbs traversed their stable surface. And the walls, oh the walls! Strong and solid like the arms of a lover, promising to keep you safe in even the most unsavoury conditions. With the only drawback being the somewhat lengthy bus ride (around 20 minutes), Don’t Walk’s venue brought a feeling of fresh otherness to the event, distinctifying itself from the sometimes repetitive venue vibe of St Andrews’ events. The interior was spacious, with the high ceilings and minimalist decor relieving any sense of claustrophobia in the crowded room.

Having reviewed and/or attended most of the fashion shows in St Andrews over the years, notable about Don’t Walk was the degree to which the emphasis was truly on entertainment. While as with all other fashion shows there was an extent to which it took itself seriously, this came across more through the quality of its execution rather than the attitude of the event. Placing the DJ in the middle of the crowd at the end of his own peninsula of the stage [see above photo]--instead of towards the back wall where shows and events typically put DJs--reminded the crowd they were here to have a good time. Combined with the flashing lights, the stage composition and DJ set up gave the venue a vibe more akin to a nightclub. We were there to watch the show, yes, but that felt like just one of many entertainment stimuli as everyone danced around the DJ and ran between their friends. This layout also removed the sentiment of separation between stage, entertainer, and audience, uniting everyone as models, attendees and DJ himself all danced together from their various locations. The choreography of the show began serious and precise, with the models engaging in complex and structured movements in careful coordination with the music. But as the show progressed the stone-faced routines devolved into cheeky smiles and care-free saunters, interspersed with models reaching into the crowd to take a drink from a friend or playfully grab at another passing model. This dynamic produced a tangible chemistry between all of the models, which seemed to infect the crowd as well. The atmosphere in the crowd felt as relaxed and un-selfconscious as the models looked, with everyone smiling and excited to engage with the people around them, both friends and strangers. The result of all these elements was something completely unique to Don't Walk: the physical environment of a night club, the social ease and chill of a house party, and the aesthetic novelty of a fashion show.

Maddy:

I am so happy that someone finally said enough with the tents in the winter in Scotland, let’s give the people what they want: let them have walls. It could have just been the champagne blanket from earlier on, but upon entering the main building of Bowhouse, I was presented with a sense of coziness between the giant stone walls and flashing red lights of the inferno. Though my general expression of awe upon entering the building was unique to my drunken state, I firmly believe the guest found in the corporate section also had a much quieter appreciation for the walls and warmth that Don’t Walk provided us with. I can attest to the fact that several of the models’ mothers were very happy to be in a heated structure. Over glasses of champagne, we mingled with our new friends in the corporate section as they expressed how nervous they were to see their children in garters and briefs. By the time the show had started, I had three new Facebook friends whose kids I don’t even know, and I learned my friend Laura was trilingual after hearing her speak Norwegian whilst exchanging business cards with another model’s mom. As the show was about to start, I gave my last royal wave to my plebeian acquaintances below and grabbed one final glass of free champagne before joining the crowd. And so, we began our descent into the crowd and before I knew it, as it often goes with events, Caroline was gone.

Caroline:

I lost Maddy somewhere between the 3rd and final stair of the descent from the corporate balcony. This was evidently in pursuit of acquiring information for this review. The surprisingly legible notes on my phone observing the night's event consist of stylistically stunning handlings of the written word, with some standout examples being: “lights good,” “V fun, v diff, make adrenaline” and “crowd hot, ery1 [read: everyone] pullable.” The lighting was indeed, as I so astutely noted at the time, good. Designed with the aforementioned emphasis on entertainment in mind, they flashed in intricate choreography with the music’s bass in a way that did indeed “make adrenaline.” Though "ery1" may have been a stretch of champagne-tinted goggles, it was a notably attractive crowd, with most guests showing off their confidence and personality through bolder and more exciting outfits than one typically finds in St Andrews. Though slightly longer than convenient for my attention span, with the show lasting a little over two hours, the wonderful abundance of fashion on display deserved the all air time it got. The lingerie and swimsuit sections specifically definitely took up a significant portion of the show, which I evidently had no problem with as my notes on these sections displaying such astute observations as: “shirtlessness yay well they know what sells damn,” “swimwear section YAS GURL,” and “wayyyyy more lingerie than other showsomg BORDELLE I FLICKING LOBE BORDELLE well done dw.” I am nothing if not articulate.    

Maddy:

As Caroline was enjoying the show, I decided to snoop around the venue and came face-to-face with the glorious sight of food. I had been so busy not writing my essay all day that I had completely forgotten to eat, so even though I was technically meant to be in the Inferno, I felt like I was in Heaven. I decided to go for the pizza and I was very content with my decision, especially when I reached the front of the queue and apparently forgot all other words in the English language except for “you’re” and “cute” when I saw the boy who was taking my order. Thankfully, my friends witnessed the embarrassment that is Madelyn and so they jumped into save me as I stared lovingly at the pizza boy.

After this small blip, my friends and I walked back into the crowd, to which my friend noted that there were two heavenly sights:

1. Me with a pizza halo held high over my head as I walked through the crowd, ensuring that no one would even get close to stealing a slice (made easier by the fact that I am 6”3 in heels and was towering over most people).

2. A wall of barefoot male models in black briefs.

Now not only were my friends and I not complaining, but there was a general consensus among the crowd--specifically by the females--that this was their favourite section of the show. Of course, the rest of the show was very impressive and the fashion was amazing, specifically Hasmik Beata Karapetyan’s line and St Andrew’s third year student, Ella Davie’s, Sulke line. As well, kudos to the girls for walking--and walking very well--in your heels for two hours - I hope your feet feel better today than they must have Friday morning.

At this moment we would like to break from recounting our experiences during the show to let the crowd do the talking. We present to you, Overheard St Andrews, Don’t Walk Edition:

Caroline

I'm aware that there is often a question about the sincerity of event reviews and the author’s motivations to play up the positive elements of the show. But having written some reviews that were received with--eh hem--displeasure by the hosts because I spit straight truth, let me assure you that 18 years of education at religious-based institutions have instilled me with a level of God-fearing honesty that should lead you to really trust me when I say that if you sold your ticket, you made a mistake.  

From the Both of Us:

Don’t Walk was just some such genuine good clean(ish) fun, it felt fresh and distinctly executed with its attendees’ enjoyment as a priority. The music was fab, everyone was on fantastic form, the show was entertaining and well-produced, the venue was designed by actual architects, the bartenders were top chaps who were totally down to give you free drinks, the food options were plentiful and it was just a solid 10/10 time.

There, there now, my ticket-selling child, don’t wallow in your regrets, the brightness of your future is in your hands now. Stronger and wiser than you were 15 minutes ago, you may now venture out into the world with motivation to make better life decisions henceforth. We believe in you. Don’t let us down.  

To see all our photos from the event, check out out Facebook album here.