The traders at Vintage Decor Fair just loved a stylist - and the arrival of Lola Black, proclaimed by Vintage Style Interiors Magazine as the "stylists' stylist", was just too thrilling. Somehow or another, Lola was never out of the media - magazines queued up to feature her eclectically styled homes in fashionable Hoxton and rural Provence, her rock-queen slash vintage wardrobe, her adorable photogenic children and her handsome-to-a-tee husband. Her blog went viral every time she published a new chapter; her book signings were beseiged by eager fans desperate to catch the style-germ. In short, Lola was a phenomenon. And Lola was canny enough to ensure that her profile remained high and her fans loyal. Her appearance at local fairs was part of her strategy of getting amongst her people. And a spot of high-end shopping never hurt.
Lola's appearance at the fair was heralded by the sighting of her Range Rover Evoque by a trusty look-out on the front desk who spied her swoosh into the car park. The tinted windows ensured her privacy, but her personalised number plate, LOL1 was somewhat of a giveaway. A sussuration of excitement went around the hall - "Lola's here"...... Stallholders immediately and frantically started to re-style their stalls to show off their finest wares in the best light. The fair organiser rushed to the door to greet her most favoured guest in a fluster of kisses and shrieks. Lola would never travel alone - her not-quite equally fabulous friends formed her posse. All as skinny as whippets, with long well-groomed hair, the pack would strut into the hall ready to spend. Lola, of course, ensured that she was the skinniest of the group - dressed in her trademark uniform of black with a coolly ethnic neck-piece (necklace is too dainty a word) and her vertiginious heels, she made quite an impression amongst her linen clad worshippers. As the daughter of an iconic but somewhat wasted rock star, Lola channelled the rock chick vibe effortlessly.
Other customers blocking the aisles would part, as the Red Sea before Moses, to allow their style queen to move amongst the stalls. Her progress was infuriatingly erratic, as she flitted like a butterfly from stall to stall, her eyes caught, captured and then released from the net of many artfully positioned pieces. A few stallholders felt the warmth of her glow of fame as she exclaimed over their treasures - "what an adorable little chair, it would look simply divine in my French house". And their status would rise further should a purchase be made. Others would feel somewhat neglected, as the edgy butterfly flitted past without resting at their table. Whatever Lola touched assumed a magical quality as her posse would scrabble to buy her rejects whilst the fairy dust of her touch still lingered. Stallholders were asked by other customers in whispers, if they had a similar item to that just procured by their guru hoping to replicate an entire style with one standout piece . The provenance of any item would be ehanced by the fact that Lola had "simply loved it" but had no space.
The pack would then come to rest in the tea room - nothing as vulgar or calorific as a cake would pass their lips, just strong black coffee. One or two would slip outside to enjoy a cigarette - old rock chick habits die hard. Purchases would be rounded up and piled into various cars and with a final round of kisses, the posse would depart. Peace would descend on the hall with those favoured with sales to their style heroine feeling just a tad smug. One or two would dine out for weeks on stories of Lola buying from their stall, bathing in reflecting glory.
All would eagerly scan the next blog chapter hoping for a photo or at least a mention by name. The blog, however, remained irritatingly vague about location, purchases and stallholders and featured a lot of clever pictures at funny angles unattributable to any one stallholder. Oh well, at least Lola had been friendly and her friends did spend a lot of money. The fans were satisfied and sales of her next book, "Lola Loves", were guaranteed.
