BOY London Experience

I’d found it!

Staring right at me from across the cobbled street, a tiny shop off of Shoreditch High Street with spray-painted green writing spelling out the word Sick.  Walking up closer to the shop window I could see from the outside the infamous BOY London design. I had wanted my own piece of cult label, BOY London clothing for so long. Having grown up in the 80’s and seeing everyone I respected and loved from the likes of Madonna, Andy Warhol, Pet Shop Boys to Boy George wearing the clothes I felt a real connection with the label.

Now I’ve never really been what you would class as street or urban, more smart and popping into the store on my lunch break dressed in my corporate style clothing, I may as well have had a sign on me that said kick me.

As I squeezed past a young peroxide blonde haired assistant standing by the doorway rearranging some clothing on one of the racks, he turned around to me and smirked ‘This will suit ya’ handing me a pair of baby pink hot pants peppered with the BOY logo. I politely declined and made my way over to a rail of their popular black and white branded items. Sitting right at the back of the shop was an older man who never spoke or smiled other than every now and then calling out directions to his assistant.

After searching for a few minutes and finding nothing for my petite frame I asked the young guy for some help. ‘I’ll see if I can find anything in a small at the back’ came his friendly response.

So there I am left in the pokey shop, where I tried to make small talk by attempting to speak to the older guy sitting with his MacBook looking slightly intimidating.

‘I have been looking for this shop for ages’ me to the guy.

‘Well you found it, how did you find it?’

‘I follow you on twitter I saw the address mentioned there’

‘We’re NOT on twitter’

Me, ‘You are’, pulling out my iPhone from my bag, ‘look I follow you’ showing the grumpy guy my evidence, he called out to his assistant who has now come back with a t-shirt still 3 sizes too big for me but I decide to try it on anyway. It’s BOY London, that’s all I care. ‘We’re on twitter?’ he sneers, that must be the others who opened this account up. How do we hack into it and close it?’

Looking to me he confesses ‘they work for me, I don’t use twitter and we don’t advertise where we are, the clothes are hard to obtain and I want it that way’ ‘I’m the owner of this label’

Then it dawns on me, albeit slowly I know, that this is indeed THE Stephane Raynor. Now I’m star struck. Stephane was responsible for influential fashion with the punk generation and new romantics, to the now new kids on the block like your Rihanna and Rita Ora. This man in my eyes is a genius.

‘Oh but it wasn’t easy to find the shop, don’t you worry’ I retracted.

Deciding I’ve said enough, I proceed to try the t-shirt over my clothing, as there’s no changing room. It’s huge, but I decide to take it regardless.

While paying, the young assistant sweetly, asked me if I was from the area while Stephane carried on looking suspiciously at me. ‘Not any more, I moved to Essex, don’t judge me’ I shakily laugh.

As a final attempt to make Stephane warm to me I leave saying,

‘you know, I’ve always loved your label, ever since the early days when Boy George would wear BOY London’ with that both Stephane and his pretty assistant smiled warmly, and I felt like just maybe I had been accepted as a worthy fan of his label.

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