The fash-pack is returning to London after Milan fashion week.
Some will be happy to say goodbye to the life of organised, dutiful absurdity that the fashion show regime imposes in the month-long parade of shows here in London as well as in Milan, New York and, finally, Paris. Others will still be eager to round it all off on the last lap in Paris. But the danger of being immersed so thoroughly in a 24/7 regime of frocks is that a fashionista's grasp on the realities of life (fragile at the best of times) can become worryingly loose. Blame it on luxury hotels, grand dinners, private limos and fawning PRs if you like, but it can be the only explanation of the Bermuda Triangle effect of too many fashion shows in too short a space of time.
An intriguing example of either divine madness or Sophoclean clarity of thought brought on by the Bermuda effect is the suggestion made this week that Italian fashion is currently becoming just too vulgarly sexy because of the bedroom antics of that country's political leader.
I can't help wondering how far this idea can be pushed before it collapses as suddenly as Pompeii when the light of logic – a rare beam indeed in fashion! – is turned on it and the theory is driven to its ultimate point of destruction. Does London's fashion reflect the private life of our own dear prime minister? Do the clothes on the runways of NewYork personify the new Obamaism? And, most worrying of all, what can we expect in Paris when the shows begin there on Friday? Will the Dior collection be an hommage to the international pugilism masquerading as statesmanship that has made M. Sarkosy such an entertaining member of the international political scene? And does it matter at all to anyone?