That Time I Crashed the Gucci Fashion Show for PETA

After all those years dreaming of attending the Gucci show, I finally got in. But perhaps not in the way I had envisioned.

Hi!

Instead of doing a traditional “hello, welcome to my newsletter” thing for my first Substack post, I thought I’d go back in time a bit and talk about a memory that really captures who I am. Or, at least I’d love for it to capture who I am. If I could be remembered for one thing only, I’d be quite content with this being it. Thanks for reading!

As the room went black, my heart beat faster.

It was a rainy day in Milan in September, and Gucci HQ was buzzing with Fashion Week anticipation. Celebs, journalists, and a flurry of K-Pop stars were getting seated as the show approached.

It was the most hyped show of the SS24 Fashion Week season - the first show from Gucci’s brand-new creative director Sabato De Sarno - and I was sitting in the third row. But no one knew I was there. I had certainly not been invited.

Trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible, I pretended to skim the glossy press release that all show attendees had been given. I was surrounded by some of the most famous people in the world: Anna Wintour and Kendall Jenner were sitting in front of me. Julia Roberts was across the room. I’d later learn that Ryan Gosling had been there. I didn’t see him (dammit). But he, and everyone else, was about to see me.

I was an impostor. A gatecrasher. An intruder.

Mere minutes after the show started, as the third or fourth model walked the runway in De Sarno’s admittedly beautiful creations - I will always remember the song that was playing, Loveher by Romy - I rose form my seat and stepped out onto the catwalk, strutting out among the models. Having carefully checked that the security guard who stood mere feet from me was distracted on his phone, I made my move, unfurling the sign that I’d hidden in my (vegan, corn-leather) bag.

Photo by PETA UK

GUCCI: BAN EXOTIC SKINS

You see, I’m not a fashion buyer, style journalist (although I once was), celebrity, or high-level influencer. I’m not even a fashion student anymore (ah, those were the days. How we all dreamed of going to a Gucci show back then). I am Senior PR Coordinator at the UK entity of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, arguably the best-known animal rights organisation in the world. And today, I was crashing the Gucci catwalk in support of our campaign against exotic skins in fashion.

I’m no stranger to sneaking into places (let’s just say that I am very familiar with the ticketed section of the Brighton Pride festival…), but getting into an A-list fashion show uninvited is no small feat. Since my runway moment, I have dodged countless questions on how I got into the show, and my lips remain sealed. Seriously, not even my family knows. But what I can say is that yes, this kind of activism is nerve-racking - during the bit when you’re trying to sneak in. But once I was on the catwalk? Zero fear. Totally in the zone. Born to do this.

Like many activists who have taken to runways before me and many of my colleagues who would follow, I was propelled by the reason I was there.

What happens to animals in the exotic-skins industries is a real-life version of those horror movies you couldn’t pay me to watch.

Look away if you’re squeamish. Or, if you’re squeamish and also enjoy a croc-skin bag, then please keep reading. Because everyone who splashes out thousands (sometimes tens of thousands) of pounds on these “exclusive” accessories needs to know that crocodiles are kept in dank, filthy pits of water, stabbed with metal blades and sometimes skinned while still conscious. Ostriches are killed as babies, by being forced into a stunner and then having their throats cut. Gucci might not have been happy about me crashing their show, but undercover investigators found lizards crudely decapitated at their suppliers. Seeing these animals killed in those squalid conditions provides a stark contrast to the glamour surrounding the items when they go on sale. Sometimes “luxury” fashion comes with a dirty backstory.

Snakes may not be everyone’s favourite animal, but I remember the small snake I had as a companion animal when I was five. Dubious provenance of the animal aside - my most vivid memory of my late granddad is when he bought me that snake at a market in Moscow, where I grew up - having this “pet” helped lay the foundation for my respect for all animals, not just those we consider cute or cuddly. I certainly do not condone the exotic-pet trade now, but I will always stand up for snakes, especially when killed in such gruesome ways as they are for fashion: sometimes, these fully sentient animals are inflated with air to stretch the skin. Other times they are nailed to trees and have their skin torn off. Quite the opposite of glamorous, when it comes to exotic skins, fashion’s blood-thirst seems to know no end.

It’s easy to ignore activists - until we are on your catwalks.

Why disrupt a fashion show, you might ask? Why not just show the brands this footage, and they’ll stop selling these skins? I wish things were that simple, and sometimes they are: companies like Mulberry, Chanel, Paul Smith, Victoria Beckham, Burberry and more have all dropped exotic skins from their collections. But with brands who just refuse to listen, sometimes activists need to raise some hell. In today’s world of information overload, it can be easy for brands to close their eyes and pretend these things aren’t happening. But when we confront brands on their own turf, on their catwalks, they take notice. When confronted about fur, Karl Lagerfeld was quoted as saying, “it’s horrible, no? So I prefer not to know it.” But as a designer who profits from what you’re selling - which in this case happens to be a tortured animal’s skin - you have the duty to remain informed. You don’t get to “not know it” while the cash rolls in. Activists persisted, and Karl Lagerfeld’s brand finally went fur-free.

As I was dragged away by security, I felt a sense of relief and serenity. I had done it. Whatever would happen to me now, I had accomplished what I came to do.

And, well, nothing much happened. I was questioned, there was a lot of waiting (during which I even managed to talk to the security guards about veganism!) and then I was free to go and have a celebratory Aperol Spritz at the nearest bar.

I dream of a Fashion Week where no one crashes catwalks.

At my ideal Fashion Week, there are no catwalk crashers, because there are no injustices to protest against. In my perfect world, no one - human or otherwise - has to suffer and die for our clothes. I envision runways full of innovative, cutting-edge designs free from animal skins, but also free from slavery, environmental destruction, and human oppression. Where creativity without cruelty takes centre stage. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one - Helsinki Fashion Week, for example, has banned all leather from the catwalks. Melbourne Fashion Week is feather-free, and Copenhagen Fashion Week, once a huge proponent of fur, recently announced a policy against it. So did London Fashion Week. Did this only happen because of activists? Maybe not, but surely they had a part to play in it. Progress is slow, and a totally ethical fashion system might not happen in my lifetime, but at least I’ll know I did my best to contribute to it.

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