Olivia Cox

I've been attending London Fashion Week since my first internship at Marie Claire magazine. I've been offered numerous nuggets of advice along the way, and ignored about 90% of them, only to realise they were right after all. So here's my two cents: what I've learnt through 14 seasons of Fashion Week. Do what you will with it...
Let's be honest now - 2016 wasn't our year. And as the realisation dawned on me this morning that I'd left my Olympus Pen on the train (sob), I wondered if I should write off this one, too. But that seems a bit hasty. Seeing as how it's only February..
In the past, I've stoically avoided the whole dry January thing. This is partly because I don't think I really drink enough to warrant the challenge. But I suppose there'll also be an element of worrying that I might fail. Which - even as I type this - I realise is ridiculous.
At what point does it become passé to keep wishing every friend, relative and stranger we meet a Happy New Year? Now that we are back at work? When the Christmas Tree comes down? (on which note, which one exactly IS the 12th night?) Seriously - it's something I'd really like to know.
Tanele arrived at 12pm and we decided I should do Harley Quinn from Suicide Squad. I say we. What I did was stalk a few instagram profiles, remember vaguely getting some hair paints sent a few weeks earlier, then immediately worry that my newly highlighted (thanks Neville) hair would be stained by said paints.
Primarily, I'm getting back into a fitness regime. Running is my happy place, you see - it's where I make amends for my mistakes, and group my thoughts into something vaguely resembling order. It's also a loosely crucial part of scaling 26.2 miles in 35 degree heat next May. Obv.
Here's a brutal truth that no hipster will ever admit: festival dressing is tricky. You see, the aim is to appear all nonchalant and cool whilst secretly planning and packing for days in advance, streamlining your essential kit into one 'oh, dunno', type bag. And it can total really quite a hefty stash even without all this batsh*t "British Summer" weather we've got going on right now.
I've always operated on the theory that I am a generically decent person. The other day, though, someone spoke to me about jealously. And now everything has changed...
Admittedly, I never want the sort of motivation that pushed me round the Marathon for Dave. But there needs to be something. A 10k doesn't *quite* take me out of my comfort zone far enough, which leaves the element of fear noticeably absent. Perhaps next time someone could chase me round with a bunch of spiders, or an elevator?
I gave the issue some thought once I'd got home. Rainy / muddy running was sort of my forte when I was in the army. I doubt we ever really went on a 'fair weather' jog, to be fair. And it was never really that bad. Or maybe I've just forgotten...
A couple of weeks ago, I dropped out of a *big* running event. It's plagued me ever since. So just incase you're like me and manage to psyche yourself out of things for absolutely-not-legitimate reasons, here's my tips for getting out the door...