The night before the Miu Miu store reopening and afterparty at KOKO Camden, I stayed up way too late reading my numerology chart, looking for guidance on my first official i-D assignment. The stars (or numbers, IDK) didn’t say much, but my editor did: “Get quotes. Have fun. Go be a Miu Miu girl.” I heard it loud and clear.
First step? Harass PR for a loaned look. Not that much harassment was needed—Miu Miu is for the girls, by the girls. They sent me the cuntiest pieces from Spring 2025. A burgundy windbreaker, strappy heels, and a black velvet Wander bag. I didn’t have bottoms, but I did have a secondhand white Prada skirt. At least I’m sticking to Miuccia’s family tree.

Outside the store, a taste of the glamorous life. Cabs wrapped in the Miu Miu logo, camera flashes going off like strobe lights, everyone moving too fast. I give my name. “I’m covering this for i-D.” I’ve never felt hotter. The doors open.
Inside: girls. Everywhere. Perfectly disheveled ones in sheer tights and triple belts, mini skirts and satin bows. The new Bond Street store is the Miu Miu girl personified—industrial floors softened with pastels. Everyone’s drinking champagne. Someone compliments my heels. “Thank you, they’re Miu Miu!” I respond enthusiastically. Looking for tea, I head where it’s always boiling. The girls’ bathroom. It’s empty—too early. I take 100 mirror selfies.
Next stop… the smoking area. My natural habitat, and I don’t even smoke. Alexa Chung, Georgia May Jagger, and Pixie Geldof are all there—chic, candid, chain-smoking like it’s 2006. I ask Alexa for a lighter I don’t need. She gives it to me, and suddenly we’re discussing best-dressed guests. She votes for Pixie, who lifts her baby-blue satin dress to show off a bullet bra. “This is my favorite thing I’ve worn all year,” she says.
Alexa starts talking about what Sydney Sweeney’s wearing as we watch her get into a car. The blonde actress came in, got her photo taken, and left before I could corner her. Power move! I make a bathwater joke no one gets. That’s fine. Alexa says she hopes to see her at KOKO. I can’t believe I just had a smoke break with Britain’s most iconic girls. Perfect.
I go back inside the store to find Michella Bredahl and Lotta Volkova’s images for the Upcycled collection campaign. They’re upstairs. I love them—wild girlhood and crooked glamour. There are plenty of sofas and beautiful tapestries. A space for crying, reading Simone de Beauvoir, and whispering gossip—sometimes all at once.












That’s where I spot Cailee Spaeny. She’s soft-spoken but sharp—the epitome of a Miu Miu girl. I mean, what’s more Miu Miu than playing Priscilla Presley in a Sofia Coppola film? She’s wearing Look 30 from Fall 2025, a mustard and chocolate leather dress with golden flowers around the neckline. She’s here to “people-watch and make friends.” She’s just like me.
We bond over our shared love for Alexa Chung. She tells me they go to the same gym. I tell her we go to the same parties—which wasn’t true until 30 minutes ago, but it is now. Her publicist glares. We take a selfie I can’t post. More Miu Miu bonding. Cailee says she’s obsessed with brooches. I tell her she’s right.
Rina Lipa walks in. She doesn’t remember, but we go way back. I met her once at a show I wasn’t invited to during London Fashion Week, so, of course, I say hi. Obviously, we’re best friends. She tells me she had a wardrobe malfunction but won’t reveal it. While we sip what I think is a Cosmo, she says she’s most looking forward to going home and eating. I ask if she has to return her look. She says she’s hoping to keep it. That makes two of us.
Mia Regan, a.k.a. @mimimoocher, joins us. Her wishlist item from the store? A headscarf. I tell her I think she could dream bigger. She laughs and says headscarves are essential “for girls with a fringe.” My Teresa Giudice forehead doesn’t allow for a fringe, but if it ever did, god knows a Miu Miu scarf would be involved.
I go out for air again. Big mistake. They close the store behind me and won’t let me back in. Tragic. But fine. I find my friend Dani. We hop on a Lime bike in our heels and head to the afterparty in North London.












KOKO is loud, hot, decadent. The doorman asks if we want to be taken to VIP. Babe, obviously. I was born to be in a roped-off zone. Inside there were glittery drinks with Miu Miu-branded ice cubes, three bites of food, and so many people I start forgetting my own name. I smile at strangers. They smile back. As always, the VIP is more crowded than non-VIP. London is a city of very important people. A PR friend on his day off gets us tequila shots.
Little Simz performs in a look that feels like a greatest-hits remix of Fall 2025, topped off with the perfect red hat. I’ve been dancing for hours. I’m starting to feel the pain in my heels. Two girls beside me take theirs off and jump barefoot on the couch. I join them. We don’t exchange names, just foot pain and a love of shoes.
Heels back on, I attempt to go backstage. I try four times. I fail four times. Normally I believe where there’s a will, there’s a way—but a Miu Miu girl knows when to quit. And quit I did. At 2:06 a.m., I’m in an Uber headed to an afters in Dalston, with too many cocktails in my bloodstream, Alexa’s lighter in my bag, and Miu Miu shoes on the car floor.