There is nothing quite like a fashion week to hurl you out of grief and make a statement. Perhaps I exaggerate. Perhaps, there is no real way of leaping out of grief. It is here to stay, it has changed me in profound ways and it cannot be tucked behind jewels and a well tailored suit. What the suit and jewels however can do, is lift you up on the inside and supply enough ammunition to get through another week.
In May this year, I lost my first born, who lived a short meaninful life of just 8 days. Don't ask my how I am. Ask me how I intend to appear.
His wardrobe remains unopened, his summer vests and winter jackets still hang with a plastic sheet enveloping them.
My wardrobe on the other hand grows and adjusts, to my new size and to the way I now see the world. It has become my silent companion, the friend that puts up a performance to help you fake one. And so, I put on a performance and attended Pakistan Fashion Week London (PFW8 London). Trust me, it wasn't just my dollops of hi...