It was the late night no one needed ahead of London Fashion Week, but not a single Vogue editor could decline Charli xcx’s invitation to a cheeky warm-up gig hosted by H&M. With special guests Jamie xx and Sherelle; a guest list spanning It-Brits Lila Moss, Iris Law, Yasmin Finney and the youngest Gallaghers; and a venue to fit thousands of extra brats in, it was never going to be a cute low-key affair. With intel from Warner that Charli went to the actual restaurant Brat for dinner (incredible), and that the production values would be higher than the pop star’s upcoming Sweat tour, anticipation was high as this magazine’s party bus pulled into the Olympic Park.
Was the hedonistic songstress on time for her 10:30 p.m. set? Indeed she was–Marlboro presumably just puffed out, dirty soda cast to one side. After a high-octane performance by white tank top-clad dancers spotlighting H&M’s fall 2024 campaign, the strobe lighting went into overdrive and the club rat herself appeared in a blaze of smoke and brat green. Wearing a custom look from the high-street brand’s upcoming Studio collection, Charli, who said H&M had been “so down to really let me do exactly what I want,” delivered the kind of give-a-shit gig that, judging by every journalist spilling their vodka spritzes, London was craving.
“[H&M] knows how to throw a cool party,” shouted the performer, while charging across the stage in her fine knitted grey jersey dress with drawstring sides that slid up to suggest what’s “goin’ on down there.” Refusing to take off her sunnies–hats off for giving them Balenciaga flair–and pausing her anti-choreo moves for mere seconds to pull up her sheer knee-high socks, Charli was a braless boss bitch with the city in the palm of her hand. It was brief–a whistlestop, bass pounding tour of her latest album–but pitch perfect. No one needed a three-hour Swiftian epic, we wanted silly little sling-backs, hard beats, fries mashed up in boxes circulated by head-nodding stewards, and to be told repeatedly, “Get the fuck up on someone’s shoulders!”
This story runs deeper than the woman of the hour receiving a huge check to shout her way through a 30-minute club set akin to Glastonbury’s major Silver Hayes happening earlier this summer. “High-street fashion was the only fashion I knew for a really long time,” shares the Essex-raised raver, who grew up begging her parents to let her DJ at warehouse parties in makeshift clubwear scored from H&M and thrift stores. “Those clothes gave me an ownership of who I was and what I wanted to project outwardly. In some cases, they gave me confidence–that time was really formative.”
When H&M invited her to front its latest campaign in a plush leopard coat, Charli was reminded of the fact the stores have been playing her outspoken pop since 2011 (“Some of my songs I just love so much, I can’t help but be super into them,” she admits of singing along whenever she hears her tunes while shopping). This was not a jump-on-the-bandwagon signing (the brand booked Charli xcx way before brat was common parlance–or even a publicised album title), and the 32-year-old was wearing the label’s famous collabs (Kenzo in 2016, Mugler in 2023) prior to buying mainline pieces from the luxury houses.
Testament to Charli’s influence is the fact she coaxed Naomi Campbell, as well as Moss junior and her pals, into H&M’s new partywear on a chilly night in the outskirts of Hackney Wick (translation: far from civilization). “H&M unites music, fashion and culture – all themes that make London so uniquely creative. As a South London girl, I’m happy to see a collection that believes in these topics as deeply as I do,” a bobbed Campbell told Vogue on the red carpet, while Charli herself whipped by in a leather skirt suit and crotch-high boots, and PRs barked, “No questions!” to other press.
“Sometimes at those kinds of events, there’s a lot of pressure to morph into someone you’re not,” Charli, born Charlotte Emma Aitchison, confided to us recently. Watching this tour de force rip through her slutty, peppy, era-defining songs, there was not an inch of doubt about who was calling the shots.
