Susie Lau wonders if life can carry on as normal

A strange inertia has besieged us in the space of a few weeks. We’re choked by the rolling news. Stopped in our mental tracks by the harrowing footage. Gripped by blue and yellow squares on our feed. And yet as it all unfolded in a sovereign state that we loosely call a neighbour (#SorryNotSorry, I still consider myself European), the ‘new normal’ that we were trying to reach has been duly upended.

By now we’ve donated to the funds, spoken to friends who are rooted in Ukraine or neighbouring countries, and perhaps have even taken to the streets in blue and yellow. And yet, we don’t quite know how to handbrake our lives, how to live and carry on as our minds flash back and forth between horrors and, say, walking into a pub or going to a restaurant. In my case, the chasm has been particularly extreme given the unfortunate timing of fashion weeks being in full swing, just as Russia made its first incursions into Ukraine.

Essentially fashion week is a very elaborate trade show for an industry to look at forthcoming collections, so we are literally there to look at new things that aren’t in the shops yet. Except it’s not held in ExCel and doesn’t involve pamphleteering. On the surface it’s bombastic sets, extreme and lavish clothes and a heightened show of brand clout, especially when it comes to the luxury fancy-schmancy Parisian houses. And so unsurprisingly it’s been taken to task on social media for its ill-timed, tone-deaf brouhaha. At the time of writing, we’re snaking our way through Parisian traffic, getting to the next show and going through the motions, but not quite wondering what is the purpose of it all if Putin is potentially putting his nuclear warheads on alert.

Every moment has had its shuddering parallel thought. Wow, the Eurostar schedule is almost back to normal, so off we go with our Rimowa suitcases and croissant brekkie. Just as Black people are being blocked from boarding trains to head west in Ukraine. They’re told ‘Ukrainians’ (read: white) get to go first apparently. A mound of aluminium cans form the elaborate centrepiece set at a show but the mind wanders to teams of desperate civilians constructing Molotov cocktails. At the Coperni show, designers pay tribute to the seamstresses in the tailoring ateliers in Kyiv, who finished their immaculately sharp, sassy pieces in time for the show but are now shielding from bombs in shelters. Seam to scream. It’s the double take on every facet of what we do that makes it hard to merely live our livelihoods.

Back in London, I imagine going out for an impromptu Stokey karaoke sesh or getting a rainbow gel tip manicure will prompt self-inflicted guilt waves of, ‘But do we keep doing this even though we’ve really missed this for the most part of the past two years?’ For now, I’m itching to get back to a life where I can savour the mundane, go to bed with rolling news on, feeling just as helpless as I did when I was swanning around Paris. We can’t curtail our own living on a practical or a mental health level but how do we take an assured step forward. What are we taking for granted? The hug with your loved ones, the toilet roll on the supermarket shelf, that hopeful encounter in an art gallery. Oh right, we’ve been here before except now it’s a different dark cloud that looms in the distance and not on our shores (yet), but we will have all been feeling that handbrake once again. What is appropriate any more? Would appreciate answers on a postcard (or a DM) please if you know.