Fifteen years ago, before I was a fashion editor with an overdeveloped fondness for writing about handbags, pockets and other important things, I worked in Personal Shopping at the Topshop flagship Oxford Circus store.
I was most certainly on the lowest rung of the ladder, but still strutting around like I was Anna Wintour's direct report.
It was a heady, hormonal cornucopia of twenty-somethings - horny in that 'we just discovered body spritz and payday cocktails' kind of way.
The sexy Topman boys (sexy in the context of my 21-year-old self - my now 36-year-old crushes are wholly age-appropriate) would perch on the high table in the staff room like moody indie princes.
I’d glide past them a smug air of self-importance, and the faint aroma of Lola’s Cupcakes, which I was inhaling at a frankly medical-emergency rate.
© FilmMagicThe Oxford Circus mothership was the beating heart of the iconic brand. Three sprawling floors, an in-store nail bar, the EAT café on the lower ground floor (if I close my eyes I can still taste their noodle salad), and the hum of the escalators like some kind of retail hymn.
Street style photographers and model scouts would linger by the staff entrance; a colleague once ended up in Grazia. In a pre-Instagram era, that was basically Anna Dello Russo at Paris Fashion Week giddy levels of fame.
© David M. BenettThe staff perks were absurdly good, a 60 per cent uniform discount and - crucially - unfettered access to the stock room. I once found a Kate Moss for Topshop dress in the discount rail for £10.
In one of her 'final' collections for the brand, we threw a party in the Personal Shopping suite and I handed her brother a miniature bottle of champagne. She walked past me, touched the small of my back, and I practically combusted on the spot. This was the very same Kate Moss who had been plastered all over my teenage bedroom walls.
© David M. BenettThe culture was intoxicating - raucous Christmas parties (one year I trudged home from Camden in the snow in a vest, knee high socks and shorts), gossip exchanged over sausage, beans and chips from the subsidised café, and a steady education in brands like Sister Jane before they were all over ASOS.
© @clarepennersIt would, of course, be remiss not to talk about Sir Philip Green. I can’t speak to his business acumen but his presence was keenly felt whenever he would set foot in the store.
There were protests, and on one occasion a sit in, which I thought was brilliant because we all got sent home early - straight to the pub joyfully named The Cock round the back.
© Getty ImagesStill, none of it could dampen the magic. The store was a cultural hub, a launchpad for young designers, a space where mannequins were styled with the sort of verve usually reserved for the runway. At its peak, the idea of its fall from grace was unimaginable.
The brand had a coveted slot at London Fashion Week, runway shows that saw the likes of Anna Wintour, Kendall Jenner and Alexa Chung perched on the front row. Now seven years after their last show, Topshop returns to the catwalk on August 16 to showcase their AW25 collection.
Back in the day, their fashion week shows were buzzy spectacles featuring everyone from Cara Delevingne to Jourdan Dunn and Erin O’Connor, showcasing pieces that would drop in-store almost immediately.
© WireImageI’m not sure if Old Topshop could exist now, in an age where trends arrive and die in the span of a TikTok, but for those of us who worked and religiously shopped there, it was more than retail - it was a glorious, chaotic, Diet Coke-fuelled fashion education.
And no matter what happens this week, nothing will top the moment Kate Moss touched my back.
