Harrods is one of West London’s most recognisable institutions. It’s where the super-rich come for a day of shopping and where tourists come to gawk at the super-rich.
I am not a tourist, nor am I super- rich. As such, I very rarely find myself in the gilded department shop with all its Gucci bags and Chanel perfumes.
While Harrods doesn’t have an official dress code, they do specify “Proper attire, including tops and shirts, must be worn at all times. We reserve the right to refuse entry to anyone wearing attire that we consider inappropriate.”
READ MORE:All the hilarious things we overheard in Harrods, from tourists browsing Royal Family merchandise to shoppers who vowed to go to M&S instead
And though their motto is Omnia Omnibus Ubique , which translates from Latin to “all things for all people, everywhere”, Harrods still reportedly has a ban on bare midriffs and dirty clothes.
Not one to be told what I can and cannot wear, I threw on a pair of loose cargo trousers, a crop top and my extremely battered trainers. Tying the look together with a Spurs windbreaker and unwashed hair, I was off to get kicked out of Harrods.
(Image: Lea Dzifa Seeberg)
Or so I thought – when I smugly rocked up to the entrance I was not only allowed in, but the door was opened for me by an employee who wished me a pleasant day without even a hint of sarcasm. Disappointed at being let in so easily, I briefly considered popping to Primark to buy something uglier.
But I had made it in so I decided to do some people watching instead. And I quickly discovered the so-called dress code was clearly not an issue here.
Tourists with backpacks and velcro sandals loudly blocked the halls as their walking sticks click-clicked along the marble floor in tact with regular shoppers’ Louboutins. Graphic T-shirts were the clothing of choice here and slogans screamed ‘I love NYC’ and ‘Live Laugh Love’ at me from every direction.
My personal favourite was one man leading a tourist group whose shirt was adorned with photos of tractors. The vehicles were accompanied by a massive slogan that said: “The more I play with it the bigger it gets.”
Stifling a snort of laughter I turned away and bumped straight into a trio of tweens, all dressed in bright pink crop tops – so much for that aspect of the dress code. As they teetered away on their plastic heels I prepared to leave this fashion horror show of a shop.
What was once an elitist snobbery of an establishment has done a complete 180 and become a tourist hotspot that attracts the most bizarre of garments. There are still some fashionable shoppers skulking around on the top floors, but they’re being vastly overshadowed by window-shoppers. And I like it.