Decadence and Dilettantes: An Ethnographic Study of FS 2026

With no Valentine’s Day plans and a very official-looking, bright orange press pass, I arrived among throngs of polished, primped-up, and booze-filled students in St Salvator’s Quad for the St Andrews Charity Fashion Show, or FS for short. I was sporting a black charity shop slip dress and borrowed, too-large loafers that made a clip-clop sound as I shuffled through the crowd. Mindful of the bright green Barnardos label I ripped out of my dress this morning, I realised that the only fashion I was embodying was fashionably late. 

By the time I proceeded down into Lower College Lawn, the coat check was full, the area surrounding the stage was swamped, and a cacophony of excited squeals echoed through the tent – not exactly music to my hungover ears. The interior of the tent was minimally decorated, but my attention was drawn to a prong-shaped stage with general and VIP sections on opposite sides, and a raised platform area for corporate attendees. 

The show began with a resonant ring of screams that did not die down for the entire show. The energy was contagious and effervescent, more like a concert or dance party than a fashion show. 

In a statement to The Saint, FS explained that their show, “themed ‘Duality,’ explores the space between opposing forces: strength and softness, visibility and concealment, structure and fluidity.” If I’m being candid, this statement seemed like a lot of empty rhetoric — an abstract concept which seemed inconsequential to the raucous crowd, from which I overheard many mumbling, “I need to be more drunk for this.”

Regardless, styling was on point. From couture to street casual, a plethora of looks were on display. The choreography was mesmerising, making the intricacies of what was an almost two-hour show appear seamless and allowing the models to shine. 

And oh, did they shine! I applaud whoever rounded up the fittest, most sculpted students. The models were almost implausibly good-looking, as pithily summed up by a commenter who told me to suggest in my article that the models should “tone down the mogging.”

The event took a fascinating turn when, around 45 minutes into the show, the infamous auction began. FS executives could scarcely hold up the items before the bidding reached over £100. I was aghast when a bottle of supermarket champagne went for £1000 — that’s more than a month of work at my part-time job! Bottles of tequila went for £700, Loewe skin care for £200 —I could barely record what each item was and how much it went for before the next item was pulled up. Meanwhile, an FS exec ran around frantically with a card reader, and the crowd cheered when the purchase didn’t decline. 

I chatted with one such auction-winner who bought a £250 brunch. I asked, “To where?” and he replied, “I don’t know.” Although what made him bid on this item was “mainly peer-pressure,” he was happy to know the money would be going to the British Heart Foundation (BHF) Scotland — after I told him so.  

Although one attendee told me to put in my article that he was “not a fan of the auction” and that he would only attend the show again if there was none, I found it strangely amusing. Perhaps the auction exists as a chance for attendees to flex their spending power unabashedly. Albeit gauche and chaotic, the auction is an ingenious way to make charitable donations competitive for students armed with mummy and daddy's cash — perhaps a modern tithe on the young and dumb. 

Whilst not everyone had the chance to bid for a bottle of bubbly, I overheard that magnums were selling for “double or triple the price” at the bar. Like the plebeian I am, I interjected quite confused: “The ice cream bar or the condom?”

No, a ‘magnum’ is double the size of a standard champagne bottle, a popular accoutrement amongst those in the VIP section. Although the FS show hosted Union bars, your typical Pablos and Madris evolved into bottles of Moët, also a sponsor of the show. 

In making casual conversation with someone who asked what kinds of events I had covered, his interest was piqued when I mentioned a talk I covered at Toppings & Company. “Toppings! I’m having dinner with the owner next week,” to which I asked, “the owner of the St Andrews branch?” 

“No, the founder,” he clarified. “He’s a friend of my dad’s.”

Perhaps the ultimate allure of attending the FS show is a fashionable evening amongst your fellow moneyed peers, a cherished night where you can flex your connections and snag an aesthetically pleasing Instagram shot. 

With general tickets running you upwards of £75, VIP tickets at £95, and the afterparty an additional £35, FS has maintained its exclusivity by charging a pretty penny to attend. When I reached out to friends who attended the show to see how much their tickets were, few remembered how much they paid — fitting. 

I chatted with a first-time attendee after the show ended, who told me that she would love to come back next year, but “the price is the only drawback.” I asked if I could quote her in my article, but she was a little apprehensive. I told her, “I can keep it anonymous,” and she seemed relieved, although furtively glancing around to make sure she wasn’t overheard. 

Attending the FS show is exorbitantly expensive for most students; it shouldn’t be embarrassing to admit. But according to one fresher I chatted with in the VIP section, “It’s the only fashion show I could justify. It’s the only one worth going to.” If it is something that you can justify, my evening was a vibrant anthropological examination of the privileged and out-of-touch. Whilst the show was well-executed and entertaining, an additional treat was to witness St Andrews’ most ostentatious students in their natural habitat, and knowing that their money was going to a charitable cause. 

It’s an institutional rite-of-passage for the kind of Longchamp-toting, Spoiled Life-sitting, student from ‘all-over’ with American accents to attend the FS show, regardless of what I write. I don’t want to be a wet blanket on their fun, but I did leave feeling dampened — I was also sprayed directly with champagne during the committee run-out at the end of the show. 

Admittedly, it was a sensual and tantalising show for the singles in the crowd on Valentine’s Day. As we all know — sex sells! In this case, for £95 and a magnum of Moët. 

Photo: Fiona McAllister