Normcore was the fashion word on everyone's lips this year. Still not sure what the hell it is? Well, it turns out I'm an expert on the subject. Around the time trend forecasters K-Hole sent out a report introducing the concept, I was at JFK airport, waiting to get on a flight to London for fashion week. My plane was six hours delayed—blizzard—and then, once it was in the air, it couldn't land at Heathrow due to gale-force winds. We were diverted to Newcastle, where, after a meal of vending-machine coffee and a Kit Kat, I boarded one of the overnight coaches hired to take me, a few dozen models, and sundry other fashion types down to London. I arrived at my hotel at 9 a.m., stuck my bags in my room, brushed my teeth and splashed some water on my face, and then sprinted to my first show, clad in the same ripped-up baggy jeans, turtleneck sweater, and slouchy coat I'd been wearing for a good 36 hours by that point. While I was waiting outside the Somerset House for a friend, a street-style photographer snapped me. I didn't think about it again until a few weeks later, when the same friend happened to pick up a copy of the tabloid-ish English-style rag Look and discovered a page-sized photo of me, the very one taken that hard, hard morning. Readers, I am the face of normcore in England. Wondering how to get the look? Now you know.