My participation in The Oscars has, since I was sixteen, been limited to hilarious memes and Gwyneth Paltrow. The woman can work a sharp shoulder - refreshingly non-meringue-looking.

When ASOS knocked on my door to see if I'd be keen to shoot an Oscars look for them, I responded with the condition that I could wear Gwyneth Paltrow's Tom Ford cape dress of insanity. So sorry, I was told, but this would not be possible. I gathered so much. For some time, I was lost as to what to wear. The Oscars is a serious affair. Everything that comes up on a Google search is heavily scrutinised (indeed, I give myself too much credit for being able to compete with Perez Hilton's Google Page 1 coverage). What if everyone hated it? What if I were to be shunned from red carpet relations for the rest of my being? Why do I care? What's for dinner?

And just like that, in a glowing light of saviour, came the URL of this one-shouldered, backless robe dress situation. Behold the Dalai Lama dress. Nobody can hate the Dalai Lama. Nobody can shun him from red carpet - he is far too wise for that. He most likely had rice for dinner, and so did I - we were basically spirit siblings.

So it was decided: I would go to the ASOS Oscars as the Dalai Lama, with Gwyneth Paltrow's slicked side part, and this absolute cracker of a Great Gatsy hairband that, on me, does seem to emanate some strange Asian princess vibes, but I'm ok with that if you are.

Here, I sign off on my non-Fashion-Week post to run to breakfast with Shini here in London, but fear not: tomorrow, it's Fashion Week on Shine By Three all over again.

Holla.