London Fashion week is finally over, the style gods have spoken — and very little of it made much sense. Directives for next season include ruffles, tulle (that’s netting to you and me), cropped jackets, lots of lace, flares, anoraks, animal prints and so-called ‘sports luxe’ (over-priced plimsolls). That is nothing, however, compared with the one trend that fills me with genuine horror. Colour. There is one trend that fills Sarah with terror, colour, as seen during London Fashion Week. She feels black is far more flattering on her figure. Colour was the big hit of the week, as seen at the Burberry show last Monday, and not just any old colour. Like Tutti Fruttis, they came in pinks, purples, oranges, greens, yellows and exotic blues, a Pucci-esque mish-mash of clashing brights. For once, all those oversized sunglasses so beloved of fashionistas must genuinely have come in handy. Anna Wintour, queen of American Vogue, has only one hard and fast fashion rule: never wear top-to-toe black. Which, of course, is one of the reasons I do. All the time. Winter, spring, summer and fall: black, black, black. Not just to annoy, but also because it suits me. Remember that fad a few years back for ‘colour analysis’? None of us were wearing the shades that suited us, the experts said. Get it right and you can look younger, prettier, thinner. Like a fool, I did it. A nice lady came to my house, professed herself horrified at the tenebrous state of my wardrobe, then spent the morning draping me in various brightly coloured swatches. It was a revelation. She concluded that black was, in fact, the colour that suited me most. The only useful piece of advice was that I should never wear brown. So, my idea of colour is the occasional sequin or, perhaps, a little print. When it gets really hot, I might concede to a splash of khaki, or a white linen shirt. I own a few colourful scarves, and one or two striking handbags. but my default sartorial setting is black. Anna Wintour, queen of American Vogue, has only one hard and fast fashion rule: never wear top-to-toe black . Which is going to make next spring and summer slightly awkward. Because, by then, the garish pinks and purples we saw (together!) on catwalks of the likes of Burberry and Michelle Obama favourite Roksanda Ilincic last week will have filtered down to our shops, and there’ll be nothing that isn’t migraine-inducing on the racks. So, do I stock up on my favourite black now, while it’s still in shops, or do I — and I can feel my chest tightening as I consider this — bite the bullet and see if next season’s biggest trend suits me? ‘Of course, you can wear colour, Sarah,’ one fashionista friend told me, snootily. ‘Embrace it. Don’t be afraid. The more it clashes, the better. In six months’ time, no one will turn a hair anyway, everyone will be doing it.’ Emboldened, I took myself off to the High Street and ventured to sections I barely knew existed. What to choose? Thankfully, stores such as Marks and Spencer and New Look already have so much colour it could blind you — heaven knows what it’ll be like next year — so I grab armfuls of brights and head home. And that’s when I discover the truth. Ladies, don’t be fooled. Not everyone can wear colour. if you need any proof, just look at the photo of me above. I look like a cross between a children’s entertainer and an explosion in a paint factory. It’s no way for a respected member of the community to appear in public, is it now? The green shirt squashes my boobs, makes my arms look like sausages and clings to every bit of my muffin top. And does it go with the electric blue-and-pink skirt with its horrid little frill (two trends in one, right there)? Does it heck! M&S should be ashamed for making these clothes. However, by contrast, their coat is a triumph. At least its only sin it its orangeness. And the shoes are a revelation. from New Look, they’re extremely comfortable for a pair of spiky heels. The Russell and Bromley bag is a laugh, too, though they do say yellow is the colour of madness, which, in the context of this outfit, is most apposite. On a much smaller, much younger woman, it could just work. Carrie Bradshaw in her pomp would have, as the saying goes, ‘rocked’ it. As would a small child. Or a clown. But put it on Mrs Average, and it eloquently illustrates the abyss that exists between the catwalk and real world. In the latter, women dress for confidence and convenience. Black, it is well documented, has a minimising effect. And if, like me, you’ve never been entirely happy with your size and shape, it simplifies and shrinks the silhouette, muting rather than amplifying it, which is just the way I like it. (Granted, a big bum is still a big bum, whichever way you package it up. But black allows me to disappear a little, which, when you’re the size of a small horse, is no bad thing.) In the real world, we women don’t let our appearance dominate our existence. We choose clothes that require minimum fuss and effort, but flatter us. The garish pinks and purples seen on catwalks of the likes of Burberry and Michelle Obama favourite Roksanda Ilincic last week will have filtered down to our shops . So, a wardrobe full of black is a god-send because, when we’re trying to get dressed of a morning, the children are squabbling and our husband can’t find his car keys, we know we can throw on any old combination and look OK. That, as we all know, is the kind of thinking the world of fashion cannot abide. It absolutely relies on women to feel dissatisfied with their appearance, to crave something new and exciting. If we all just declared ourselves happy with the way we look, they’d be out of business. Hence their determination to show me, and the countless other women who go through life very happily dressed as Sicilian widows, the error of our ways. But, this time, it’s they who are wrong. Any lingering suspicion this refusal to toe the fashion line might be my fault was blown away the moment my daughter walked through the door and snorted with laughter. My son looked slightly panicked. My husband looked up and said, ‘Ooh, orange. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ ‘No’, was the obvious answer but, without time to change, I wore the whole damn thing to dinner with friends. ‘Wow. You look . . . amazing,’ said my hostess, as she opened her front door. There followed one of the most uncomfortable evenings of my life. Far from feeling fabulous and fashion-forward, I felt horribly self-conscious. Deprived of my normal camouflage, I couldn’t get comfortable, either. I felt everyone was staring at me — and not in a good way. We left early. I couldn’t wait to kick off that skirt and change into my (dark-grey) pyjamas. Bliss. Will I ever wear top-to-toe colour again? Maybe if I lost a couple of stones and dropped a few years. But, for now, I fear, it’s back to black for me.
Colour was the big hit of the week, as seen at the Burberry show last Monday, and not just any old colour .
Anna Wintour, queen of American Vogue, has only one hard and fast fashion rule: never wear top-to-toe black .
But SARAH VINE say not everyone can wear colour .
London Fashion week is finally over, the style gods have spoken — and very little of it made much sense. Directives for next season include ruffles, tulle (that’s netting to you and me), cropped jackets, lots of lace, flares, anoraks, animal prints and so-called ‘sports luxe’ (over-priced plimsolls). That is nothing, however, compared with the one trend that fills me with genuine horror. Colour. There is one trend that fills Sarah with terror, colour, as seen during London Fashion Week. She feels black is far more flattering on her figure. Colour was the big hit of the week, as seen at the Burberry show last Monday, and not just any old colour. Like Tutti Fruttis, they came in pinks, purples, oranges, greens, yellows and exotic blues, a Pucci-esque mish-mash of clashing brights. For once, all those oversized sunglasses so beloved of fashionistas must genuinely have come in handy. Anna Wintour, queen of American Vogue, has only one hard and fast fashion rule: never wear top-to-toe black. Which, of course, is one of the reasons I do. All the time. Winter, spring, summer and fall: black, black, black. Not just to annoy, but also because it suits me. Remember that fad a few years back for ‘colour analysis’? None of us were wearing the shades that suited us, the experts said. Get it right and you can look younger, prettier, thinner. Like a fool, I did it. A nice lady came to my house, professed herself horrified at the tenebrous state of my wardrobe, then spent the morning draping me in various brightly coloured swatches. It was a revelation. She concluded that black was, in fact, the colour that suited me most. The only useful piece of advice was that I should never wear brown. So, my idea of colour is the occasional sequin or, perhaps, a little print. When it gets really hot, I might concede to a splash of khaki, or a white linen shirt. I own a few colourful scarves, and one or two striking handbags. but my default sartorial setting is black. Anna Wintour, queen of American Vogue, has only one hard and fast fashion rule: never wear top-to-toe black . Which is going to make next spring and summer slightly awkward. Because, by then, the garish pinks and purples we saw (together!) on catwalks of the likes of Burberry and Michelle Obama favourite Roksanda Ilincic last week will have filtered down to our shops, and there’ll be nothing that isn’t migraine-inducing on the racks. So, do I stock up on my favourite black now, while it’s still in shops, or do I — and I can feel my chest tightening as I consider this — bite the bullet and see if next season’s biggest trend suits me? ‘Of course, you can wear colour, Sarah,’ one fashionista friend told me, snootily. ‘Embrace it. Don’t be afraid. The more it clashes, the better. In six months’ time, no one will turn a hair anyway, everyone will be doing it.’ Emboldened, I took myself off to the High Street and ventured to sections I barely knew existed. What to choose? Thankfully, stores such as Marks and Spencer and New Look already have so much colour it could blind you — heaven knows what it’ll be like next year — so I grab armfuls of brights and head home. And that’s when I discover the truth. Ladies, don’t be fooled. Not everyone can wear colour. if you need any proof, just look at the photo of me above. I look like a cross between a children’s entertainer and an explosion in a paint factory. It’s no way for a respected member of the community to appear in public, is it now? The green shirt squashes my boobs, makes my arms look like sausages and clings to every bit of my muffin top. And does it go with the electric blue-and-pink skirt with its horrid little frill (two trends in one, right there)? Does it heck! M&S should be ashamed for making these clothes. However, by contrast, their coat is a triumph. At least its only sin it its orangeness. And the shoes are a revelation. from New Look, they’re extremely comfortable for a pair of spiky heels. The Russell and Bromley bag is a laugh, too, though they do say yellow is the colour of madness, which, in the context of this outfit, is most apposite. On a much smaller, much younger woman, it could just work. Carrie Bradshaw in her pomp would have, as the saying goes, ‘rocked’ it. As would a small child. Or a clown. But put it on Mrs Average, and it eloquently illustrates the abyss that exists between the catwalk and real world. In the latter, women dress for confidence and convenience. Black, it is well documented, has a minimising effect. And if, like me, you’ve never been entirely happy with your size and shape, it simplifies and shrinks the silhouette, muting rather than amplifying it, which is just the way I like it. (Granted, a big bum is still a big bum, whichever way you package it up. But black allows me to disappear a little, which, when you’re the size of a small horse, is no bad thing.) In the real world, we women don’t let our appearance dominate our existence. We choose clothes that require minimum fuss and effort, but flatter us. The garish pinks and purples seen on catwalks of the likes of Burberry and Michelle Obama favourite Roksanda Ilincic last week will have filtered down to our shops . So, a wardrobe full of black is a god-send because, when we’re trying to get dressed of a morning, the children are squabbling and our husband can’t find his car keys, we know we can throw on any old combination and look OK. That, as we all know, is the kind of thinking the world of fashion cannot abide. It absolutely relies on women to feel dissatisfied with their appearance, to crave something new and exciting. If we all just declared ourselves happy with the way we look, they’d be out of business. Hence their determination to show me, and the countless other women who go through life very happily dressed as Sicilian widows, the error of our ways. But, this time, it’s they who are wrong. Any lingering suspicion this refusal to toe the fashion line might be my fault was blown away the moment my daughter walked through the door and snorted with laughter. My son looked slightly panicked. My husband looked up and said, ‘Ooh, orange. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ ‘No’, was the obvious answer but, without time to change, I wore the whole damn thing to dinner with friends. ‘Wow. You look . . . amazing,’ said my hostess, as she opened her front door. There followed one of the most uncomfortable evenings of my life. Far from feeling fabulous and fashion-forward, I felt horribly self-conscious. Deprived of my normal camouflage, I couldn’t get comfortable, either. I felt everyone was staring at me — and not in a good way. We left early. I couldn’t wait to kick off that skirt and change into my (dark-grey) pyjamas. Bliss. Will I ever wear top-to-toe colour again? Maybe if I lost a couple of stones and dropped a few years. But, for now, I fear, it’s back to black for me.
the big hit of the week, as seen at the Burberry show last Monday, and not just any old colour. only one hard and fast fashion rule: never wear black. Anna Wintour, queen of American Vogue, has