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Best shoes for spring – what you should and shouldn’t be wearing

By Andrea Petrou on March 4th, 2010

Lauren Bravo writes: Spring is here! For once in our worryingly incongruous meteorological climate, the weather has got it right. March started and BAM, the sun is out, chill has gone and we can all venture out in our second-warmest jackets with all-over thermal insulation, just as fashion intended.

But despite all the gaiety and the promise of daffodils, baby chicks, crème-egg-and-hot-cross-bun sandwiches etc, there’s also that nagging feeling at the back of my mind. Because spring means, inevitably, summer. And summer means, inevitably, shoe dilemmas. Or sweaty tube rides, blisters, and shoe dilemmas.

As a lifelong adversary of the flipflop, warm weather footwear has always caused me issues. Instead of the beautiful colours and pleasing, clunky form of proper shoes, in summer we’re suddenly expected to do little more than strap a sole to our feet with a bit of flimsy metallic lacing and try to keep them on as we negotiate miniature golf courses. Summer footwear doesn’t contribute to an outfit; it is demanding, with its rubbing and its chafing and its necessitating a pedicure. Gone is the powerful stomp of the Alpha female, and in comes the pathetic flap-flap of the summer trudger.

Thankfully, this time round it looks like we’ll have other opinions. Spring/summer 2010 is presenting us with two intriguing shoe options: the Midi Heel Mum Shoe and the Clog. Both offer more substance and coverage than the average summer shoe trend, thus should be greeted with happy gratitude by shopper bored with sloppy Havaianas, and, even better, we don’t have to wait till the temperature hikes to start wearing them. But which will you be sporting?

First up is the midi heel, which one suspects will be the more enduring trend, a) because they are less ridiculous and b) because you can wear them, and, like, still walk and everything. They are a gift to women with feet everywhere. After years of heels growing more and more vertiginous, until our current point where shops seem to have lost sight of what shoes were originally intended for and lapsed into some form of masochistic battle weaponry, fashion folk are finally lowering the stakes again.

I have had a midi heel fixation for a little while now, hunting out those elusive 2-3 inch styles in a sea of six inch beasts. Midi heels confirm the theory that women really can have it all – we can have feeling in our toes AND a sexy clip-clop when we walk, AND look presentable all at the same time. Life really is better in the middle, it’s just like that Clover ad says.

As a wider trend, midi heels will be around for a good few seasons, but this summer they’ll be used more specifically as support for the 1970s-style Mum shoe; a beachy, sturdy, hippieish affair normally spotted on middle-aged eco campaigners and librarians. With espadrille soles, ankle ties, low wedges and wide, comfortable straps all key features, it’s a daunting trend for those of us who’ve spent winter glued into our biker boots. But you can always toughen up the look with a leather jacket and a slash of vibrant lipstick. Hemp kaftan optional.

Then there’s the other contender, a far less user-friendly prospect. As far as street-worthy trends go it’s in its infancy, but best make your peace with them now because it won’t be long before they’re ‘it shoe’ du jour. So far, this is what we know about clogs: Dutch people are supposed to wear them; Dutch people don’t really wear them, but they do sell them in souvenir shops; Alexa Chung wore them on the cover of March Vogue; actually, Alexa Chung’s been wearing them everywhere; Alexa Chung looks good in them; we may, or may not, also look good in them (sources are yet to confirm whether this is in direct proportion to one’s resemblance to Alexa Chung).

But before we dismiss them as crazy shoes for crazy women, we should consider the advantages of clogs. They are chunky, thus far easier to wear than spring’s other heel trend, ‘the spindle’. They are wooden, thus far less likely to come apart in the middle of Oxford Street and require you to hop home. They are actually pretty flattering, if worn with a teeny skirt and black opaques or, when it gets warmer, bare legs with some sort of sundress and denim jacket. They are a subtle nod to the prairie trend that’s set to hit, far preferable to a broderie anglaise smock and a stetson. And if anyone mocks you, you can kick them where it hurts and do some serious damage.

So there we have it, forget the summer trudgers and embrace the new spring stompers. And by the time you’ve mastered your clog dance, it’ll be winter again without anybody noticing.

Tags: Alexa Chung, chanel, clogs, shoes, spring trends
Posted in Features, Opinion, Trend Alert | No Comments »

Features, Opinion, plus size

Fashion’s learning curves

By Andrea Petrou on March 1st, 2010

1 comment

Lauren Bravo Writes:
Thank God for Mark Fast. By putting plus-sized models on the mainstream catwalk for the second season running, the much-acclaimed knitwear designer has set some ripples stirring on the sea of planet fashion. He’s proved that a) it wasn’t just a gimmick the first time round, and b) that women with a bit of meat on them can still rock high fashion looks. We can have our cake, eat our cake, and still wear a sweater dress without Anna Wintour jumping out of nowhere and locking us in a cupboard.

Hurrah! Oh, joyful day! Fashion has a new form, and it’s Crystal Renn-shaped! I could spend the rest of the article waxing lyrical on the plus-sized supermodel; the size of her thighs, the power of her curves, the voluptuous va-va-voom that her presence brings to a runwazy or magazine cover. But that would be boring, and a lapse into hypocrisy – after all, where magazines have failed women so enormously in the last 100 years (though they’ve tried to compensate with a million free canvas shopping bags) is with their tireless focus on perfection.

Instead we should discuss how silly it is that we use the term ‘plus-sized’ for models no bigger than a 12. Or how ‘curvy’ is a compliment when discussing Beyonce, but becomes a velvet-cloaked insult when used about Natalie Cassidy. The battle is far from over. Like fashion itself, it seems that plus-sized acceptance must follow the traditional path of catwalk-to-glossy-magazine-to-boutique-to-less-glossy-magazine-to-high-street-to-us. So while Mark Fast’s contribution should be applauded and appreciated, it is only the first domino in a long line to be toppled.

It seems high-end magazines still won’t use normal-sized models unless they are: 1) Famous. Designers, editors, musicians, business tycoons and the wives of world leaders are all, from time to time, allowed to grace the hallowed pages with a little extra flesh on their bones. Largely because it makes the magazine look highbrow. Or 2) A gimmick. “Look at us! We’re using fat birds! Aren’t we liberal and accepting?” the cover will scream, just to leave us in no doubt that this model is a Special Exception. But other than that, the world of the glossies remains a parallel universe, one in which Lara Stone is considered rather a hefter.

Meanwhile in the land of real women, dressing shapelier bodies is still a confusing business. I mean, we have to pay Gok Wan his dues. He’s given us all a lovely self-esteem boost, shown us how to love our wobbly bits and introduced the word ‘breasticles’ into the vernacular of a nation. But do we really want to spend the rest of our lives poured into pencil skirts and elastic waist-cincher belts, like a secretary from a 50s B-movie? Of course we don’t. We’d never be able to run up stairs. We’d be the Daleks of the style world (who are, now I come to think of it, rather pear-shaped themselves).

So we need to release Gok’s iron grip on our Spanx and reclaim our natural waistlines. And while we’re at it, a stern word needs to be had with the designers of high street plus-sized ranges. It seems grossly unfair that, while so much effort has been put into trendy maternity ranges in recent times, plus-sized wear remains on the whole a hateful mess of wafty kaftans and misshapen denim – being as women are only pregnant for nine months at a time, while some will be a size 18 their whole lives.

Plus-sized ranges, as far as I can deduce, centre around one key, and terribly misjudged, item. The t-shirt. I can only imagine that the conversations in the ivory towers must go something like this: “What do fuller figured women want to wear?” “Well, they probably want to look a bit sporty… like they might do some exercise and stop being so fuller figured.” “Yes” “And obviously they don’t want anything with any shape…” “Obviously” “So I think what they really want to wear, probably, is a great big t-shirt.” “Yes! That must be it! But hang on, isn’t that a bit boring? Plus-sized women are meant to be jolly, aren’t they?” “Hmm… ok, we’ll put some diamantés and a big jolly slogan down the front.” “Perfect.”

Other main fails in the sphere of plus-sized design include: lack of proper sleeves. This extends beyond fuller figure ranges to the vast majority of womankind, who for whatever reasons (bingo wings, chicken skin, those little pockets of flab that squeeze out under your armpits) don’t want to expose our upper arms, forcing us into little cardies that make us feel like Lorraine Kelly. Then there’s lack of shape. Wearing enormous, crushed velvet marquees does NOT make one look smaller by comparison. The only people it works on are Jenni Murray, Dawn French and Dame Judi Dench (see: ‘famous people’, above). And finally, there’s compensating for lack of shape with diamantes and mimsy floral motifs. This isn’t a primary school craft project. Give the girls a waist, for pete’s sake.

And all that hasn’t even given me time to start on the high street’s failure to accommodate us Average Amys in the 12-16 range (other than to quickly say: we have BREASTS, deal with it! Giving us acres of extra hip fabric is not going to change that; we can’t move them down there). So yes, while Mark Fast has taken a small step for woman, we still need a giant leap for womankind. But hey, at least we can eat while we’re waiting for it to happen. Cake, anybody?

Tags: Crystal Renn, Mark Fast, Plus size clothes, Plus sized models
Posted in Features, Opinion, plus size | 1 Comment »

Features, Opinion

Why ginger is the new black

By Andrea Petrou on February 18th, 2010

3 comments

Lauren Bravo writes: Auburn. Copper. Flame-haired. Carrot-top. Titian. Marmalade. Or just plain ginger. Whatever you call it, there’s no escaping it right now. Red hair is having a moment.

Such is the audacious nature of the fashion industry that it can commandeer a naturally-occurring ratio involving high levels of pigment pheomelanin and low levels of pigment eumelanin (thanks Wikipedia) and make it a ‘trend’ – it’s sort of weirdly akin to making massive noses fashionable, or declaring that this season, it’s all about people who can roll their tongues. Yar boo sucks to you, non-rollers! But then, as I’ve been hammering home for a few weeks now, fashion is mental. So we must accept and celebrate; and boy, do the redheads deserve it.

As flagrant and unjustified as any other form of colour prejudice, ‘gingerism’ still somehow manages to slip under the net of censorship . In November 2008, a 14-year-old boy was investigated for hate crimes after his ‘Kick a Ginger’ facebook group attracted almost 5000 members, while last December Tesco were forced to stop selling a Christmas card that read “Santa loves all kids. Even the ginger ones” after a furore of complaints from offended customers. It’s about time, then, that a ginger style resurgence tipped the scales the other way.

Of course, there’s a whole host of redheaded role models to turn to for inspiration. In music, red is rapidly becoming the go-to colour to display a bit of individuality in a sea of Pixie Lottealikes. There is no better example than Nicola Roberts, whose swanlike transformation over the last couple of years has been a fantastic tribute to the power of pussy bows and staying pale (see also: Emma Pilsbury, Glee). And for those of us who didn’t climb out of the right gene pool, there’s just as good an impetus to fake it – when Florence Welch took to the stage at the Brits on Tuesday night, she had a nation of mousy women mentally reaching for the Schwarzkopf.

Look too at all the sexy ginger cartoon characters that the world of entertainment has produced over the years. Wilma Flintstone. Daphne from Scooby Doo. Jessica Rabbit. Lois Griffin in Family Guy. Arial in The Little Mermaid. Princess Fiona in Shrek. The colour is synonymous with sass. The blonde girl gets tied to the railway tracks, the redhead is the one who cuts her free and kicks her captor in the balls. From Boudica to Elizabeth I to Anne of Green Gables, the association between flaming follicles and a fiery temperament is ingrained in cultural history. But where blondes and brunettes have for years been shoe-horned into stereotypes – one fun-loving and frivolous, the other sultry and smart – redheads provide an intriguing alternative, characterised most by a passionate unpredictability.

Meanwhile, in the world of fashion titian hair tends to denote otherworldliness – think of Lily Cole’s china doll features, or Karen Elson’s sexy alien aesthetic. Then there’s Grace Coddington, formidable Creative Director of US Vogue and the unassuming star of last year’s documentary The September Issue. As you so often find with those in the very upper echelons of the fashion industry, she dresses as though she doesn’t like clothes – next to Anna Wintour’s pin-neat tailored dresses and cardigans, Coddington’s baggy black shirts and trousers make her look like a ‘before’ on How to Look Good Naked. But her creativity is evident nonetheless; it’s in her hair. A sheet of electric auburn frizz, it is the hair of a Pre-Raphaelite model, not a runway model. And by being quite determinedly anti-fashion, it somehow manages to be the most fashionable hair out there.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that for redheads, the world of style is fraught with potential faux-pas. Don’t wear pink! Don’t wear orange! Steer clear of red lipstick! And blusher! Don’t wear anything too bold, your head is bright enough… but don’t dress all in black either, you’ll look like a secondary school drama teacher. In fact, best just stick to green. Wear as much green as you can get your hands on. But try to avoid looking too much like Christmas. Good luck!

But like any supposed style ‘rule’, these are made to be trampled on. As the former flatmate of three redheaded women, I know they can rock whatever colour they choose to (except maybe yellow – but then no one can wear yellow). As my titian friend Tara puts it, “Being ginger is great, if you’re prepared to stand out. It’s a permanent accessory, a bit like constantly wearing an outlandish hat… Of course, if you get bored you can always put an actual hat on.” Meanwhile, my Australian friend Meg claims the secret to her redhead happiness was learning to stay pale in a country full of mahogany tans. “I got second degree burns one summer when I was 10, and had to face the fact that sunblock was going to be a big part of my life. Once you accept that, you can get on with making the most of being a rarity.”

And there is nothing fashion loves more than a rarity. It’s official – this season, a recessive gene on chromosome 16 is the new black.

Tags: Lauren Bravo, Nicola Roberts, Why ginger is the new black
Posted in Features, Opinion | 3 Comments »

Features, Opinion

Lauren Bravo tells us what maketh the rock chick

By Andrea Petrou on February 11th, 2010

2 comments

Lauren Bravo writes: She’s one of fashion’s favourite mythical figures, along with the woman who actually has a capsule wardrobe and Mariah Carey’s ‘stylist’. She reappears in some shape or form every season, manifested in leather jackets, slashed t-shirts and smudgy eyeliner. She’s a household name, bandied around in fashion houses and ladies’ loos alike.

But she rarely delivers everything she promises (supposedly because she’s hanging out backstage with Iron Maiden; really because she’s made up by magazine editors with no imagination). She’s the ‘rock chick’: three parts reputation to one part nifty alliteration.

The tricky thing about rock chick as a trend is that, like many other mythical beings, as soon as you lay claim to it, it doesn’t exist anymore. Nobody who is actually a rock chick would ever use the term ‘rock chick’. It’s a linguistical rip in the space/time/style continuum. Just as nobody who calls themselves ‘kooky’ ever really is (see also: quirky’, and ‘I just rolled out of bed and threw this on’), any girl who sums up her style as ‘rock chick’ generally hasn’t been any nearer a moshpit than Medium level on Guitar Hero III.

So what maketh the rock chick? If we’re following the fashion definition, there are some basic ingredients:

Leather. In jacket form if you’re a novice; in trouser form if you’re a divorcee who’s just finished at Slimmer’s World.

Studs and chains. This season especially, studs and chains are embellishment of choice. Think of it as the pain-free alternative to facial piercing.

Band t-shirts. Here I feel duty-bound to repeat the old adage – if you can’t sing at least three songs by the band, you CANNOT WEAR THE T-SHIRT.

Eyeliner. In fash mag speak, this should look like ‘last night’s make-up’ (ie. be crumbling down your face, and giving you those little black globules of sleep in the corners. Nice). Because rock chicks are too busy doing debauched things on tour buses to use a cleansing wipe.

Ripped tights. A man once chased me all the way up Tottenham Court Road, just to tell me I had a ladder in my tights. He didn’t get the grateful response he seemed to expect – instead, I snapped back, “Yeah, SO? I am AWARE. What do you want me to DO, run home and change? It’s a LADDER, it’s not like my BOOB is hanging out.” I realise in hindsight that my reaction was wrong. I should have calmly told him I was ‘channelling rock chick’.

So I’ve come to believe that fashion’s obsession with the rock chick is a question of good PR on behalf of the whole industry. Because fashion types tend to be regarded as uptight, controlling, slaves to perfection (does Anna Wintour’s hair ever move? Have you seen it?); and rock chick is the antidote to that.

The rock chick stays out all night, drinks beer, not champagne, dances until she’s sweaty and eats a kebab on the way home. So as a form of damage limitation on their image, fashion people have commandeered her and repackaged her as their own creation. She is ‘dishevelled’ (messy), she is ‘nonchalant’ (doesn’t give a rat’s bottom) and she is ‘full of attitude’ (might throw an amp at your head).

And it’s easy to keep on believing in the rock chick, because there are plenty of celebrity purveyors of the myth. Kate Moss is the classic – she dates indie musicians! She goes to Glastonbury! She’s always got a fag on! But Kate’s cover is blown each time she opens her mouth, and instead of the whiskey-soaked growl of a true rocker, out comes the squeaky bleat of a Croydon schoolgirl.

Then there’s Amy Winehouse, who was perhaps one of the most authentic poster girls they had, until her rockabilly aesthetic passed out of fashion favour and her St Lucia rehab stint made her hair go crap. The most successful pretender to the throne currently seems to be Taylor Momsen – the precocious little upstart who has earned her place in rock chick mythology by playing Jenny, the ‘edgy one’ on Gossip Girl.

Overlooking the fact that calling someone a rock chick for being the ‘edgy one’ on Gossip Girl is like giving someone a Nobel Prize for being the ‘clever one’ on Big Brother, Momsen’s look is a checklist of rock chick accoutrements. Ripped tights, week-old eyeliner, tangled nest of peroxide extensions. She is also, however, the face of New Look S/S 2010 – a nice move on the store’s part, but for Taylor it’s about a 1.5 on the scale of credible rock and roll moves, just above Iggy Pop on the insurance billboards and John Lydon advertising that butter.

So you can’t help but wonder, is Ms Momsen just another in the long line of fashion-created ‘rock chicks’ that we’re meant to follow blithely with our kohl pencils and ‘I’m with the band’ t-shirts, until she gets bored and Rachel Zoe attacks her? Just remember this, ladies – every time you say you don’t believe in rock chicks, a rock chick somewhere DIES. Whether that’s a good thing or not, I’ll leave you to decide.

Tags: Lauren Bravo, leather, Rock Chick look, studs, Taylor Momsen
Posted in Features, Opinion | 2 Comments »

Features, Opinion

Why we should all believe in fashion fate

By Andrea Petrou on February 8th, 2010

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Lauren Bravo writes:

I am not a superstitious person. I will walk under ladders. I take great delight in opening umbrellas indoors. I will put shoes on tables, open crisp packets upside down and gleefully skip around safe in the belief that a piano won’t suddenly fall from the sky and crush me under the weight of cosmic misfortune. I stopped believing horoscopes after Shelley Von Strunkel told me I was going to fail my A-levels, causing me a week of panic and the initial moves towards an alternative career as a welder.

No, I am not superstitious. Except, that is, for in one crucial area of life. Shopping.

As anyone who has recently ventured up a British high street will be aware, shopping isn’t the easy, breezy experience it used to be (in, say, the 1830s). For one thing, there’s the eternal sizing debate, which Andrea’s been exploring this past week with her denim inbetweener campaign (click here to complete our ShinyStyle size survey). When you have to make time in your schedule for winching yourself out of clothes you’ve managed to get stuck in (not to mention the inevitable newspaper interviews after the firemen have left the changing room with their cutting equipment), it does limit the potential to source perfect garments. And, y’know, sleep and things.

Then there’s the competitive element. As a general rule, the cheaper you go on the high street, the more aggressive and ruthless the shopping becomes. This is a result of what I like to term the “Treasure Theory”; that nagging feeling, as you stand and look round a crowded store full of discarded sweatpants and unseasonable kaftan tops, that somewhere in there exists a garment which could change your life.

It’s the logic that lies behind shops like TK Maxx and Matalan, convincing us that if we rummage for long enough, and use enough handbag force to elbow other shoppers out of our way, we will find the bargainous Chanel-alike among the sea of lamé prom dresses and pvc jackets. The only thing separating us from that item of dreams is a healthy dose of fashion fate.

Yes, one should never underestimate the role of destiny in shopping. I can’t be the only one who, when debating a purchase, hears the voice of Doris Day drift under the changing room door… “Que Sera, Sera… whatever will be, will be…”. How many times have you seen your perfect skirt being carried by somebody else, and followed them around the shop like a dog, hissing ‘drop it! Drop IT!’? How many times have you justified a pricey purchase with the fact that it is still there in your size, and so it is Meant to Be? How many times have you very nearly worn a dress, then changed on instinct at the last minute, only to turn up at an event finding your ex’s new girlfriend in the dress you nearly wore? That, my friends, is fashion fate.

I’ve suffered my fair share of blows, but last week, shopping destiny dealt me a good hand. Back in December I had seen a studded black jacket in H&M. I had picked it up, gone ‘ooh’, been told by my friend that it felt like lizard scales and was therefore creepy, and put it back on the rail. I thought no more of it. But then, as the days passed, I started to find this jacket suddenly entering my thoughts. It would pop into my mind as I stood in front of the wardrobe every morning. I would think “if I had that studded jacket, I could wear it with that. If I had that studded jacket, it would look perfect with this”, and so on, until I had pretty much convinced myself that the studded jacket was the key to my future happiness.

So then began a mad pursuit of the studded jacket across every H&M in London. Oxford Circus had sold out, Marble Arch had sold out, Regent Street only had it in a size 8. Everywhere I enquired, I got sad, pitying head-shakes, as though the shop assistants knew they were denying me outfit perfection. I trudged the streets for days, from store to store. I started hallucinating studded jackets, seeing them in mirrors and window reflections and draped over small children on buses. Eventually, I gave up and resigned myself to that fact that the studded jacket was not meant to be in my life.

THEN, several weeks later, thoughts of studded jackets entirely out of my head, I was doing a quick after-work shop dash and decided to pop into H&M to buy some earrings. I very nearly didn’t, as I was late, but something in my gut told me to go in (either fate, or a Prêt meatball wrap). So I did, and there, glinting at me across the store, I saw it. It wasn’t even on a hanger, it was just flung across the top of a rail, looking lonely. As I ran towards it, arms outstretched, I convinced myself it wouldn’t be my size. “It will be the ruddy size 8, don’t get your hopes up”, I thought. So imagine my joy when I got there, clutched it in my sweaty palms and discovered it WAS my size! Fashion fate was on my side for once, and the key to styling happiness was finally mine! Oh, wondrous kismet!

(Actually it turns out the jacket doesn’t go with as many things as I thought it would. It’s also a bit too long, and really does feel like lizard skin. But hey, I wouldn’t have swapped that moment for anything).

Tags: campaign, Fashion fate, H&M, highstreet fashion, Inbetweener jeans survey, Lauren Bravo
Posted in Features, Opinion | No Comments »

Features, Gallery, Opinion

My Denim Inbetweener research and a gallery of the best fitting jeans on the highstreet

By Andrea Petrou on January 29th, 2010

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After my rant about being a denim inbetweener I thought I’d take some time out and really go and do some research. So I packed my fan, put my friend’s number on standby and hit the highstreet to see if there really was a perfect fitting jean.

To make the test fair I picked three different styles in each shop and took in the two sizes I always try.

First stop was H&M and I have to admit I was hopeful, but when I found that familiar tug at the thighs with all three pairs of the 8s, I knew it just wasn’t going to happen, and I felt it was far too early in my challenge to begin the denim workout.

And the 10s, proved to be even more of a surprise. One of the pairs turned out to be smaller than the 8, and fitting my toe through the tiny hole was as far as I got. However the other two were as baggy and ill fitting as usual.

So I continued. Topshop fared no better than H&M and although I’d gone into those changing rooms looking groomed, the tugging and sweating got the better of me. The outcome? I came out sporting a hairstyle that would only work on Jamie Afro (think Monica’s hair in the Barbados episode of Friends.)

This trend continued into Oasis, French Connection, Mango, Gap and Zara and as my frustrations grew so did the hair.

So I took myself, and the hair to Marks and Spencer. And guess what? I found a near perfect match (well we’ll forgive a tiny muffin top). However, once again the bigger size was just too big.

Dorothy Perkins also faired well in my denim test as did Miss Selfridge, Wallis (which all form part of the Arcadia group with Topshop) and River Island.

Now I want to get the low down from retailers on how they measure their sizes and I’m hoping I’ll be able to come back with some answers next week. I also want to conduct the same test with designer jeans to see if spending that little bit more ensures a perfect fit. And of course I want to hear about your experiences with this problem too (leave your comments below or email me at Andrea@shinymedia.com.)

Until then I’ve put together a gallery of some of the best fitting jeans out there. I know they won’t suit everyone but I hope it helps some of you.

You can also check out our Fashion Tips of Timeless jean styles, which I hope will go some way to helping you find that perfect fitting denim.

Click on the picture below to begin the gallery.

Tags: Denim Inbetweener, Denim research, good fitting jeans, jeans, Jeans sizes
Posted in Features, Gallery, Opinion | No Comments »

Features, Opinion

Why I hate being a denim Inbetweener

By Andrea Petrou on January 27th, 2010

1 comment

I really enjoy shopping, strike that, who am I kidding? I love it.

I spend hours thinking about what I want and justify why it deserves a place in my wardrobe and a mark on my bank statement.

Vintage, bags, shoes, tops and dresses, you name it, I want it.

However one thing that keeps me up all night, and not in a good “If I buy that top it’ll go with that skirt” kind of way, is that dreaded pair of jeans. Because I’m one of those Inbetweeners.

Unlike it’s Channel 4 comedy namesake this isn’t a laughing matter. In fact I’m sure those who know what I’m talking about, and according to Asda who launched a mid sized jeans range last year that’s about two thirds of women, will back me up when I say it’s really quite horrible.

For those lucky enough to be feeling confused at this point, let me explain.
A denim Inbetweener is really what it says on the tin, it’s someone who’s, well, inbetween jean sizes.

You can spot an Inbetweener in a range of ways.

She’ll be the girl who comes out of the changing room dripping with the sweaty challenge of having tried to wriggle into those size 10s, 12s or 14s.
Or girl who’s legs and feet are sticking out of the changing room door, a la the wicked witch of the East in the Wizard of Oz but without the perks of those pretty red glittery shoes, while she lies down struggling to get that zip past the crotch area.

And finally it’s that lady you’ll hear frantically whispering on the phone, which translates as “SOS,quick, help, I’m stuck in this pair of jeans”. She’ll also be the girl covering that little tiny hole she made in the bottom area of the denim when she breathed out too quickly with the relief on getting them on before realising the muffin top was too big to disguise. Yes I hold my hands up to that one, and have tried on many occasions to hide that ripping sound with a cough.

But we’re not doing this just so we can say we fit into a smaller size, after all we’re not like Kerry Katona and in denial about what those endless take-away are doing to our waistlines, we’re doing it because the next size up is too frigging big.

It’s the GM Goliath equivalent of the size below, and while there’s no problem getting this size up, it’s keeping it there that’s the problem.

Talking to my friends I know I’m not alone and they too have a story to tell about their own Inbetweener scenario (one had to resort to asking a shop assistant to help her pull her too tight jeans off during one very bad emergency). We’ve also pinpointed some of the worst offending shops, which although I won’t name, I’m sure you know who they are.

And I’ve come to conclude that online jeans shopping is the worst. Yes they may have size charts but honestly who has a tape measure handy and time to measure that waist and hips, especially when it’s peak shopping time and there’s only one pair of those jeans in your (hopefully right) size left?

And when that package arrives and you squeeze yourself into them (there’s so much more time to do this in the comfort of your own home) you end up walking around like a penguin because there’s no one on SOS size duty. Not even that smug assistant.

So I’ve decided that until other retailers sort out their sizes or follow Asda’s mid size lead there’s two options into fitting into those jeans.

1. Follow Renee Zellweger’s lead when she needed to beef up for her Bridget Jones role, and eat as much fast and fatty food as possible to fit snugly into the next size up.

2. Work out at the gym for a good few weeks to slim into the smaller size.

Hmm now where did I spot that Krispy Creme drive thru? And I wonder if they do loyalty points?

Tags: Asda, denim, Inbetweeners, mid size jeans, too tight jeans
Posted in Features, Opinion | 1 Comment »

Features, Opinion

Why occasional dressing doesn’t suit everyone

By Andrea Petrou on January 21st, 2010

4 comments

Lauren Bravo writes: Poor Chloe Sevigny. She turns out at the Golden Globes in a cascade of silk ruffles, looking every inch the fashion-forward Hollywood star. She wins Best Actress in a TV Drama for her role in Big Love.

She makes her way to the stage, full of poise and old-world glamour, in front of an admiring audience of industry names. And then, at the last vital moment, Rrrrriiiiiiiiiip! Some git tears half her dress off. Thus we learn the first rule of occasion dressing: whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. Especially if you’re on camera.

I felt for Chloe, particularly as I’ve experienced her wardrobe malfunction myself. Admittedly mine occurred at my high school prom, not in front of the Hollywood Foreign Press and a million television viewers, but it was still traumatic.

I spent £150 on a chiffony creation from Monsoon, the kind you picture yourself being proposed to in, then promptly put my heel through the hem as I got out of the car in the school drive. To add insult to embarrassment, it was quickly revealed that three other girls had turned up in the same dress – but hey, I was the only one with a gaping hole…

Some girls thrive on occasion dressing. They’re usually, as it happens, the girls who keep it low-key the rest of the time. The jeans-and-jumpers girls. All year it’s sensible coats, denim and comfy separates, then at the whiff of an invitation, ooh, out come lithe limbs poured into something slinky, satiny and elegant. They glide around, part Audrey Hepburn, part Disney Princess, and the impact is made all the more striking by its contrast to their usual appearance.

They don’t spill, their make-up doesn’t smudge, their underwear doesn’t show, and they don’t go all scarlet and drippy after a turn on the dancefloor. They are the girls formal events are designed for. I am not one of these girls.

No, I realised many, many years ago that I can’t do occasion dressing. Other people will be watching awards season with joy, cooing at the dresses and the flawless red carpet elegance, but I will spend it shouting “HOW? How are you DOING that??” at a variety of magazine spreads. And yet, every time an occasion presents itself, I still have a brief moment of delusion. “Maybe this time”, I think, “I’ll pull it off. I’ll find something classy, and I’ll look classy in it, and I’ll still be feeling classy when they carry me out of the marquee at 4am.”

It’s not an aversion to dressing up, you understand – In fact I have a tendency to be chronically overdressed for everyday life. I will wear sequins to the pub, cocktail dresses to family barbecues and stilettos to Tesco. But give me a bonafide ooccasion, something that actually demands a bit of sartorial effort, and I go to pieces. I become a one-woman style disaster zone.

The routine generally goes something like this: I won’t be able to find/afford/fit into a suitable dress. So I will spend three weeks in a consumer frenzy, then the day before buy something a size too small, in a colour I hate, that accommodates no bra known to man. I will then attempt something radical with my hair, which will go wrong, requiring me to obliterate the whole thing with straighteners, then wet it to stop it looking too straight, then straighten it to stop it looking too wet.

After a week on grapes and green tea I will crack, eat a burrito, and not be able to do the zip up on the too-small-anyway dress. After half an hour of flatmate-assisted zip warfare I will finally be assembled, but sweaty from effort, which will then demand another hair re-straighten. I will top off the look with a pair of shoes that cripple me, a massive bag with my alternative flat shoes in it, and a coat that doesn’t go. One of my false eyelashes will come unstuck on the bus. I will appear in at least 170 photos in the act of hitching up my dress, then spill kebab juice down it on the way home. That, ladies, is how I do occasion dressing.

So I hope Ms Sevigny wasn’t too distraught after her fashion faux-pas. After all, there’s nothing like a big shiny award to distract from a dress disaster – if I can somehow get myself nominated fro a Brit, maybe that will be my next trick.

Tags: Chloe Sevigny, Golden Globes, Lauren Bravo
Posted in Features, Opinion | 4 Comments »

Features, Opinion

How to wear your undies in style in 2010

By Andrea Petrou on January 14th, 2010

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Lauren Bravo writes.
Fashion folk have a great deal of influence, let’s admit it. It’s an admirable feat, the way they can get together, season after season, and persuade us our lives will be significantly enhanced if we only wear velvet pantaloons. Or clogs. Or weave our own hair into a sou’wester.

They do a far better job of earning our trust and discipleship than most politicians. “You know what would look really great?” they say, “a parka covered in sequins.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” we reply. Then three months later, as if out of nowhere, we suddenly think, “Hmm. I’d really like a sequinned parka. In fact, I’d love a sequinned parka. In FACT, I’m not sure how I ever got by without one.”

But they are not infallible. Sometimes, quite regularly in fact, they fail to convince us. There are those trends that seem to resurface in the catwalk reports year, and every year we ignore them. Midi skirts are one. Crimped hair is another. Tuxedos, jodhpurs, dark purple lipstick. Wide-legged jeans have had a good stab at it, but despite the fash pack’s best efforts they’re still being suppressed by the almighty power of the skinny. And then there’s my favourite, the trend they’ve been pushing since Madonna first hoisted herself into the bullet bra: Underwear as Outerwear.

Perhaps I’ve just crossed over and joined the ranks of the optimistic style writers, but I actually think 2010 might be the year this trend sticks. It’s been gathering speed for a while – there were Sienna’s big pants, back in 2007, which didn’t win many fans but did at least keep her kidneys warm. Then Lady Gaga took the look and ran with it, realising that the key to successfully going out in your knicks is to wear something stupid on your head as a distraction.

Meanwhile, everyone from Rhianna to Taylor Momsen has been snapped with their stockings and suspenders on show. And embellished bustiers are working their way seductively onto the high street, as a stylish update on the old lacy-bra-under-a-white-shirt getup so beloved of glamour models. So far, so saucy. But, and we all know this is the acid test, can we get away with the underwear trend in the queue at Tesco? Without being shielded behind the anorak of a concerned pensioner?

I believe it boils down to three basic guidelines:

1. Make it look intentional.
The reason Sienna’s tights-and-spanx combo failed was because it didn’t look like a deliberate outfit choice. It looked like someone had stolen her skirt, potentially a bully after a PE lesson. If the pants had been sequinned, or gold, or had ‘Diva’ written across the cheeks in diamantes, we would have known she was serious and it all would have been ok.

2. Know your audience.
This trend is a rarity among high fashion crazes, in that men like it. Of course they do, you’re wearing your bra in Wetherspoons. Whether this matters to you or not is naturally dependent on your relationship status, orientation, level of strident feminism and ability to take as good as you get when walking past building sites – but still, it’s something to be considered. Personally I’d advise that on male-centric occasions (particularly those featuring Dads, uncles, bosses or bank managers) you forgo the whalebone corset for something more demure. Like a lacy slip that might be a dress or might be a nightie. Or long johns.

3. Don’t skimp.
For those of you thinking “EXCELLENT, I already own underwear! What a recession-friendly trend!” I’m afraid I have to burst your bargainous bubble. Greying M&S scanties do not fulfil the fashion brief (pun intended). The trick to this look is that while it sells itself as underwear, it isn’t really underwear like any mortal ever wears. It needs to be spangled, or showgirly or structured within an inch of its life. So unless you’re Dita Von Teese or Jessica Rabbit, you’re going to need to buy new things. Sorry.

So there we are, let me know how you get on. And if you can’t cope with flashing your undies, there’s always the woven hair hat to try. I’m off to buy a sequinned parka. Goodbye.

Tags: How to wear pants as outerwear, lady gaga
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Opinion

French Government moves to ban burkas

By Andrea Petrou on January 11th, 2010

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We all remember the days when we had to sneak out of the house because we knew our parents wouldn’t approve of our outfits. If you had the same problem and at the time hard done by, then spare a thought for the women choose to wear burkas in France.

According to Grazia the French government is voting on a proposal to ban burkas, niqabs and full-body cloaks with eye slits. If the bill, proposed by Jean-Francois Copé, leader of the majority party UMP, goes through then women caught wearing the attire which leaves them ‘fully covered in public’ will be fined around £675.

Mr Copé said the Government had spoken to “religious and secular figures who all confirmed [the burka] was not a religious prescription.

“Wearing the full body veil is about extremists who want to test the republic,” he said.

He also added anyone who forces a woman to wear this attire will also be forced to pay an even bigger fine. We can understand this point, after all no-one should be forced to wear something they don’t want to, but we think banning someone from wearing what they want is a completely different story.

Do you agree? Leave your comments below and let us know.

Tags: Burkas, French Government, Muslims
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Features, Opinion

Why leggings are slowly becoming the bane of the fashion world

By Andrea Petrou on January 8th, 2010

15 comments

Lauren Bravo writes:
Rules are made to be broken, that’s how the old adage goes. And so it normally is in fashion, where rules like ‘blue and green should never be seen’ and ‘steer clear of horizontal stripes’ have been broken with such regularity that they now exist only in quaint 1930s books and the occasional WI meeting. We start kicking against clothing regulations early on in life with school uniform, rolling our waistbands over and making our ties short and stubby as a low-maintenance way of sticking it to the Man.

Then later it all becomes a bit more relevant, when we stop earning house points and start earning style points. Fashion rules are thrown at us from all directions, each with the promise it will deliver that magical word, “flattering” (and those even more magical ones, “thin”, “young” and “almost a bit like Scarlett Johansson”). I say they’re thrown from all directions, but of course it’s largely whatever direction Trinny and Susannah happen to have been standing in – though they’ve fallen off the radar in recent years, to this day I still hear them shrieking “Deep Vs! Three-quarter sleeves! Put DOWN the polo neck!” every time I go shopping.

But this is all a very round-about way of bringing up a delicate topic. Which is, not to beat around the, um, bush or anything: crotches. Crotches seem suddenly to have risen to new prominence in our society, and I think they need attention. No, hang on, the ISSUE needs attention. The crotches need as little attention as possible.

The problem began about four years back, when leggings made their triumphant return to our wardrobes. It was an unlikely lycra renaissance for a generation who remember our mums in them not so long ago, but leggings managed to be one of the most dominant trends of the noughties. Their appeal was based, initially, on coverage; thicker than tights, we could wear long tops as ‘dresses’ and pelmets as ‘skirts’ without shame of reproof. They were the get-out-of-slutty-free card. And they were warm to boot.

But their service to us was part of a fashion deal – to avoid making the same mistakes our mothers did, leggings had to be worn with more caution this time round. The unspoken rule, or at least so I understood it, was this: we had to keep the crotch covered at all times. Whether with tunics, dresses, shorts or skirts, leggings had to stay layered beneath things. It just made good sense. I thought we were all agreed.

Apparently not. For all of a sudden, across the nation, hemlines are rising and crotches are emerging. People are wearing leggings with t-shirts. With blouses. With cropped tops even. Whether it’s deliberate fashion anarchy or just that everybody has forgotten the rule, I’m not sure. Or perhaps it’s because, in these times of recessionista thrift, we can now pass off three millimetres of clingy spandex as “trousers”, like they used to make birthday cakes out of hat boxes in the war. Perhaps.

Either way, I feel something needs to be said. It’s one of those rare looks that is as unappealing on short and tall, curvy and skinny alike. Not that I’m electing myself as the anti-crotch front, running around the streets handing out aprons to protect women’s dignity – if the crotch-bearing is a conscious act, I have no right to interfere. But somehow I don’t think it IS conscious. I think something has wandered off course somewhere in the grand scheme of trend development, and we need to get it back on course. So I’m going to say it once more, in a very loud, clear voice, and then sit back and hope it takes some effect. Ahem . PUT. THE CROTCHES. AWAY.

(I’d like to apologise for the number of times I’ve had to use the word ‘crotch’ in this article. But it could have been worse. At least I never said ‘cameltoe’)

Tags: Camel toe, crotch, fashion faux pax, leggings
Posted in Features, Opinion | 15 Comments »

Features, Opinion

How to be a sensible sale shopper

By Andrea Petrou on January 4th, 2010

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Lauren Bravo writes:
I tried to go sales shopping yesterday. It didn’t go very well. Because what I’d forgotten, indeed what I forget every year, is that sales shopping doesn’t agree with me (not does dairy, but that hasn’t stopped me from polishing off a whole wedge of stilton). Sales turn me into a crazed, handbag-swinging monster, blinded by sequins and prone to hallucinations in which I am a size six and look alluring in metallic jumper dresses. Every sale-shopping expedition I’ve been on in the last few years has featured me elbowing a pensioner, crying in a changing room, buying a sensible pair of pyjama bottoms and vowing never to do it again. But sadly, like the stilton, it’s a resolution easily made and easily crumbled.

With up to 12 million bargain-hunters hitting the shops this Boxing Day, a 20 per cent rise on 2008 sales, it seems I’m not the only one who is easily seduced by the big red signs. It only takes a whisper of the magic R-word, recession, to have us stocking up on cut-price goodies like they’re going out of fashion (which of course, they are).

But despite the figures, Boxing Day reductions don’t pack quite the punch they once did, because we are now living in the era of the perpetual sale. It’s a rare shop on the high street that doesn’t have a sad little clutch of half-price pants and linen blouses in a corner somewhere, all of the time. Nowadays I walk into shops expecting a sale and get genuinely narked if I don’t find one. We have January sales, spring sales, pre-summer sales, summer sales, back to school sales, pre-Christmas sales and pre-sale sales. My friend Liz derides the buying of any non-sale item as being “against her religion”.

I’ve come to believe that the sale/non-sale debate is not about how much money you have, but rather your attitude to spending it. The old dilemma: would you rather have one really, really nice thing for lots of money, or loads of tacky or faddy or frilly or falling apart or doesn’t-quite-fit things for the same amount? Common sense and fashion editors would have us believe it’s the former – to forgo the sales and instead spend all you can on one standout piece, like a fantastic leather jacket or the perfect pair of jeans, is a smart move. You’re making an investment you will never regret. But how many times have we bought the super-luxe coat and left it in the wardrobe to stroke fondly once a week, while we carry on wearing the tatty jacket that cost us £15 in an H&M sale many moons ago?

There are two main approaches to sale shopping. There’s the sensible one (or ‘the Mum Method’), in which you keep an eye on everything you like in the weeks leading up to Christmas, don’t buy any of them, then pray that you’ll magically find them half price in the sale. This approach saves you money, but there are some considerable downsides: 1) it is boring. 2) You probably won’t find them half price in the sale, or at least not in your size, and 3) while you’re waiting for them to be reduced, you will miss at least four social occasions when you would have worn them; as soon as you do buy them, you will suddenly never have cause to wear them ever again.

Then there’s the non-sensible approach. You know how that one goes – like a nightmare sequence in a Disney film, all the items you’ve never even considered before all suddenly leap off the racks and start twirling around, cooing “buy me… buy meeee”. They’re all wildly impractical, don’t go together, don’t go with anything else you own, and make you look vaguely like a drag version of an X-factor contestant. But more importantly, they are all £7.

If possible it is probably best to combine the two approaches, like a sensible mum with a penchant for the odd sequinned puffball. Or just stick to the following advice: if you wouldn’t have looked twice at it before Christmas, don’t pick it up now just because it’s cheap. There is a reason nobody bought any of those spangled jumper dresses, and that reason will become oh-so-apparent once you put it on in the safety of your own bedroom. Take plenty of water and protein-rich snacks, and know when to have a little sit down. And if the whole experience gets too much, you can’t go wrong with a nice pair of pyjama bottoms. Good luck.

Tags: Lauren Bravo, Post Christmas shopping, Sale shopping, sales
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Features, Opinion

Top Five Festive Fashion Faux-Pas

By Andrea Petrou on December 17th, 2009

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Lauren Bravo writes:
Velvet.
Ah, velvet. I feel unfair even including this one, because velvet is, really, the official fabric of Christmas. It has maximum cosy factor, it looks too sumptuous to wear most of the rest of the year, and it always makes one feel vaguely like royalty. If we could just spend the entire festive season swishing about in long velvet cloaks, I would be beyond happy.

But as it is, velvet-wearing is one of the hardest yuletide activities. Because made into actual clothes, rather than nativity costumes, it tends to fall into two camps – worn loose, you’re an ageing drama teacher, worn fitted you’re an overstuffed armchair. The choice is yours (but I know which allows for more mince pie consumption).

Novelty earrings.
It’s always the people you least suspect that turn out to be closeted novelty earring wearers. This phenomenon also stems to those who tie tinsel round their pony tail, or round their neck, or round their cat’s neck, or perhaps round their steering wheel, lest any left-turn slip-by uninjected with seasonal joy.

Novelty-earring wearers (and for unpierced gentlemen, the sporter of the light-up snowman tie) are generally those who the rest of the year round wouldn’t say boo to an accessories goose, the kind who consider beige a bit flamboyant and think BBC newsreaders are getting too racy. Let all this suppressed desire for glitter build-up steadily over an 11-month period, and kablam! They’ll be the ones in flashing fairy wings singing “I Am What I Am” at the karaoke buffet.

“Sexy” Santas.
I’d like to blame Mean Girls, but in truth I’m sure the tradition of the sexy santa (see also: sexy elf, raunchy reindeer, flirty fairy and all variations thereupon) has existed for as long as there have been office parties to get drunk at and photocopiers to sit on. It needs to be outlawed, partly because of feminism but mainly because Christmas is a time for thermals, third helpings of trifle, and making peace with your own thighs. Nobody should have to be sexy at Christmas; it’s effort enough to look fetching in a cracker hat. And we all know that Mrs Clause would never have looked like Rachel McAdams anyway – she would have sensible shoes and a bottom the size of Belguim.

(Too much) Red
Yes, yes, it’s the colour of the season. It’s the colour of a robin’s breast, Rudolph’s nose, a Louboutin sole. We get it. And we all know the power of a sweep of scarlet lipstick or a ruby slipper to lift a dreary outfit. But as with marzipan and Cliff Richard, in December it should be applied sparingly. Too much red at Christmas can just look so literal, like turning up dressed as a turkey or the baby Jesus. If you’re worried you might be overdoing it, try this simple test: look into a mirror and sing, “I’ve never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight…never seen you shine so bright…” If the face of Chris de Burgh flashes up before you, you need to get changed.

Woollens.
By now there is no point contesting the status of the Christmas jumper. It is as tightly woven into the fabric of the festive season as massive tins of Quality Street and the bumper issues of the Radio Times. It has flitted from genuine to ironic, via Colin Firth and back again, and now it is an institution. Moreover, knitwear is back on the fashion map in a big way – this season, not only are we required to wear woollens, we’re meant to be loading them on in layers. So far, so snuggly.

But the snag is, while jumpers cut a dash in snowy parks and on long, rustic walks up mountaintops, most of our Christmases aren’t spent there, are they? They’re spent on the sofa in central-heated living rooms, and in crowded bars, and standing in people’s armpits on the tube. Which, combined with a few glasses of sherry, makes for some frankly unfestive red-faced perspiration. Call it ‘santa sweat’, if you must. Or just save the jumpers for the snow.

So there you have it, festive fashionistas – go forth, eat, drink and be merry. But if at any point you unwrap a sexy, red, velvet jumper with matching tinsel earrings, hope that they kept the receipt.

Tags: Festive faux pas, Lauren Bravo
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Beauty, Opinion

My Detox Diary days 5 and 6: Purifyne 7 day cleansing programme

By Andrea Petrou on December 10th, 2009

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It’s finally happened. Six days into my detox and I’m not hungry at all. In fact, I even have some of yesterday’s juice left over. Although I had a few more hours sleep than usual last night, Im fully alert and for the first time this includes mentally as well as physically. In fact, I can’t stop talking (bit of a problem as I work on my own from home).

Last night my hunger and resolve were tested to the max when I popped out for drinks at at restaurant with friends. If I’m honest I was dreading sitting there with my herbal teas while the smell of food drifted around me, and I even took two bottles of my juice out as my weapons of combat.

However, no matter how good the food looked and smelt, I didn’t even feel a pang of hunger, and the chips, which would have been previously ordered before I even sat down, failed to cast their evil temptation.

I’ve always been one of those girls who will happily share a bottle of wine with a mate and being in an environment where this was usually a must have, I worried that I would fail the challenge.

Although there was no alcohol involved on our table, there was also something smugly satisfying about seeing others around me struggling to get up as the drink took it’s hold. And if there’s something that this programme has made me realise, its that drinking tea and water on a night out isn’t really all that bad. In fact, I’m already looking forward to being able to wake up after a big night out without the usually hangover and fry up cravings.

However despite my lack of drinking my belly is saying something else. Over the course yesterday and today I’ve developed, what looks like a beer belly, which has replaced the flatness I spoke about earlier in the week.

As I said yesterday this is because some fruit and veg in the juices have high acidic values, which could temporarily increase stomach acidity with some people who are more sensitive and thus lead to bloating. However this is claimed to be a very rare side effect of detoxing and you can get bloating during a normal diet and even just living. This includes the simple reflex of inhaling as some people actually swallow more air in as a result of stress, or simply when they eat or drink. Chewing on gum and smoking can also make you inhale more air, aggravating the discomfort.

Whatever the reason, I’m really not feeling that comfortable about it. After speaking to the owner about my concerns she sent me some probiotics, which are said to neutralise the effects, and I’m hoping that once my juice intake subsides and the pills kick in I’ll loose my beer baby.

However, one of the main benefits, which wasn’t mentioned to me at the time of starting is, that after my initial grouches, I’m a lot calmer. I’ve not had road rage for two days and even my neighbours loud television hasn’t caused me to explode. When I asked Purifyne about this it confirmed that this was part of the cleansing programme. Apparently this is because as your body begins to change so does your overall attitude.

I’m not saying that once this detox finishes I’ll be a no drinking, peace making person, but while it lasts I have to admit it does feel quite good.

Read on tomorrow to hear about how my last day goes.

Tags: Detox, juice diet, Purifyne
Posted in Beauty, Opinion | No Comments »

Features, Opinion

Why we should think pink

By Andrea Petrou on December 10th, 2009

1 comment

Lauren Bravo writes: Ah, non-uniform days. However distant a memory those schooldays may be, it’s still a phrase that strikes terror into the heart of many a stylista. The pressure! The anxiety! The sweats! How to disguise the fact Mum bought it?

How to vamp it up enough for maximum school-gate exposure without actually risking expulsion? How to collect just the right amount of status-appropriate style kudos without taking it too far, upstaging the queen bully, and earning oneself a beating with a platform trainer in the hockey cupboard? As the first sartorial minefield we encounter in life, it’s also potentially the most crushing.

My own worst mufti memory dates from Year 7. Age: 12, social position: middling, nickname: ‘Boffin’. I’d already made some fairly risky non-uniform choices up to this point – fleece gilet, neon trainers, one cropped top too many. But this was a fashion error that earned me bullying like none before. The crime? I wore a pink top. It was Miss Selfridge, true, which was quite a credible statement in a room full of Tammy Girl and BHS. But it was pink. I may as well have embroidered “kick me hard and steal my gel pens” on the back of my PE kit.

Pink, to my middle school class, was strictly contraband. Pink was for girls, and not the kind of girls it was acceptable to be. It might sound alien to today’s generation of increasingly glam Topshop tweens, but in my day, real girls wore… um, khaki. Seriously. All Saints had a lot to answer for.

However, while I’ve resented those bullies for the last ten years, it seems now there may have been method in their meanness. Or at least, Emma and Abi Moore might think so. Backed by Justice Minister Bridget Prentice, their PinkStinks campaign has been hitting headlines with its backlash against the “pinkification” of marketing aimed at young girls. Campaigners are striving to promote positive role models in place of the sugar-coated gender stereotypes sold by advertisers, even calling for a Christmas boycott of the Early Learning Centre, one of the worst pink-peddling offenders.

But just how potent is pink? From Barbara Cartland to Barbie, it’s a colour with a lot to answer for (and not just my pre-teen bruises). Once out of Toys ‘R’ Us and into the adult realm, it may not be used to sell us princess paraphernalia anymore – but sometimes it isn’t so far off. Think of Marilyn in the rose-coloured satin, teaching us that a girl’s real best friends are Harry Winston and Tiffany. Molly Ringwald reinvented the colour with her ’80s DIY styling in Pretty in Pink (not to mention busting the myth that redheads should refrain), but there’s no escaping the Cinderella connotations when she snags her wealthy high school Prince Charming, Blaine.

And back in this decade, pink has been adopted by a parade of dubious female icons. Jordan. Paris Hilton. Paris Hilton’s dog. Kelly Brook in that Julien McDonald number. Even casting the patriarchy aside for a moment, pink still runs the risk of looking obvious. But however heavy the associations of princesses and Playboy, it finds its way onto the catwalk season after season – in 2008 it was neon splashes, this year we had dusky nudes, and next season looks set to be all about sugared almond shades. Designers love a challenge; maybe why they’re so keen to have a go at reclaiming a colour with such a bad rep. Pink is all over January’s Vogue, which teams pastel lace up with black leather and brothel creepers in an attempt to prove feminine strength doesn’t need to get lost among the frou-frou layers.

So perhaps, (for the sake of nifty alliteration), we should think of it as the pink paradox. The long established colour of all things feminine, pink has become both a banner and a curse – prescribed to us by advertisers, sold to us by celebs, reinvented for us by designers. As research, I put on my own favourite pink dress, an unashamedly girlie vintage lace mini-shift. “Why do I like this dress?” I asked myself. “Why why why? Is it because the colour, in mirroring my blushing, maidenly cheeks, projects an image of vulnerable femininity that might attract my fairytale match?” Possibly. But mainly, it’s because it was a fiver, and nobody has ever bullied me in the playground for wearing it.

While you ponder the issue, I’ll leave you with these words from Funny Face, summing up the paradox of pink – as 50s magazine editor Maggie Prescott dances round her rosy-hued office, she sings, “I wouldn’t presume to tell a woman what a woman oughtta think. But tell her if she’s gotta think: think pink…”

Tags: Paris Hilton, Pink, pink Barbie, Pink clothes, school uniform
Posted in Features, Opinion | 1 Comment »