How to wear clothes articles - The Guardian
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I'd probably get lamped depending on the alchohol:blood level of the ladies 
It does make for an interesting night out anyways...
It does make for an interesting night out anyways...
finalfashion
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Terrific reads Helena! 
I like how she doesn't take it too seriously - most fashion journalism is so breathlessly serious, even while they're putting awful puns in the headlines
... I mean, any scrutiny of fashion and trends makes you realize how hilarious it is. I especially liked the one about where she talks about shopping "like taking a photo of Orlando Bloom into a bar and trying to find a perfect match"... that is so much like how I shop it's silly 
no wonder I never buy anything! 
I like how she doesn't take it too seriously - most fashion journalism is so breathlessly serious, even while they're putting awful puns in the headlines
... I mean, any scrutiny of fashion and trends makes you realize how hilarious it is. I especially liked the one about where she talks about shopping "like taking a photo of Orlando Bloom into a bar and trying to find a perfect match"... that is so much like how I shop it's silly no wonder I never buy anything! 
This would be so disappointing.... 
helena
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The bun
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday January 28, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]When I was at school - granted, this was many, many years ago, but I can just about remember - all the girls with style aspirations wore their hair in artfully dishevelled up-dos. Only we didn't call them up-dos; we called them "buns". In recent years, this simple, slightly bluestocking moniker has spookily disappeared from beauty writing, but back then we called a bun a bun.
Anyway. Observing the schoolgirls who share my bus in the morning these days, I have noticed that the bun now goes into decline around age 14; the older girls aspire to a sleeker, shinier, more overtly feminine-charm tone to their look - a troop of wannabe Mrs Beckhams. Old-fashioned as I am, I prefer the bun, which is why I am very pleased to note that, on the catwalk and premiere circuit at least, there is a definite move away from hair that looks as if it has been groomed with a Corby trouser press. Instead, the look of the moment is slightly wavy and aspires to look natural even when it's not.
This will be given momentum by spring 2006's more relaxed aesthetic: after winter's Hitchcock heroines and pencil skirts, think broderie anglaise and empire-line day dresses, which lend themselves more to artful messiness than to hair ironed into submission. Beneath the froth of seasonal trends, the undercurrent looks to be moving away from the military standards of grooming, of which ironed hair, along with year-round fake tans and everlasting French manicures, are part. The bun, with its "love interest in a French art-house movie" kind of appeal, may not be ready for the Oscar red carpet quite yet, but mark my words, it will soon be back on north London buses, which is a start.
The bun
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday January 28, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]When I was at school - granted, this was many, many years ago, but I can just about remember - all the girls with style aspirations wore their hair in artfully dishevelled up-dos. Only we didn't call them up-dos; we called them "buns". In recent years, this simple, slightly bluestocking moniker has spookily disappeared from beauty writing, but back then we called a bun a bun.
Anyway. Observing the schoolgirls who share my bus in the morning these days, I have noticed that the bun now goes into decline around age 14; the older girls aspire to a sleeker, shinier, more overtly feminine-charm tone to their look - a troop of wannabe Mrs Beckhams. Old-fashioned as I am, I prefer the bun, which is why I am very pleased to note that, on the catwalk and premiere circuit at least, there is a definite move away from hair that looks as if it has been groomed with a Corby trouser press. Instead, the look of the moment is slightly wavy and aspires to look natural even when it's not.
This will be given momentum by spring 2006's more relaxed aesthetic: after winter's Hitchcock heroines and pencil skirts, think broderie anglaise and empire-line day dresses, which lend themselves more to artful messiness than to hair ironed into submission. Beneath the froth of seasonal trends, the undercurrent looks to be moving away from the military standards of grooming, of which ironed hair, along with year-round fake tans and everlasting French manicures, are part. The bun, with its "love interest in a French art-house movie" kind of appeal, may not be ready for the Oscar red carpet quite yet, but mark my words, it will soon be back on north London buses, which is a start.
helena
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Starch enemies
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday January 21, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]Annoyingly, considering my job and all, my default state is one of scruffiness. Every morning, I go into battle with the forces of nature, dressing in ironed clothes and attempting to cheerlead my hair into expressing some semblance of enthusiasm for the day, rather than hanging limply around my face like still-drawn curtains.
But in the course of a day, like a garden left untended, my appearance swiftly reverts to nature. Hair falls into disunity and apathy; clothes rumple; make-up disappears (where does it go?); while the accumulated gubbins of the day (newspapers under the arm, pints of milk bulging out of handbag) do little for the overall image. There is not much I can do to combat this: lugging an extra bag with curling tongs and a clothes steamer might enable top-up grooming sessions, but a) I'm not sure I care quite enough for that, and b) adding to my already packhorse-like mound of bags and outer-garments is only going to make me look like even more of a bag lady.
All I can do, in the circumstances, is avoid clothes that make the situation worse. My love of crisp white shirts, for instance, has to be indulged vicariously, through photographs of Nicole Kidman looking starched; on me, the bit where I look all Donna Karan and efficient and fabulous only lasts for the quarter of an hour spent pushing a buggy through the park to nursery. I can't do jackets for indoor wear, personally, so I depend on knitwear. Trousers keep their shape much better, I have found, when ironed with a crease down the front; without this, they look like pyjamas by lunchtime. Generally, when dressing for a long day, you need to project: like an actor in stage make-up, your look needs a little extra definition in order for its message to still be heard come curtain call.
Starch enemies
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday January 21, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]Annoyingly, considering my job and all, my default state is one of scruffiness. Every morning, I go into battle with the forces of nature, dressing in ironed clothes and attempting to cheerlead my hair into expressing some semblance of enthusiasm for the day, rather than hanging limply around my face like still-drawn curtains.
But in the course of a day, like a garden left untended, my appearance swiftly reverts to nature. Hair falls into disunity and apathy; clothes rumple; make-up disappears (where does it go?); while the accumulated gubbins of the day (newspapers under the arm, pints of milk bulging out of handbag) do little for the overall image. There is not much I can do to combat this: lugging an extra bag with curling tongs and a clothes steamer might enable top-up grooming sessions, but a) I'm not sure I care quite enough for that, and b) adding to my already packhorse-like mound of bags and outer-garments is only going to make me look like even more of a bag lady.
All I can do, in the circumstances, is avoid clothes that make the situation worse. My love of crisp white shirts, for instance, has to be indulged vicariously, through photographs of Nicole Kidman looking starched; on me, the bit where I look all Donna Karan and efficient and fabulous only lasts for the quarter of an hour spent pushing a buggy through the park to nursery. I can't do jackets for indoor wear, personally, so I depend on knitwear. Trousers keep their shape much better, I have found, when ironed with a crease down the front; without this, they look like pyjamas by lunchtime. Generally, when dressing for a long day, you need to project: like an actor in stage make-up, your look needs a little extra definition in order for its message to still be heard come curtain call.
helena
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Cape fear
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday January 14, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]Observers of the cultural ratings of Little Britain will have noted that we are a nation of cads and bounders. Like love-struck teenagers, we profess never-ending devotion to each new obsession, only to distance ourselves with the calculated chill of politicians the moment the sunshine shifts to the other side of the street. Why, some commentators have been known to pronounce their latest crush as going up, and then change their verdict to going down after an indecently short interval.
Applied to fashion, this phenomenon can work against you if, foolish enough to believe the hype about waistcoats/wide belts/pencil skirts, you decide that a "must-have" is worth designer-level investment, only to find that must-haves turn into old news as fast as newsprint turns into chip paper. But the same rules can work in your favour, too: in the face of unwanted trends, be strong and hold your nerve, secure in the knowledge that, if they're ignored for long enough, they will eventually skulk off into the shadows.
Thus it is with me and capes. Capes and I have never got on, through two faults of my own. First, I am not tall or skinny enough. Sherlock Holmes looked good in his little mini-capes (very Burberry Prorsum), but then he mainlined cocaine three times a day, which is marvellous for keeping trim but no longer legal. Second, I am somehow always laden with clutter - not just handbags, but overspill bags - and cape-wearing does not permit luggage any more cumbersome than a clutch bag. In a cape, I look like a cross between a button mushroom and a baby bird learning to fly, elbows flapping wildly under the cape as I rummage for my purse. I'll be glad to see the back of the cape - because, yes, I was stupid enough to buy one, since you ask.
Cape fear
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday January 14, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]Observers of the cultural ratings of Little Britain will have noted that we are a nation of cads and bounders. Like love-struck teenagers, we profess never-ending devotion to each new obsession, only to distance ourselves with the calculated chill of politicians the moment the sunshine shifts to the other side of the street. Why, some commentators have been known to pronounce their latest crush as going up, and then change their verdict to going down after an indecently short interval.
Applied to fashion, this phenomenon can work against you if, foolish enough to believe the hype about waistcoats/wide belts/pencil skirts, you decide that a "must-have" is worth designer-level investment, only to find that must-haves turn into old news as fast as newsprint turns into chip paper. But the same rules can work in your favour, too: in the face of unwanted trends, be strong and hold your nerve, secure in the knowledge that, if they're ignored for long enough, they will eventually skulk off into the shadows.
Thus it is with me and capes. Capes and I have never got on, through two faults of my own. First, I am not tall or skinny enough. Sherlock Holmes looked good in his little mini-capes (very Burberry Prorsum), but then he mainlined cocaine three times a day, which is marvellous for keeping trim but no longer legal. Second, I am somehow always laden with clutter - not just handbags, but overspill bags - and cape-wearing does not permit luggage any more cumbersome than a clutch bag. In a cape, I look like a cross between a button mushroom and a baby bird learning to fly, elbows flapping wildly under the cape as I rummage for my purse. I'll be glad to see the back of the cape - because, yes, I was stupid enough to buy one, since you ask.
helena
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January dressing
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday January 7, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]It is a little known fact that the ritual of Twelfth Night applies to festive belles as well as Christmas trees. Sequin scarves should be packed away along with the fairy lights, for what looks charming in the twinkling lights of December looks cheap in the cold light of January. By the same token, wearing gold shoes to work - which last month was a badge of honour among those with no gaps in their high-powered social and professional schedules in which to go home and change - now suggests someone so befuddled by hangovers and post-party regret, they have confused their party shoes with their personality.
A few touches of cockle-warming decoration are still useful for raising morale on a dark morning - cosy textures, luxurious winter white knitwear, pearl buttons - but the art of January dressing revolves around keeping warm and disguising those Christmas pounds. Luckily, the two go hand in hand: as much as theologians might try to persuade me otherwise, it seems perfectly obvious to me that Christmas happens when it does in order that spare tyres might be hidden by the dark art of not taking off your coat until after lunch, when it is nearly dark. On days when this is not practical, the illusion of a still-svelte figure can be achieved by the following means, all tried and tested to be a great deal less effort than hauling yourself off to the gym. First, avoid anything tight. Sounds obvious, and yet squeezing into a certain pair of jeans just to prove you can is a common mistake. No one else knows these are the jeans that mean "I'm still thin, honest"; all they see are the taut thigh seams and the mince pie-shaped bulges. Second, use the pregnant woman's strategy: lots of black and lots of jewellery. Third, wear a knee-length skirt and high heels: calves, like forearms, are the last bit to get fat.
January dressing
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday January 7, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]It is a little known fact that the ritual of Twelfth Night applies to festive belles as well as Christmas trees. Sequin scarves should be packed away along with the fairy lights, for what looks charming in the twinkling lights of December looks cheap in the cold light of January. By the same token, wearing gold shoes to work - which last month was a badge of honour among those with no gaps in their high-powered social and professional schedules in which to go home and change - now suggests someone so befuddled by hangovers and post-party regret, they have confused their party shoes with their personality.
A few touches of cockle-warming decoration are still useful for raising morale on a dark morning - cosy textures, luxurious winter white knitwear, pearl buttons - but the art of January dressing revolves around keeping warm and disguising those Christmas pounds. Luckily, the two go hand in hand: as much as theologians might try to persuade me otherwise, it seems perfectly obvious to me that Christmas happens when it does in order that spare tyres might be hidden by the dark art of not taking off your coat until after lunch, when it is nearly dark. On days when this is not practical, the illusion of a still-svelte figure can be achieved by the following means, all tried and tested to be a great deal less effort than hauling yourself off to the gym. First, avoid anything tight. Sounds obvious, and yet squeezing into a certain pair of jeans just to prove you can is a common mistake. No one else knows these are the jeans that mean "I'm still thin, honest"; all they see are the taut thigh seams and the mince pie-shaped bulges. Second, use the pregnant woman's strategy: lots of black and lots of jewellery. Third, wear a knee-length skirt and high heels: calves, like forearms, are the last bit to get fat.
helena
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[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]Shoe beautiful
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday February 4, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]
You'll never guess what. It looks as if spending the rent money on barely-there five-inch stiletto Choo and Blahnik mules wasn't such a bright idea after all. Us girls, eh? Just goes to show that we should leave this investment business to the menfolk, and restrict our blowouts to the Lakeland catalogue.
The trouble is, the style of shoe that for some years was the very definition of desirability is going out of fashion. The Sexy Shoe, the kind that arches the sole and accentuates a bare ankle bone with tiny, Barbie-sized buckles; the kind that proclaims, "I may look like a solvent adult with £300 to spend on shoes, but inside I'm a fairy princess waiting to be rescued", is slipping from its pedestal. On the catwalk, this has long been evident: wedges and espadrilles are "in", while needle heels are outnumbered by chunky wooden ones. The dolls' house-scale beading and bows that adorned your classic, early-era LK Bennetts have been replaced by outsized wood beads or glass marbles.
Until recently, the sane world ignored this development: indeed, those of you now sighing with exasperation at the fecklessness of it all will be pleased to know that at least two British fashion editors still wear with pride elegant but decidedly un-cutting-edge kitten heels in the front row. But a glance at the new season's high street offerings confirms that a look that was until recently the preserve of try-hard fashion stylists - a chic outfit whose silhouette is set off-kilter by a galumphing great pair of shoes - is on the rise. In fact, it's only fair to warn you that I've fallen for a pair of glittery sandals with heels about as elegantly sculpted as a pound of cheddar. They're the sort of shoe a moody sixth-former in a glam rock band might wear, but I kind of love them.
[/FONT]
[FONT=arial,helvetica,sans-serif]Shoe beautiful
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday February 4, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]
You'll never guess what. It looks as if spending the rent money on barely-there five-inch stiletto Choo and Blahnik mules wasn't such a bright idea after all. Us girls, eh? Just goes to show that we should leave this investment business to the menfolk, and restrict our blowouts to the Lakeland catalogue.
The trouble is, the style of shoe that for some years was the very definition of desirability is going out of fashion. The Sexy Shoe, the kind that arches the sole and accentuates a bare ankle bone with tiny, Barbie-sized buckles; the kind that proclaims, "I may look like a solvent adult with £300 to spend on shoes, but inside I'm a fairy princess waiting to be rescued", is slipping from its pedestal. On the catwalk, this has long been evident: wedges and espadrilles are "in", while needle heels are outnumbered by chunky wooden ones. The dolls' house-scale beading and bows that adorned your classic, early-era LK Bennetts have been replaced by outsized wood beads or glass marbles.
Until recently, the sane world ignored this development: indeed, those of you now sighing with exasperation at the fecklessness of it all will be pleased to know that at least two British fashion editors still wear with pride elegant but decidedly un-cutting-edge kitten heels in the front row. But a glance at the new season's high street offerings confirms that a look that was until recently the preserve of try-hard fashion stylists - a chic outfit whose silhouette is set off-kilter by a galumphing great pair of shoes - is on the rise. In fact, it's only fair to warn you that I've fallen for a pair of glittery sandals with heels about as elegantly sculpted as a pound of cheddar. They're the sort of shoe a moody sixth-former in a glam rock band might wear, but I kind of love them.
[/FONT]
softgrey
flaunt the imperfection
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i am seriously resisting the chunky clunky shoe...
not to say that i won't admit that if i find a good one that it is good...
but generally speaking...
just not a fan...
it's the kind of thing (like grunge) that i think we will all look back at and go-what was i thinking?...
..
so i am trying to think ahead and avoid embarrassment later on...
...
...
not to say that i won't admit that if i find a good one that it is good...
but generally speaking...
just not a fan...
it's the kind of thing (like grunge) that i think we will all look back at and go-what was i thinking?...
..so i am trying to think ahead and avoid embarrassment later on...
......
helena
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well i am not sure how i feel about the chunky shoe.....I have a Dries pair which could be desribed as chunky...and I really like them. I have never been a fan of the really slim stiletto.....esp. of the pointed variety. But there is a cluncky line which I would draw....
QuirkyCool
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I totally overdid platforms in the 90's. they were my signature shoe LOL. It was way to recent for me.
But I do love those black Chloe platform pumps with the ankle ties...I'm sure never to be accosted by them in a store in Holland though.
But I do love those black Chloe platform pumps with the ankle ties...I'm sure never to be accosted by them in a store in Holland though.
fashionista-ta
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helena said:
Maybe it's just me, but my calves fluctuate noticeably with small gains and losses
helena
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How to wear clothes
Tough choice
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday March 18, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]'Elegance is good taste plus a dash of daring." So said Carmel Snow, the famously chic editor of Harper's Bazaar, three-quarters of a century ago. It sounds so simple, put like that ... and yet, this morning, as I opened my wardrobe and recited Ms Snow's words, I was still stumped. But it is a useful rule, especially when dealing with the challenge that, from my observations, seems to be stumping most of us this season: proportion.
Proportion and silhouette are among the most difficult bits of dressing to get right. Finding two colours that tone is kids' stuff, as simple as colouring-in, compared with getting the shape right, which calls for a sculptor's eye for a line. Usually, I think, we do it by unconsciously judging the shape you see against silhouettes ingrained in your mind's eye: so, in a certain dress, you might look in the mirror and know that you need to sweep up your hair to lengthen the line of your neck or wear chunky shoes to balance the skirt. After wearing the same style trousers for a while, you know automatically what heel height sets them off best and how low on your hip a sweater needs to come to achieve the leggiest effect.
The difficulty comes in a season such as this one, when we are wearing new shapes that we're not used to. The skinny jean, in particular, has thrown a lot of women off balance: there's a certain artlessness to the perfect skinny-jean-and-high-heel combination which belies the fact that it's mighty difficult to get right. You need a chunky heel, so that the line of your leg tapers naturally to the floor: too flimsy a shoe, and you look like an elephant on pointe. It will be easier next season, I promise. In the meantime, you need that dash of daring.
Tough choice
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday March 18, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]'Elegance is good taste plus a dash of daring." So said Carmel Snow, the famously chic editor of Harper's Bazaar, three-quarters of a century ago. It sounds so simple, put like that ... and yet, this morning, as I opened my wardrobe and recited Ms Snow's words, I was still stumped. But it is a useful rule, especially when dealing with the challenge that, from my observations, seems to be stumping most of us this season: proportion.
Proportion and silhouette are among the most difficult bits of dressing to get right. Finding two colours that tone is kids' stuff, as simple as colouring-in, compared with getting the shape right, which calls for a sculptor's eye for a line. Usually, I think, we do it by unconsciously judging the shape you see against silhouettes ingrained in your mind's eye: so, in a certain dress, you might look in the mirror and know that you need to sweep up your hair to lengthen the line of your neck or wear chunky shoes to balance the skirt. After wearing the same style trousers for a while, you know automatically what heel height sets them off best and how low on your hip a sweater needs to come to achieve the leggiest effect.
The difficulty comes in a season such as this one, when we are wearing new shapes that we're not used to. The skinny jean, in particular, has thrown a lot of women off balance: there's a certain artlessness to the perfect skinny-jean-and-high-heel combination which belies the fact that it's mighty difficult to get right. You need a chunky heel, so that the line of your leg tapers naturally to the floor: too flimsy a shoe, and you look like an elephant on pointe. It will be easier next season, I promise. In the meantime, you need that dash of daring.
helena
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In blush and blonde
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday March 11, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]There is no such colour as beige any more. The modern boutique stocks an Armani-toned kaleidoscope of subtly graded pale shades. Once the essence of no-nonsense workwear, these colours - if you can call them that - are now the height of luxury. Like blond hair, they are a symbol of a high-maintenance lifestyle.
The names of the new shades reflect the aspirational mood. Some are self-explanatory: oyster, ballet slipper pink, ivory. Others refer to an idealised world, so "blush" is the prettiest creamy pink, rather than an embarrassing beetroot, and "sand" is a shade of vanilla tinged with gold. Clearly, the beaches where fashion designers hang out in search of palette inspiration are not the dirty Colman's mustard colour that characterises the British seaside.
</IMG>As the fabrics and textures on the high street have become more varied and interesting, colours have accordingly become more subtle. Where once would have been rails of cotton or nylon in a dozen shades, now there are silks, satins, metallic linens, taffetas and chiffons. Pale shades remind us of skin - reflected in names such as blush and blond - so, as with skin, we are drawn to touch. And using these colours draws attention to the texture of our clothes.
It is not true that washed-out shades don't suit washed-out complexions. For every beige that makes you look seasick, you'll find an off-white that lights up your face. Before you bother with the queue for the changing room, it's worth taking a few garments to the best-lit mirror in the shop and holding them up to your face. I love watching people do this for that lightbulb moment when they find the right shade, suddenly suck in their cheeks and look all pleased with themselves. Who knew beige was so exciting?
In blush and blonde
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday March 11, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]There is no such colour as beige any more. The modern boutique stocks an Armani-toned kaleidoscope of subtly graded pale shades. Once the essence of no-nonsense workwear, these colours - if you can call them that - are now the height of luxury. Like blond hair, they are a symbol of a high-maintenance lifestyle.
The names of the new shades reflect the aspirational mood. Some are self-explanatory: oyster, ballet slipper pink, ivory. Others refer to an idealised world, so "blush" is the prettiest creamy pink, rather than an embarrassing beetroot, and "sand" is a shade of vanilla tinged with gold. Clearly, the beaches where fashion designers hang out in search of palette inspiration are not the dirty Colman's mustard colour that characterises the British seaside.
</IMG>As the fabrics and textures on the high street have become more varied and interesting, colours have accordingly become more subtle. Where once would have been rails of cotton or nylon in a dozen shades, now there are silks, satins, metallic linens, taffetas and chiffons. Pale shades remind us of skin - reflected in names such as blush and blond - so, as with skin, we are drawn to touch. And using these colours draws attention to the texture of our clothes.
It is not true that washed-out shades don't suit washed-out complexions. For every beige that makes you look seasick, you'll find an off-white that lights up your face. Before you bother with the queue for the changing room, it's worth taking a few garments to the best-lit mirror in the shop and holding them up to your face. I love watching people do this for that lightbulb moment when they find the right shade, suddenly suck in their cheeks and look all pleased with themselves. Who knew beige was so exciting?
helena
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Wrapping up for summer
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday March 4, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]Summer is a state of mind. In case you were labouring under any sweetly literal assumptions, let us be very clear that, in fashion, the concept has precious little to do with the weather. Summer is a season that begins in February and ends in July, when the first sign of a sale rail signals the change, to the trend-attuned, as surely as copper-tinged leaves do to season-watchers of a more naturalistic bent. Trying to marry a catwalk vision of breezy summer elegance with the reality of getting dressed for work in March can be tricky - can one really wear city shorts with opaque tights outside of Hoxton Square, one wonders? - so it is truly a happy event worth celebrating that, this year, designers have been uncharacteristically sympathetic to the brisk British climate.
You see, a key item this season is the summer coat. Not just a little jacket; a coat. I cannot claim neutrality here. On the contrary, I'm positively gung-ho about summer coats, primarily because I get so frustrated, at this time of year, with the common sight of women in a pretty get-up ruined by some frightful cardigan or (Lord help us) a fleece, because they got dressed and then realised - doh! - it's cold.
What to look for in a summer coat: it should be lightweight, obviously, and of a shape that looks good unbuttoned. Classic shapes are ideal: a trench, or a knee-length duster coat. Sand and oyster colours are very this season, as are corals and rose pinks; a print or floral, not too garish, is worth considering, since every mark won't show. Your benchmark should be something that will prettify jeans, T-shirt and Converse on a blowy Saturday but will also work over a dress for summer weddings. Go have a look: I can promise you, it's a lot more fun than trying on bikinis.
Wrapping up for summer
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday March 4, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]Summer is a state of mind. In case you were labouring under any sweetly literal assumptions, let us be very clear that, in fashion, the concept has precious little to do with the weather. Summer is a season that begins in February and ends in July, when the first sign of a sale rail signals the change, to the trend-attuned, as surely as copper-tinged leaves do to season-watchers of a more naturalistic bent. Trying to marry a catwalk vision of breezy summer elegance with the reality of getting dressed for work in March can be tricky - can one really wear city shorts with opaque tights outside of Hoxton Square, one wonders? - so it is truly a happy event worth celebrating that, this year, designers have been uncharacteristically sympathetic to the brisk British climate.
You see, a key item this season is the summer coat. Not just a little jacket; a coat. I cannot claim neutrality here. On the contrary, I'm positively gung-ho about summer coats, primarily because I get so frustrated, at this time of year, with the common sight of women in a pretty get-up ruined by some frightful cardigan or (Lord help us) a fleece, because they got dressed and then realised - doh! - it's cold.
What to look for in a summer coat: it should be lightweight, obviously, and of a shape that looks good unbuttoned. Classic shapes are ideal: a trench, or a knee-length duster coat. Sand and oyster colours are very this season, as are corals and rose pinks; a print or floral, not too garish, is worth considering, since every mark won't show. Your benchmark should be something that will prettify jeans, T-shirt and Converse on a blowy Saturday but will also work over a dress for summer weddings. Go have a look: I can promise you, it's a lot more fun than trying on bikinis.
helena
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How to wear clothes
Revival of pleated skirt
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday February 25, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]The pleated skirt has long been sartorial shorthand for frumphood. Why, if you're in a movie and you wear a pleated skirt, then no matter how mind-blowingly obvious your beauty, it's a proven fact that the male lead will fail to notice you until you whip off your glasses, shake out your hair and slowly unbutton your blouse. There is a stiffness to a pleated skirt that's about as approachable as a suit of armour: not since Thatcher's handbags has a supposedly feminine wardrobe item been so forbidding.
And yet the pleated skirt is enjoying a full-scale revival as a sophisticated fashion item. Championed by Miuccia Prada, it has become a key item for those who like to dress with a certain presence for work, but prefer their power-dressing to be of a more subtle variety than Gucci trouser suits. The pleated skirt - one part armour, one part traditional femininity - is bossy, but in a tongue-in-cheek way that makes it easier to get away with.
None of which deals with the important issue of whether pleated skirts make you look fat. Certainly, they maximise your curves: after all, designers put them on the catwalk to amplify the not-so-ample curves of their models. But, handled with care, they're more flattering than pencil skirts, which rely on a pert bottom. Unless you have a washboard stomach, look for pleats that start at the hip, not the waistband; choose wide pleats rather than sunray style, which create a stunning circle effect but are murder on the figure. Pair with a cinched-in waist if you have the shape for it; or cheat by wearing a long, slim top half (black polo neck, say) to contrast with the fullness of the skirt. To finish the look, you can add more volume on top of that - a swingy jacket or just a bold necklace - but something narrow is a wise move. Oh, and avoid wearing with a cardigan.
Revival of pleated skirt
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday February 25, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]The pleated skirt has long been sartorial shorthand for frumphood. Why, if you're in a movie and you wear a pleated skirt, then no matter how mind-blowingly obvious your beauty, it's a proven fact that the male lead will fail to notice you until you whip off your glasses, shake out your hair and slowly unbutton your blouse. There is a stiffness to a pleated skirt that's about as approachable as a suit of armour: not since Thatcher's handbags has a supposedly feminine wardrobe item been so forbidding.
And yet the pleated skirt is enjoying a full-scale revival as a sophisticated fashion item. Championed by Miuccia Prada, it has become a key item for those who like to dress with a certain presence for work, but prefer their power-dressing to be of a more subtle variety than Gucci trouser suits. The pleated skirt - one part armour, one part traditional femininity - is bossy, but in a tongue-in-cheek way that makes it easier to get away with.
None of which deals with the important issue of whether pleated skirts make you look fat. Certainly, they maximise your curves: after all, designers put them on the catwalk to amplify the not-so-ample curves of their models. But, handled with care, they're more flattering than pencil skirts, which rely on a pert bottom. Unless you have a washboard stomach, look for pleats that start at the hip, not the waistband; choose wide pleats rather than sunray style, which create a stunning circle effect but are murder on the figure. Pair with a cinched-in waist if you have the shape for it; or cheat by wearing a long, slim top half (black polo neck, say) to contrast with the fullness of the skirt. To finish the look, you can add more volume on top of that - a swingy jacket or just a bold necklace - but something narrow is a wise move. Oh, and avoid wearing with a cardigan.
QuirkyCool
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Thank you for updating Helena...I've missed her;I really enjoy her writing even when I disagree/can't relate 
.More often than not,I'm sitting here nodding...but I left the pleated skirts behind with school uniform and they won't be resurrected in this lifetime,not by me
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.More often than not,I'm sitting here nodding...but I left the pleated skirts behind with school uniform and they won't be resurrected in this lifetime,not by me .Similar Threads
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