Last weekend, an editor who shall remain nameless strode across my field of vision. “Ooh,” said another editor sitting next to me (we were in a tent in the Tuileries, waiting for the Chloé show to start), “She Who Will Remain Nameless is really working the leggings look.” And indeed, in black shirt, black men’s jacket, black pleated skirt, black leggings and little black brogues, she was.
She wasn’t the only one. Three major retailers – the fashion director of a department store group in America, the head buyer for a group in Asia and a woman who runs an extremely influential European boutique – not to mention the editor-in-chief of a very important Vogue, were also having legging moments. Then there were all the anonymous fashion followers hanging around outside the tents in their leggings – “leggings” meaning the totally opaque footless tights first popular in the early 1980s and now having a renaissance as an autumn/winter trend.
I suppose it was inevitable, given a) Madonna’s recent ubiquity courtesy of her new tour and the ad campaign for H&M; b) the fashion interest in all things 1980s, sparked by the ascension of Balenciaga to Most Influential Brand status and designer Nicolas Ghesquière’s fascination with his formative decade; and c) the plethora of stovepipe trousers and skinny jeans in autumn/winter collections. It’s but a short step from skinny jeans to leggings, after all, especially if the skinny jeans are being bought to be worn under a dress or tunic. When it comes to comfort and not-cutting-into-the-stomach-flab, leggings win, hands-down.
Yet I’m not convinced this is a good thing. One of the more positive aspects of the circus that is the ready-to-wear shows is the opportunity they present, twice a year, to judge the way trends proposed the season before work in reality. For while many fashion editors decide it is the better part of sartorial valour to opt out of the whole trend thing and adopt a uniform (see the American Vogue trio of Grace Coddington, Phyllis Posnick, Tonne Goodman and their ubiquitous black-trousers-and-white-shirts), many others feel it is their responsibility to practise what they preach and wear whatever they’re featuring.
And though some of these may be skinny model types, most of them are normal-sized women who have had multiple children and are of varying ages between 20 and 60. In other words, they’re a microcosm of the female population at large. If they look good in leggings, so will everyone else.
So do they? Hmmm. No.
Not because leggings are unflattering -- not because they call attention, surprise, to legs, and are thus not for those of the undelineated-thigh-and-calf variety. Actually, as a rule, thick black coverings make legs look better and, as with stretchy Lycra maternity dresses, actually underplay the size of the body part encased within. (Big ankles are another matter; since leggings cut the calf off at the ankle they are not a good idea for those whose lower leg slops over their foot.)
Rather, the problem with leggings is that no matter how of the moment they may be, they are actually anachronistic.
The whole look arose, if you remember (if you don’t, you are excused from reading this; it does not apply to you), because of dancers and yoga fanatics and aerobics obsessives – it was the 1980s, after all – who would go to an exercise class and emerge with whatever outdoor gear they had thrown on over their exercise gear for convenience.
Later people just started wearing exercise gear on non-exercise days to give their clothes a subtext of physicality (this is what happens in fashion; it’s all about reference).
These days even that is gone, lost in the shrouds of history and the realisation that gym stuff is better left in the gym. So what are you left with? Cold ankles.
Today leggings are inherently a wannabe thing, as in She Wants To Be 60s/80s-ish, and grown-up women should not be wannabes. After all, they’re already has-beens, as in She Has Been there before, and she should now know better.
I also fall into this category. My own personal legging moment came in the wake of the film Desperately Seeking Susan when I was in high school; I clearly remember stalking the streets of Washington DC in black leggings and a man’s oxford cloth shirt, feeling cool. Of course, I was 13, so I may be excused. Now I am three children and many years past 13.
Which brings me to one of my few hard and fast fashion rules: in a world in love with decade recycling, anyone who actually went through the fad the first time around and remembers it well enough to have flashbacks should stay away the second time round. This applies to all trends that would speak to a costume designer trying to visually date a movie. For example, giant shoulder pads, harem pants and fringed suede cowboy jackets.
This is why young celebrities such as Sienna Miller, Kelly Osbourne and Britney Spears can get away with wearing leggings, while older fashion editors cannot: the girls were in nappies when Madonna was pretending to be Like A Virgin and, on them, this is ironic historicism. For the rest of the world, heed Thomas Wolfe: in sartorial terms, as in emotional ones, you can’t go home again.