Words that inspired me as an eleven year old, part 1: “I wanna be a lady in a flaaaah shop!” Audrey Hepburn as Eliza Doolittle, of course. Depending on your point of view, either a film where a man sells his daughter for a fiver, or what happens when a social climber with ‘ideas above her station’ meets a narcissistic anarchist with a pet project in mind. I was inspired by that tale of the girl who wanted to be better, who had ideas – something my parents were always scared I’d get – who was ambitious and took a chance to become all she could be.
Of course, in the meantime I’ve made all the excuses to fight against becoming a grown-up, believing like Alison in the breakfast club that ‘when you grow up your heart dies’ and sighing at my contemporaries’ conversations about mortgages and careers. I’ve lapped up the fast fashion from new look and river island until my ankles cracked from the stupid heels and my thighs caught hypothermia from wearing hotpants in February.
But recently… I know how old I am, and I’m fed up with hangovers and shared houses with slobs who can’t hold down a job. I want to grow up. And fortunately for me, fashion appears to be thinking the same way. Which makes sense as most of the current designers had their start at around the same time as me and are the same age – post punk grunge kids who never really expected there to be a future, so why grow up? But we made it to the future and most of us are still here, and somehow ripped jeans and a thrift store t-shirt just start to look sad after a while.
Boys seem to have picked up the sharp suit thing a little while back, and while a night out in any city center will show you that top shop et al are still doing a roaring trade in spray-on stripper kit, wandering round the sales in Liberty and jaeger made my eyebrows raise when I saw what the ‘not sold’ racks had to offer. 7in peep-toes with spikes? Really? You’ll do yourself a mischief madam, and no mistake! And even marked down, they’re still a bit primark but 5 times the price. And speaking of primark, while they’ve still got 417 varieties on the principle of a ‘jegging’, the rack that’s getting me excited isn’t the one promised by their ‘surgery look’ padded and push-up bras, it’s the one with the tailoring on. That’s proper ladylike ‘mad men’ grown-up frocks and suits in fabric that looks like tweed but can go in the tumble dryer. I feel more sexy and elegant but utterly appropriate in a pencil dress in a sober color with a slash of red lipstick than I ever did with my cleavage exposed and all the black eyeliner in the world. Harper’s bazaar is calling it the ‘new elegance’ and that works for me. You probably won’t see it in the pages of ‘more’ but let’s face it, that’s for kids.
I am, in fact, a lady. And don’t you forget it.
Image credit: paula marcina for marie-claire uk
