THE LEGENDARY ANNA WINTOUR………..I get how she is feeling………
I love fashion. Next to writing, (and my family), it is the great love of my life. When I became a fashion addict, style was kept to a measured supply. When I progressed from teenage magazines to fashion editions, then it was strictly a once-a-month affair, and I couldn’t afford them all. I remember dashing out from my Saturday job at Warehouse to buy the first edition of Elle nearly 30 years ago, and we all pored over it in the Staff Room. Yasmin Le Bon was resplendent on the cover, and the age of the supermodel was calling. For the rest of your fashion inspiration, you had to watch Top of the Pops to see what Madonna was sporting, as MTV had yet to hit our shores. Shows like Dallas and Dynasty gave us all a shoulder pad fix, and of course you could go and watch the odd film to see what Molly Ringwald was wearing, or at a push, Demi Moore. But that my friends, is where it all ended. If you switched on a soap, it was a festival of British Home Stores and tasteless décor. Even the teenagers were appalling. Poor old Michelle Fowler was only supposed to be 16 and she had unfortunate skin, a bad perm and a yellow bobbly cardi. That was the way it was. Fashion was mystical. I remember dragging my London to a shop called American Classics on the King’s Road, to buy second hand Levi 501’s, long before Nick Kamen got his kit off in that launderette.
And now? Even I have to say that I am saturated with fashion. The Elle Fashion Cupboard now has its own persona. I know this because I read about it in the new issue. I still love the touch and feel of a new issue. It was only a few short years ago that The Fashion Cupboard was like Narnia – a fairytale. Remember when Carrie Bradshaw was allowed into the American Vogue Fashion Cupboard? She found the elusive Manolo Mary-Janes. We all gasped: oh, to be Carrie Bradshaw. It is kind of ironic that the show that brought fashion to the masses now looks like a lesson in history. These girls meet and have coffee. They use pay phones on the street. Carrie spends all of her money on shoes and unwittingly makes Jimmy Choo a global brand. How I miss that golden era.
I am reading about what to wear this summer when people were already wearing it last autumn – well, those with enough money to pay for it were. It will start snowing here, and I will be dreaming of sunshine, but watching what I should be wearing next winter online. Yes, I can be my own devil in Prada right next to Ms. Wintour. No-one gives a monkey’s about FROW anymore when you can watch it all unfold on your iPad, in your bedroom, in your Primark onesie. No wonder Anna is feeling a bit lost in her ivory tower. In 2014, everything is styled or merchandised to death. Even the parlours on Corrie look like B&Q adverts, with accent walls and vases with no flowers in. Never mind I Want My MTV, you can get Kelly Hoppen on QVC now. It’s not just JLo who is all about the thread count these days. We are all at it.
So here come’s the rub. I am blogging about being a bit bored of bloggers. I don’t want to know your 100 ways with a lipliner. I have read more bad blogs than I have had bad dates, and that is some number, let me tell you. When I go to peruse the magazine aisle I can see curiously airbrushed images on the style glossies, next to pictures of some celebrity’s cellulite ridden backside on the cover of a gossip weekly. Fantasy and reality move further apart. We now all know that even Kate Moss doesn’t look like Kate Moss anymore, and if she’s up the junction, what hope is there for me?
I have become fashion’s version of Miss Haversham. I am not on Instagram because I am nearly 45 and I am not great at posing for pictures any more. I don’t put pictures of my tea, as I still call it, on Facebook. I don’t Tweet pictures from designer stores, saying I must have this, that or the other. You can tell by the layout of this blog that I am a Past-It girl.
So you can dance in the sunshine of your online coverage. I don’t want to click and buy with my tablet. This year I am going to write letters, and visit shops, and go to the pictures. The words retro and vintage don’t even cover it. I am going back in style time, I feel like Marty McFly, but in Moschino. Feel free to join me.
And for all of those who are pondering on the title of this Blog, if you haven’t heard Buffalo Gals and you don’t know who Malcolm McLaren is then you haven’t lived.
And if you think I am putting on a pool slider, a kitten heel or a mule this summer, think again. Between the gossip rags and fashion mags there is a bit too much tit n’ tat for my liking.
But then again, I am nearly 45. What do I know?
P.S. Remember when being the coolest girl in school meant being a Saturday Girl in Warehouse, back when Top Shop meant tacky?