On my first day at Central Saint Martins, after arriving aged 19 from the Highlands of Scotland, I was shocked to see that people dressed… just like me. While I couldn’t tell you what I was wearing, I can tell you that in the room full of people who I was going to spend the next four years with, not one of them looked like the fashion students I had seen on The Clothes Show. I felt robbed and relieved at the same time. For of course, very few of these people were from London either, and the only one who stood out was a glamorous Italian in a Prada skirt. Naturally. But over those four years and long beyond, all of us eventually figured out what we wanted to wear. For one that meant getting more casual as she fought against her fashion degree choices, for another she quickly became the ‘cool’ girl in emerging labels no one had yet heard of. I took a little longer.
To support myself through college I worked in retail, and I may have learnt more about clothes from those Saturday shifts than from my fellow students. I learnt that if I wore tight trousers and bent down a lot in the gentleman’s outfitters on Piccadilly where I worked, I sold more plus fours to rich, elderly Englishmen. I’m not proud of it but I needed to sell stuff. I then moved into the world of elevated high-street women’s fashion in Covent Garden and discovered the irresistible glory of designer denim, which has ruined me to this day.
Finally, I secured a place in a luxury store in Notting Hill, where I watched grown women cry if we didn’t have the ‘It’ bag in stock, or the coveted shoes of the season in her size. And I understood it. On that shop floor I saw for the first time that to some, clothes are emotional, and I appreciated it. I am yet to cry if I miss out on a jacket in my size. Swear, yes, be incensed, sure — but cry, not yet.
It was London that taught me that it is acceptable to be obsessed with clothing and getting dressed. That you can dress up-up for a boring Tuesday to lift your mood and while you may raise a smile from someone on the Central line, you otherwise go by unnoticed. For one of the joys of London is that you can wear anything and very rarely does anyone bat an eyelid. It means you can have great clothes days, and terrible clothes days, and it doesn’t matter. London allows for experimentation, the good and the bad. Unlike the style clichés of Paris or Milan, there isn’t a set uniform. There is a hybrid of cultural influences that is ingrained in the city, and you can immerse yourself in it as much or as little as you like.
What has that meant for my personal style now? Well, a fashion editor recently said to me: ‘I always think of you as someone who dresses up.’ In reality, I think that means that I always make an effort. Just in case. Even if that case is just bumping into an old friend or ex on the Tube at 8.30am, or the potential of an after-work drink some place unexpectedly fancy. Over 26 years, I have learnt that London is always a good clothing opportunity, and I will never let one pass me by.
Top tips for what to wear when you don’t know what to wear
Consider the occasion
If there is a dress code, respect it. If it’s an interview, research what people who currently work there wear. Don’t wear a suit and tie to a creative job.
Dress for yourself, always
Regardless of where you are, or who you are meeting, if you dress for them, you will never feel comfortable or at ease.
Ask yourself: how do you want to feel?
If I need to feel confident, I always wear a heel. If I want to feel sexy, it is a great pair of jeans. Identify your own emotional support pieces.
If still in doubt, reach for an old faithful
Know the items you feel your best in and always keep them in top condition. Nothing worse than pulling your favourite dress out of the wash basket.
