OUTFIT 1
‘These shoes are torture! Get them off me!’
I am hopping about in a pair of silver mules and the pain is off the scale. ‘These have to be the rubbish ones.’ And of the first pink, ruched mididress I try on?
‘It’s a copy of Victoria Beckham’s bestseller, but the colour looks cheap, it has red piping, and the sleeves are too fussy. There’s a long zip, though, which is her trademark. The bag is hideous.’
I cannot wait to rip this outfit off and throw it into a heap. I’m a fashion snob. Since my student days, I’ve always bought designer. My first purchases were a Joseph Tricot ‘snowflake’ sweater, a pair of Maud Frizon suede shoes and a pair of olive Calvin Klein hotpants, all from dear, departed Crocodile in Knightsbridge (I had a store card I didn’t manage to pay off for many, many years).
Why was I not always in Etam, Chelsea Girl, Wallis, Topshop or Gap? I was painfully shy and acne-ridden: expensive clothes were my armour. I would moon over Vogue, yearning to be able to afford Margaret Howell, carry a Mulberry bag (I could only afford a wallet) and snuggle in an Edina Ronay Fair Isle knit.
Answers below
When I became editor of a glossy, armed with my 40 per cent designer discount, I found my ‘look’: a Helmut Lang or Jil Sander trouser suit (I love a longer jacket, hate anything boxy), silver Manolo stilettos, mannish white shirts and, for night, sheer black Prada lace. My look was expensive (in 2001 a white Gucci shirt was £350; I also bought one in black) but I still have the suits, and they’re as good as new. My Prada clothes and bags, now a quarter of a century old, are brought out every time I have a hot date (ie, not often). I commend myself that my body hasn’t changed shape (though the suits are now a bit big). In designer, I feel I belong – no longer an introverted Essex girl.
The stylist on our shoot makes a good point. I’m tall, thin and know my own style, so need very few pieces and rarely make mistakes. If you’re unsure, feel the wrong shape, are overwhelmed by too much choice, you will doubtless buy numerous budget pieces in a scattergun approach to see what works. Over a decade, I’ll wager the high-street addict will have spent far more than me. But – and this is crucial – she will have had more fun.
These days, I do shop on the high street, but exclusively in Cos and Zara. I’d rather die than buy cheap shoes and bags. Just one or two expensive pieces can be passed on to those you love, not sold at a loss on Vinted. I know my nieces are after my Dries Van Noten gown and Gucci bag. Each time I look at my Bottega Veneta shoes with their spangled heels, I recall my wedding day and remember how far I have come from heartache.
However, it turns out the cheap-looking (‘I look like a salmon!’) dress is, in fact, a bona fide Victoria Beckham (£898). Damn! The painful sandals are by Paris Texas (£382), a label I’ve never heard of. The lookalike I thought was VB is by my favourite mid-price brand, Reiss (£230). It feels softer, the colour is classier, and I feel less like a Christmas tree. The cheap sandals, by Topshop (£38), I can bear for no more than five seconds. The two silver bags – Phase Eight, £89, and Jimmy Choo, £3,550, are identical twins.
So I fail the first test miserably.
ANSWERS
Left (dupe): Dress, reiss.com. Bag, phase-eight.com. Sandals, Topshop, asos.com.
Right (designer): Dress, Victoria Beckham, Mytheresa.com. Bag, Jimmy Choo, net-a-porter.com. Sandals, Paris Texas, yoox.com.
OUTFIT 2
Next, the stylist approaches holding my kryptonite: high-street denim. ‘Don’t you dare put me in M&S jeans! Food, yes, denim, no. You might as well bury me now.’ The second outfit is a burgundy jacket and wide, high-rise jeans with clogs.
I want to kill myself. High-rise jeans are for mums on the school run, while wide legs make me feel fat (I like skinny and bumster; my fave denim label is Mother). I know right away which is the expensive combo, as one grey sweater is cashmere, the second wool. But, surprise: I hate the designer outfit.
Answers below
The jeans are stiff and heavy. I am later told they cost £540, and are by Khaite, Meghan Markle’s go-to brand. The jacket, as crinkly as a Quality Street wrapper, is by Self-Portrait, at £790. ‘Look at the buttons!’ I keep shouting. ‘Hideous. Like the 1950s!’ The Chloé clogs are OK, but not comfortable for £690. The Proenza Schouler bag is £655, but resembles something bland you’d find in John Lewis.
The high-street jeans combo is almost as awful, but the New Look denim (£34.99) is softer. I guess correctly the jacket is M&S (£65), as I’d seen the new Autograph drop reviewed that week. The short-sleeved wool sweater is by Primark and is just as good as an identical one I’ve just bought in Zara – £22 as opposed to £35. The £28 Asos clogs: as comfy as slippers.
I’ve always assuaged my guilt over my love of labels by saying I have visited garment factories in Pakistan, Bangladesh and India and the horrors prompted me to put two child garment workers through school. To be clad in luxe labels gives me confidence. But after this humbling shoot, I realise I’ve been hoodwinked by the brands I love, but which don’t love me back. The most important lesson? Men never notice a label, even if you stick the silver Prada logo under their noses.
ANSWERS
Left (designer): Jacket, Self-portrait, mytheresa.com. Top, lilysilk.com. Jeans, khaite.com. Bag, Proenza Schouler, net-a-porter.com. Shoes, chloe.com.
Right (dupe): Jacket, marksandspencer.com. Top, primark.com. jeans, newlook.com. Bag, arket.com. Shoes, Glamorous, asos.com
PHOTOGRAPHS: VICTORIA ADAMSON.
HAIR: DAYNA VAUGHAN-TEAGUE USING OLAPLEX.
MAKE-UP: LEVI-JADE TAYLOR AT CAROL HAYES USING ANASTASIA BEVERLY HILLS
