This article is taken from the April 2026 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Get five issues for just £5.
Spring’s thing is the trench coat. I say this with a certain bone weariness, as — April showers being what they are — this has broadly been the case since said garment’s being taken up by the fair sex following the Great War. The Devil Wears Prada’s fash hag-in-chief Miranda Priestly famously drawls, “Florals for spring? Groundbreaking.” She might equally have eye-rolled: “Trenches for April? Rad.”
The Hollywood costume genius Adrian dressed Greta Garbo in a trench coat to emphasise her enigmatic eroticism for their first venture, the sex-saturated, silver-screen melodrama A Woman of Affairs (1928). A thousand Film Noir sophisticates followed suit, the blank slate of the trench gleaming against the grime of its sleazy city backdrops.
Audrey Hepburn canonised the look for the second half of the century, questing for her cat in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961) — rain- and emotion-drenched. As Michael Kors noted: “Put on a trench, you’re suddenly Audrey Hepburn … even if you’ve got red hair and you’re five-one.”
Or you could be Catherine Deneuve in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), Jane Fonda in Klute (1971), Meryl Streep in Kramer vs. Kramer (1979), and/or Lauren Hutton in American Gigolo (1980).
The most memorable IRL referents would be Hepburn again, collar popped, strolling along the Seine with Hubert Givenchy; and Lauren Bacall sporting Humphrey Bogart’s Aquascutum Kingsway to see off the rain at the Coronation in 1953, captured by Robert Capa.
More immediately, normcore’s scrubbing up as stealth wealth means that the trench has been the key cover-up for the last decade or so. This April, we are told we require a pimped version — this again being something said every spring.
We’re talking funnel-necked, cropped or ultra-long, substantial of shoulder or slipping off them, leather, suede, denim, sheer, glossy, multi-belted and/or drawstring (failing to convince for 4,000 quid at Gabriela Hearst, let alone Tu in Sainsbury’s).
I’m not anti-trench per se. Indeed, I boast two: one navy, for the not-so-great British weather; another emerald, to be donned with nautical stripes by way of spring pep. A third is on its way: lilac, shiny, vintage; I’m aiming for Dries van Noten vibes, prepared for Mollie Sugden in Are You Being Served?
And yet, I am frequently against the trench in practice; if only that — like so many so-called classics — it can be seriously bloody tricky not to look bland. Too poor in quality and one has the appearance of a tea bag.
Too military, and one resembles a far-right teenager off on a shooting spree. Too “with a twist” and matters get silly. Too massy and one is lost inside it, too fitted and the guise goes office insipid. Plus, how many days a year is the weather truly in-between, our climate now hurtling between freezing and scalding? I average three for which a trench is Goldilocks-style just right.
Finally, there is the fact that beige is, well, beige. It may look dreamy on Carolyn Bessette Kennedy-esque blondes. However, most of us will resemble something the cat sicked up. Ditto greige, sludge, putty, khaki and, current fash-pash, turd brown. For trad, read drab.
There are sundry more brightly-pigmented versions about, albeit not as many as you’d expect from what is a colour-flushed season. I’m intrigued by the long, fitted periwinkle and berry takes at the usually stodgily provincial Phase Eight (now £99 and £129 respectively, phaseeight.com).
Ralph Lauren boasts a jaunty, thigh-length, double-breasted version in Stem or Cruise Royale — grass green and cobalt to thee and me (£295, ralphlauren.co.uk).
Meanwhile, the trenches at Weekend Max Mara are exquisitely pimped: five female artist collaborations, curated by former Venice Biennale director Francesco Bonami, the most spenny being £1,410 (weekendmaxmara.com).
Displayed in the store’s Marylebone window, the rainbow print by Paola Pivi proved most eye-catching, and the best fillip for denim (£1,065). Tschabalala Self’s pink and yellow infinity flower (£1,120) will doubtless play well at the Chelsea Flower Show; Tai Shani’s black vinyl-effect at Torture Garden (£885).
However, my own coat crush is on a Max Mara collaboration with Bologna-based Chinese artist Shafei Xia (£950). The front is a straight, stone-hued rendition, its top two nipple-imitation buttons only revealed when the garment is done up. However, its back panel features a plush purple and pink watercolour of a woman morphing into a tiger, inspired by traditional Japanese and Chinese erotica. The effect is all calm surface, storm raging beneath. It’s beautiful, witty, practical and can be fitted with a charming hood (£110). Anyone up for some sugar daddy/mummy action, contact me via The Critic.
