Heirs to the g-string

Women over 40 after eight o'clock with glasses of wine.

Yes, there's some discussion of the husbands/partners/boyfriends...children.

But then we reflect on clothes. On fashion. We agree, every decade of style fascism has different victims. In particular we sigh over the most recent abomination in our collective memory: cut-off tops and hipsters, and the inevitable thong-underpant exposure it brought with it.

As traumatic as it was buying underpants back then (unless your backside was as pert and perfect as Kylie's), g-strings were the thin end of the wedge (no pun intended). Shaking our heads, we recalled how shapely women were suddenly seen publicly revealing quaking rolls of midriff and expanses of buttock. Not a good look. And in this country those love handles turned a serious shade of cyan when the chill wind blew.

Does our disdain signal body fascism?

The feeling was more disappointment that women could be so in thrall to trends that they fail to see what was in the mirror.

But on the high street back then it was damn hard to find a pair of trousers or jeans that passed the 'squat without showing your crack' test. The only alternative seemed to be elasticated waists from BHS. Muffin-top or mumsy?

My feeling is the backlash is finally here, bigger than ever: vintage.

I recently went to see the Valentino exhibition at Somerset House in London. As well as 101 lush frocks there were quotes from the master himself. This was a man who created gowns for individuals, at the cost of thousands of dollars, but what he says holds true for all women.

There should be an interaction between a woman and a garment; clothes are there to create the best of a woman's body and individual style - a woman should never be a victim of fashion.

There were gowns he'd designed in the 50s and only realised in the last ten years. That's style.


Sometimes your body, your hair, your colours simply don't correspond with what's filtered down from the catwalk onto the high street. We're so lucky to have a choice, now. Marilyn or Matalan? Corset or onesie?

There are a helluva a lot of boobs and bums to be celebrated in all their many shapes and sizes, not degraded by ill-suited trends aimed for a particular rail-thin figure that few females beyond their teens possess.

True, it's a bit harder when you don't have Julia Roberts' budget.

But let's hope that the vintage boom lives on: tea dresses; pencil skirts; maxi dresses, they are being revived because style transcends trends. Women seem to be remembering how to look their best and discovering their inner diva instead of their secret builder's bum.