Colour so good it’s edible. You want to eat it. Candy shop-shades of cerise and red, yellow and electric blue sit alongside a palette cleanser of pure, bridal white. Roksanda always feels super polished. These clothes look expensive, glam, and

Topical *and* political: the show notes left on our seats at the Antonio Berardi show were simple and to the point: a quote from Roosevelt reminding us all that we, too, are all immigrants somewhere in our family timeline. And this was

More avant garde adventures with Mr Chalayan. Bit of a lie actually, the first half of the show was actually quite "normal" for the cerebral designer - normal in the sense it was real clothes, a study in brilliantly cut

The set at Anya Hindmarch was a house. Notes called it a symphony to suburbia. Having come from suburbia, I can attest that this is actually very much unlike suburbia, which is entirely depressing, and this was not depressing at

More riffs on Britishness at Margaret Howell. It's the fashion equivalent of a warm bath - you always sort of know what you're getting, but it doesn’t make it any less pleasurable. Plenty to like here. A nice silhouette. There

Stream these films immediately: Mystic Pizza, Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink. Tragi-excellent American high school films celebrating simpler times, where girls dressed up in shiny hi-tops and bombers to flirt with boys in sporty cars. More of this later. Mr Giorgio Armani is

In no particular order: Soho, nightclub, marabou, bustier, supermodel. So far, so us. Now, we could delve deeper into the inspiration - Corinne Day, Madame Jojo's, Revuebar, the days before Instagram - but, quite frankly, all you really need to

A distinct whiff of cowboy at Versus Versace today. Cowboys at the beach? How else to explain the appearance of a speedo with “VERSUS” spelt out in diamante on the behind? If anyone can get away with it, it’s Donatella. The lady

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Few women (or men, for that matter) could convince us to raise ourselves from a state best described as “recently deceased” and haul ourselves to central London of a Sunday morning, but luckily, Mary Katrantzou happens to be one of them. I’m