LIZ JONES FASHION THERAPY

LIZ JONES FASHION THERAPY


There has been a chill wind buffeting the fash pack at London Fashion Week these past few days. Everyone is talking about the sales blip at Burberry, when only a season or so ago, in a giant Perspex marquee, it had seemed the brand could do no wrong.
Christopher Bailey will be showing his collection for next spring this afternoon, and for the first time in years he must be feeling a little nervous.
I also wonder how long this expensive circus can continue. It’s cripplingly expensive for the designers to stage, and for the increasingly beleaguered glossy magazine press to travel to in such numbers. No wonder important shows like Emilia Wickstead and Maria Grachvogel had so many empty seats, and barely an A-list editor between them. Most shows are streamed live over the internet anyway.


But it would be a shame if this four-ring circus of New York, London, Milan and Paris were to disappear completely, if only for the fact I would miss gawping at the clothes worn not just in the front row but by all the bloggers standing at the back.
When I arrived at Fashion Week HQ, Somerset House, I found myself alongside a woman in a cape made from a carpet, and a man wearing a yellow crown.  My most worrying moment, though, was when I was almost barred from the DAKS show (lovely, with lots of cream, and the traditional DAKS check) first thing on Saturday morning.
‘No dogs allowed,’ said the security man. At first I thought he meant me, but then realised he meant my border collie. Phew.

M  y favourite collections so far have been the super-luxe dresses with tiny waists and full skirts (made from a heavy silk seersucker) at Emilia Wickstead, a woman who really should be conscripted to dress the Duchess of Cambridge full time.
Strong, too, was the very young, very colourful collection by Moschino’s diffusion line, Cheap & Chic: all embellished orange trouser suits and shorts — the sort of clothes Topshop should be doing, rather than becoming too tasteful and grown up (the direction it seems to be heading in now it has British
Vogue’s former fashion editor, Kate Phelan, at the helm).
Topshop’s Sunday show was just too sober. Too much Vogue, not enough naughty mischief! Do teenage girls really want an oversize mannish trouser suit? The black-and-white floral dress would look great on a granny!
Never mind allowing shoppers to mix and match catwalk items on the internet, I imagine shoppers will be customising these clothes, adding scribbles and that  all-important colour. Or just tuning in and turning off altogether . . .
Matthew Williamson’s 15th anniversary show, at which he launched his first shoe collection (12 styles that are flat, mid, high and strappy, and, of course, embellished), was inspired by India. It was all jewel colours, intricate beading, and pieces dip-dyed or covered in an explosion of powdered paint.
Williamson once only dressed the beautiful people in Ibiza, but now his clothes are much more: red carpet gowns like delirious hankies, sharp jackets and sexy cocktail dresses, though where you’d wear the jewelled olive biker jacket over a spangled swimsuit is anyone’s guess.
The invitation to Temperley London said: ‘Return to Elegance’ — and that is exactly what we got. Fresh from launching her triumphant diffusion line at John Lewis, Alice Temperley showed a collection that wasn’t suitable for work, or sexy enough for a date, but did feature some very Fifties, Hepburn-style dresses, with panels of sheer organza, that only need the wearer to add a yacht.
The message is clear: girls, we all need to rediscover our waists.
Vivienne Westwood showed her sanest collection in years: it was also very Fifties housewife, with demure wigs, and even grey streaking models’ hair. The dresses were deliciously draped, topped with the weirdest make-up all week: entirely green or pink faces.
Taking her bow in a spangled beanie hat, Westwood erected a banner calling for the end of global warming. How a fashion designer can preach to the rest of us is beyond me.
John Rocha, who presents fabulously wearable collections year in, year out, even departed from his usual monochrome and showed colourful millefeuille dresses lightened with sheer organza, in the most exquisite palette I’ve seen all week: pale lavender, ice blue and sugar pink.