Fashion Victim: Giving the weather the cold shoulder

Jan 10 2008 by Emma Johnson, Liverpool Daily Post

CHANCES are that, as you read this, the weather is absolutely miserable.

If it is not actually raining drops the size of marbles, then it is damp, dark and depressing.

This is the reality of the British winter. Christmas cards and catalogues may paint an image of a country that spends a couple of months bathed in blankets of fresh, white snow but the truth of the matter is we might get a week or two – tops – of good winter weather where the air is crisp and icy and the sun shines through a cloudless sky. The rest of the time the weather is just the same as it was in the summer, spring and autumn only the temperature is about 30 degrees lower and it gets dark earlier.

It’s a pity, then, that fashion designers do not seem to take any notice of the prevailing weather conditions of this country.

Invariably, in summer, we are bombarded with floaty little sundresses, spaghetti straps and micro shorts. All of which – if last year’s summer is anything to go by – we will probably be able to wear for those three inexplicably hot and sunny days in May we usually get then retire them to the closet.

The A/W ranges are little more suited to the climate. Winter white coats (how good do they look splashed with mud by inconsiderate bus drivers?), three-quarter length sleeves (they really keep you warm, don’t they?) and pastel-coloured suede boots (suede boots!).

Victoria Beckham, left, appears to get around ever having her wardrobe dictated by the weather by having a limousine on stand-by at all times.

On a recent trip down Bond Street, Her Poshness, who has been lapping up the LA sunshine for the past few months and clearly forgotten what the weather is like back home, decided the best attire for shopping in the UK was a bum-skimming mini, bare legs, a flimsy cardigan and 5½-inch spiked Louboutin stilettos.

Her one concession to the fact that the mercury had dipped well below zero was a pair of leather racing gloves.

I am sure if I had a limo trail- ing me permanently I would do the same. Although, in our increasingly pedestrianised city, I am not sure how effective that would be – I don’t think even VB would get a pass to zip up Church Street in a Bentley (wouldn’t that be lovely, though?).

In the absence of a personal chauffeur, I am forced to pick each day’s outfit on the following criteria: Will it keep me warm? Will it keep me dry? Are the outer layers easily removed for when I go indoors and am melted by the tropical temperatures maintained by most high street stores? And . . . is it going to mess my hair up?

I wonder whether they have the same weather-induced fashion crises in hot countries.

Do fashionistas on Australia’s Gold Coast look longingly at Dolce and Gabbana’s floor-length military coats and oversized knitted Stella McCartney jumpers, knowing they will never be able to wear them?

Of course they don’t – they just throw another shrimp on the barbie and hit the beach.