Still a dedicated follower of fashion

Sep 16 2008 By Karren Brady

THE fashion business has had an odd two weeks. Mrs Beckham's show was a brilliant succession of pure line and slim seduction, but then you would hardly expect chunky stuff from the thinnest woman on the planet.

And there was scientific evidence that vertical stripes don't make the wearer look slim which may account for the fact that Newcastle United owner Mike Ashley looks an absurd fatty in the club's black-and-white striped shirt.

No getting away from it, I love fashion and wearing what I think is right on me for the right occasion.

This may come as a surprise to the female staff at Birmingham City because they dress beautifully for work and sometimes put me to shame in my jeans and comfortable top. I do, though, confine such wear to my office, well behind the scenes.

Comfort is a virtue I'd have laughed at in my 20s when the size of a pair of shoes was the last thing on my mind if I had to have them.

That's why my cupboards would hold an Imelda Marcos assortment of footwear, from sizes 3-and-a-half to five.

Was I bothered that they pinched as I tottered around them? Was I heck. If I felt I looked good in them, I'd have suffered a foot operation afterwards.

I had an early hatred of white high-heels, though. This might not have been caused by the sight of half-a-dozen blubbery girls wearing scuffed heels waiting for players outside Stoke City's ground, but probably was.

Other things I seriously dislike on display are trousers held up by elasticated waist bands, black bras under see-through blouses and leopard skin... indeed, any animal skin.

Why my image of the woman wearing this lot is Bette Midler, I'm not altogether sure, but it could be the memory of her in the hilarious film Ruthless People, in which the Divine Miss M is about as huggable as an alligator with toothache.

And another item that has me covering my eyes is white jeans.

The only woman in the world who can wear white jeans well is Liz Hurley which may be why she's rarely seen out of them. Baggy pants exposing the top of a thong are remarkably ugly. An eyeful of a thong being tortured by a fat bottom sitting on a bench and I feel distinctly queasy.

As my dreaded 40s approach, increasingly I go for simple lines and good tailoring. Clothes have to fit properly. I have a rule, too. Don't show a good portion at the top and bottom - one or the other, not both.

And by the way, never think that clothes don't matter. They are an expression of your personality.

Unhesitatingly, I'd judge a job applicant by his or her appearance. I could never, I am forced to admit, employ someone with giant earrings. These days, either a woman or a man.