5 MARCH 2023

Spring
fashion
special
QUILTY
PLEASURES
WILL YOU
WEAR THE
DUVET DRESS?
SUITS
YOU, SIR
MEET THE
NEW FASHION
DANDIES
AB FAB!
INSIDE THE
HOME OF
LONDON’S MOST
FABULOUS PR

Gigi NO SWEATPANTS
IN PARIS
DO YOU DRESS
LIKE THE CITY

Hadid
THE STORY OF
YOU’RE IN?

A SUPERMODEL
PHOTOGRAPHED BY YULIA GORBACHENKO
 Spring fashion special
What makes a supermodel?
GIGI HADID
DOES IT ALL The word became common parlance in
the Nineties thanks to Cindy, Naomi,
54 Linda and co, and became synonymous
with a certain type of woman — one
who famously wouldn’t get out of bed
for less than $10,000. These days, what
makes a supermodel can mean many
things — but they’ve certainly had to
diversify. Beauty ranges, film roles,
activism — these girls do it all, and our
cover star, Gigi Hadid, is no different.
Currently presenting Next in Fashion,
a TV talent show for fashion designers,
she also runs her own fashion brand,
Guest in Residence, as well as walking
the catwalks of Milan and Paris —
which is where I last saw her, striding
past me at the Stella McCartney show.
Ellie Austin met her in New York to
112
FABULOUS
talk modelling and motherhood —
read the interview and swoon at our
FINDS OF A
FASHION PR
exclusive shoot on page 54.
Speaking of Milan and Paris, there’s
something strange going on with the

70
NEW SEASON
fashion set — and it involves a camel
coat. The drip-down effect of The Row,
the luxe label run by former child
COLLECTIONS
stars the Olsen twins, means that
women everywhere are all wearing
the same “stealth wealth” look. On
page 38 Marisa Meltzer investigates
the phenomenon of the famously
publicity-shy sisters. But what to wear
if black and camel are not your thing?
Times Radio’s Fi Glover and Jane
Mark C O’Flaherty, Ophelia Wynne, Alex Dobé, Ben Parks

Garvey bravely road tested the high

street trends for us — and had a
brilliant laugh while doing so. Turn to
page 94 to see them in action.
Hopefully there’s everything you
need to get dressed this season in this,
your spring fashion special of Style —
from wear-with-everything trenches to,
94
JANE AND FI
yes, a “duvet dress”. OK, so maybe that
one’s not for everyone. ■ @stylelaura
HIT THE
HIGH STREET
Laura Atkinson, editor

ON THE COVER (AND TOP LEFT) GIGI HADID PHOTOGRAPH YULIA GORBACHENKO STYLING NATASHA ROYT
CREAM CREWNECK JUMPER, £228, CREAM SHORT-SLEEVE POLO JUMPER, £198, NAVY POLO JUMPER, £370, AND NAVY CREW NECK JUMPER (ROUND HER WAIST), £228, GUEST IN RESIDENCE. KNICKERS, £32, COMMANDO. TIGHTS, £35, WOLFORD

EDITOR LAURA ATKINSON DEPUTY EDITOR CHARLOTTE WILLIAMSON ART DIRECTOR ANDREW BARLOW FASHION DIRECTOR KAREN DACRE BEAUTY DIRECTOR SARAH JOSSEL ACTING BEAUTY DIRECTOR PHOEBE MCDOWELL
FEATURES EDITOR PRIYA ELAN ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR SCARLETT RUSSELL JEWELLERY DIRECTOR JESSICA DIAMOND ASSOCIATE FASHION DIRECTOR VERITY PARKER FASHION AND MERCHANDISE EDITOR FLOSSIE SAUNDERS
BOOKINGS DIRECTOR AND CREATIVE PRODUCER LEILA HARTLEY ACTING BOOKINGS DIRECTOR AND CREATIVE PRODUCER JESSICA HARRISON PICTURE EDITOR CATHERINE PYKETT-COMBES ACTING PICTURE EDITOR LORI LEFTEROVA
SENIOR DESIGNER ANDY TAYLOR JUNIOR FASHION EDITOR HELEN ATKIN STAFF WRITER AND EDITORIAL ASSISTANT ROISIN KELLY CONTRIBUTING EDITOR ALICE KEMP-HABIB CHIEF SUB-EDITOR SOPHIE FAVELL SENIOR SUB-EDITOR JANE MCDONALD

© Times Media Ltd, 2023. Published and licensed by Times Media Ltd, 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF (020 7782 5000). Printed by Prinovis UK Ltd, Liverpool. Not to be sold separately

The Sunday Times Style • 23

 The big fashion
barometer
Fashion! Beauty! People! Things! Welcome to your new season
guide to the stuff everyone will be talking about. Do keep up
Edited by Karen Dacre Shopping by Helen Atkin

Plum spot
When the poet Jenny Joseph wrote, “When I am an
old woman I shall wear purple/ With a red hat which
doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me,” she had fashion
anarchy in mind. But this season lilac has emerged
as the trend all generations can get on board with.
Whether you go for mauve gloves with a bag in an
opposing shade of scarlet (they did it at the fashions:
it’s a thing) or do as Kim Jones did at Fendi and plump
Getty Images

for a violet belt as a finishing touch to a cream look,

the colour really is purple. Want to go a step further?
Adorn your mutt in mauve (see top right)!

The Sunday Times Style • 25

 The Barometer
2 3

ALTUZARRA
6

11
9
10

Think long denim

skirts, stomping
leather boots
and a gig-friendly
12 handbag you can
use for the office 15

17
OTTOLINGER

14

13 16

Grown-up grunge
1 Trombone link chain and diamond pendant, £3,800, lucydelius.co. 2 Rugby shirt, £45, levi.com. 3 Pearl necklace, £450, mizukijewels.com.
4 Bucket hat, £15, tkmaxx.com. 5 Crop cardigan, £540, knwls.com. 6 Move Uno Multi ring, £1,825, messika.com. 7 Dress, £490, Acne
Getty Images

Studios; net-a-porter.com. 8 Trench, £830, herno.com. 9 Tank top, £585, isabelmarant.com. 10 Bag, £1,520, khaite.com. 11 Wrap skirt (part
of set with trousers), £165, bimbaylola.com. 12 Boots, £1,400, celine.com. 13 Bag, £1,900, miumiu.com. 14 Denim skirt, £98, freepeople.
com. 15 Top, £450, 16arlington.co.uk. 16 Top, price on application, louisvuitton.com. 17 Long cardigan, £1,030, missoni.com

The Sunday Times Style • 27

The Barometer
Do you want a
flake in that, love?
The British seaside, with its 99s, stripy
deckchairs and bubblegum-popping teens in
denim minis, will get plenty of airtime this season
thanks to Dreamland, a new comedy series created
by Sharon Horgan and set in Margate with Lily
Allen (below) in the lead. It won’t be hitting screens
for a few weeks yet, but on-set snaps are already
providing wardrobe inspiration. If the European-
seaside look is Breton tops and billowing white
linen, the British equivalent is worn-in band
T-shirts, sawn-off denim and plenty of attitude.
Chunky gold hoops and retro pool slides
will also make a big splash. Earrings, £140,
monicavinader.com. T-shirt, £40,
bbcicecream.eu. Shorts, £220,
Isabel Marant Étoile, isabelmarant.com

The bland
and the beautiful
Put down the frills: now is no time to be extra. Yes,
“blanding” is the new high-fashion pursuit. The
movement is led by Burberry, which, in a rebrand
masterminded by its new designer, Daniel Lee, has
ditched its Peter Saville-designed lettering in favour of
a “basic” serif font. Hot on its heels, Phoebe Philo’s
soon-to-launch eponymous label also has a logo that is
a masterclass in understatement. (Our resident font
geek, Andrew, has observed it to be an excellent match
for Times New Roman.) For your wardrobes, the new
blanding boom means unremarkable trench coats
(the more expensive the better, natch) and simple
(but beautifully made) handbags — no big logos allowed.
Show-offs need not apply. Trench coat, £650,
studionicholson.com. Tote, £415, apcstore.co.uk

Best in show:
the rosette is
on the rise
Not since Carrie Bradshaw’s
“and I got to thinking …”
heyday has the Crufts-
approved corsage enjoyed such
lofty fashion status. Bradshaw
DRIES VAN NOTEN

liked hers big and bold; the

spring/summer 2023 breed is
a whole lot more versatile,
giving titivation to jackets and
Getty Images, Shutterstock, Sky

serving as a structural detail on

flowing gowns (as seen at Dries
Van Noten). IRL the corsage
ACNE STUDIOS

can be worn as everything

from a brooch to a belt. But
is it a style winner? The
jury is still out.

28 • The Sunday Times Style

 The Barometer
1

9
MAX MARA

Pastels, but as
you’ve never seen 10
them before — this
season’s palette
11 is sweet with a
side order of
sophistication

12

13
15 17
BOTTEGA VENETA

14

16

Candy shop
1 Minidress, £795, 16arlington.co.uk. 2 Bag, £2,240, bottegaveneta.com. 3 Earrings, £560, fendi.com. 4 Backless jacket, £1,190,
victoriabeckham.com. 5 Jacket, £790, sportmax.com. 6 Faux-leather miniskirt, £340, Rejina Pyo, brownsfashion.com. 7 Trousers, £550,
Getty Images

victoriabeckham.com. 8 Dress, £1,550, anestcollective.com. 9 Shorts, £295, joseph-fashion.com. 10 Bag, £395, strathberry.com.
11 Sandals, £960, ferragamo.com. 12 Sunglasses, £99, kurtgeiger.com. 13 Trousers, £95, and 14 jacket, £140, Selected Femme,
anthropologie.com. 15 Bag, £1,600, gucci.com. 16 Mules, £350, wandler.com. 17 Faux-leather dress, £620, Proenza Schouler, farfetch.com

The Sunday Times Style • 31

 The Barometer

Heating up I bet that you

▲ A LITTLE LIFE
ONE-UPMANSHIP
look good on
Tickets for the Hanya the dancefloor
Yanagihara play starring In this age of smartphone
James Norton are more in cameras and TikTok routines,
demand among fashion having your photo taken by a
editors than a vintage Birkin real-life photographer while
▲ THE NORMCORE sweating it out with your mates at
HAIR CLIP a club night or gig seems like an
The street-style crew are antiquated idea. But just like indie
picking them up at the sleaze, it’s back with a bang. The
local pharmacy along New York photographer Matt rty for the art
with their La Roche-Posay The opening pa
Weinberger is leading the charge, Their Vices
show Girls and
with a column in Paper magazine
and his name down at every fashion
▲ SOCKET ART party worth going to. Weinberger
Eye sockets, that is. specialises in night-time revelry
Swipe a line of bold and off-duty supermodels,
colour along yours and go naturally, and to get your own
perfect shots he advises throwing
yourself into the action. “The best
images transcend the moment and
capture an emotion that feels
▲ HELLO, DOILY universally relatable,” he tells Style.
As seen at new New York “The ultimate party photo captures
something greater than just what Matt Weinb
hotspot Nine Orchard, erger
the de rigueur way to is in the frame of the picture.”
serve brunch right now
is on a paper doily

Cooling down

TOM FORD
▼ BREAD & ▼ BLUNDSTONE BRAGGING
BUTTER WINE Are the posh-adored
We’ve moved outdoorsy boots the
on: Nouveau new pashminas?
is the brand Answers on a postcard
to impress
your friends
Matt Weinberger, Getty Images, Hero Entertainment Group, Imax Tree, Josh Arnold, Flossie Saunders

with now. The

Pot Luck pét
nat is our fave

eternal_overshare

▼ RING LIGHTS
Ovah. Influencers are
investing in frosted
window film to get the
best selfie light
*adds to Amazon basket* Feel the call of the disco ball
The sequined dress is back and this time we know
it’s for real (see what we did there?). Certainly it’s no
happy accident. Donna Summer, who died in 2012,
▼ THE ETERNAL OVERSHARE features in two films this year (Love to Love You, Donna
Sharing an Instagram Summer, co-directed by Summer’s daughter Brooklyn
MISSONI

story you’ve been Sudano; and Spinning Gold (above), Timothy Scott
tagged in is one thing, Bogart’s deep dive on Casablanca Records). If there is
but sharing the share? a time to dress like a disco ball, this is definitely it.
The new thanking for Ready to take one for a spin? See Tom Ford, 16Arlington
a thank you note and Chloé for inspiration.

The Sunday Times Style • 35

 Power pears This spring’s most desirable
gemstones are a (pear) cut above
1

Edit Jessica Diamond

12

11

10

3
9

7
6

Main picture Ring in yellow gold with crystal, £980, Yvonne Léon, farfetch.com. Heart bracelet in white and yellow gold, £2,255, Yvonne Léon, matchesfashion.com.
1 Metamorphosis Prelude necklace and brooch in white, yellow and rose gold with diamonds and light yellow fancy diamond, price on application, debeers.com.
2 Joy diamond ring in yellow gold, £3,110, messika.com. 3 Hue 007 pendant in rose gold with sapphires, £2,600, harveyowen.com. 4 Double diamond huggie in
yellow gold, £450, Métier by Tomfoolery, finematter.com. 5 Sweetheart signet ring in yellow gold with sapphire and diamond, £3,335, Gemella,
net-a-porter.com. 6 Ring in yellow gold with sapphire, £1,780, nadineaysoy.com. 7 Pear drop hoop in yellow gold with emerald and diamonds, £420, otiumberg.com.
8 Ignite studs in yellow gold with citrines, £1,700, fernandojorge.co.uk. 9 Diamonds by the Yard necklace in yellow gold, £1,200, Elsa Peretti for Tiffany & Co,
tiffany.co.uk. 10 Joséphine Ronde d’Aigrettes ring in white gold with aquamarine and diamonds, £3,970, chaumet.com. 11 Wave band in yellow gold with diamond,
£3,000, jessiethomasjewellery.com. 12 Rain Droplet solitaire necklace in yellow gold with lab-grown diamond, £1,350, lylies.com

36 • The Sunday Times Style

 The cult of
THE ROW

38 • The Sunday Times Style

 They don’t give interviews, they
charge £300 for a T-shirt – and
everyone from Meghan to
Katie Holmes is a fan. So how
did two former child stars end
up running one of America’s
most sought-after luxury labels?
Marisa Meltzer reports

On a recent trip to Paris, the thing I bought that

inspired the most envy was not tuberose soap from Buly
or linen duvet covers from Merci. In fact, the item was not
French at all but American. It was a pair of mesh slippers
in a dark shade of blue by The Row, purchased from the
resale company Resee for about €200, a third of what
they originally sold for. One friend in a group chat said
that if she wore the same size shoes as me, she would
murder me for them. I’m not entirely sure she was joking.
Welcome to the cult of The Row, a label established in
2006 by former child stars Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen
selling T-shirts for a couple of hundred dollars. Now?
Their £3,000 coats are worn by Katie Holmes and the
Duchess of Sussex, fashion editors will only carry their
unbranded £2,000 handbags and they are the most
sought-after American luxury fashion label in decades.
No celebrity is quite like the Olsens, who are 36 years
old and have more in common with Greta Garbo than
Kim Kardashian. After starring in the hit sitcom Full
House (the twins took joint ownership of the role of
Michelle Tanner when they were six months old), they
made millions from a cottage industry of direct-to-video This picture Ashley, left, and Mary-Kate Olsen.
entertainment. In their teens they evolved into real Opposite The Row’s spring/summer 2023 collection
fashion stars owing to their devotion to vintage Chanel
couture, statement fine jewellery and lavish public
smoking. Unapologetic smoking is a key part of their Row’s monthly playlists on Spotify, heavy on songs
personal brand: Mary-Kate’s 2015 wedding to her now that are cool but not trendy (Aphex Twin, not Olivia
ex-husband Olivier Sarkozy included bowls of cigarettes Rodrigo), are also a source of inspiration. Their boutiques
for guests. (No word on whether Ashley’s recent small have unusual details such as a pool in the Los Angeles
wedding to her longtime partner, Louis Eisner, included location. The New York store takes up an entire Upper
them. We, the public, will probably never know.) East Side brownstone.
The Olsens have never used their names to drive Lots of young celebrities embrace fashion and many,
awareness of the brand. Quite the opposite. They are like the Olsens, start their own lines. But this isn’t some
shrouded in anonymity, which has become key to their glorified hobby for them. The Olsens are said to be
success. “By not making it about them, it’s all about hands-on bosses who go to the office every day (they
them. If they were promoting it a lot, the value would are often papped taking smoking breaks outside), perfec-
be in how many items they could sell every time they tionists who aren’t monstrous — their small team of
posted on social media,” says Lauren Sherman, an Amer- employees tend to stay for a long time and are a close
ican fashion journalist. “Instead, people buy it because bunch. “They must be pretty nice because people who
it’s good, and the fact that these strange, mysterious have worked there, even if they complain, never have
women — who we were once so familiar with — are anything too terrible to say,” one fashion editor says.
behind it makes it more intriguing.” And then there’s their press strategy, which is basically
For fans, every glimpse into the quirky world they non-existent. They almost never grant interviews, never
created is worth dissecting. At their fashion shows, held speak about their private lives, and the designers’ only
in New York and Paris, there are always parting gifts, social media is The Row’s official account, which mostly
such as a silver tray of tasteful figs or coffee served in arti- posts photos of famous works of art. The downside of all
sanal mugs, that are certain to get guests in a tizz. The that anonymity is that “the product needed to stand on

The Sunday Times Style • 39

Above, from left The Row’s London store; Sienna Miller wore The Row in Netflix’s Anatomy of a Scandal; Cate Blanchett as Lydia Tár. Below, from
top The brand’s fans include Jennifer Lawrence, Claire Rose Cliteur, TyLynn Nguyen, the New York editor Lindsay Peoples and Margot Robbie
its own and warrant its own legitimacy”, says April
Hennig, the chief merchandising officer at the luxury
fashion retailer Moda Operandi. Over the years, she says,
the brand developed a reputation among industry
insiders for being the under-the-radar source for
luxurious investment pieces that stand the test of
time. “Nothing is unique any more, everything is
commodified. The Row has managed to take
commodities — T-shirts, jeans, sweaters, boots —
and make them feel special through a mix of
quality materials, exacting design and eye-
popping prices,” Sherman says (the brand offers
T-shirts for £300 and plain cashmere sweaters for
upwards of £1,000). In marketing, she explains,
there is the idea of the price-value equation: do
consumers think your product is worth the price?
“The Row has nailed that equation.”
The brand taps into the idea of wealth. More
specifically, of a woman of means who doesn’t want
loud logos or streetwear or recognisable catwalk
pieces but, rather, quiet luxury. It’s something
steeped in ideas of class (which is a Gen Z obses-
sion — look up “old money aesthetic” on TikTok).
“So much fashion doesn’t feel exclusive any more
but The Row does. I see a lot of wealthy women in
Los Angeles wearing The Row sweaters with
Danielle Sherman necklaces and High Sport pants.
That’s the current look of an in-the-know lady from
Brentwood,” says Sherman, who owns a couple of
the brand’s sweaters, a skirt, blazer, coat, jeans,
one bag and trainers, all bought on sale. People who
want The Row but lack the funds can keep an eye on
resale sites or brave the annual sample sale in New
York, with its queues of hundreds to get in.
The Row’s clothes look like those someone intelli-
gent and powerful would wear. In the film Tár, Cate
Blanchett’s monstrously elegant character Lydia
Tár, wears (of course) The Row. “I think a new
type of customer has come around, one with
equally deep pockets. They just previously
bought Hervé Léger bandage dresses and YSL
The Olsens are said to
be hands-on bosses who go
to the office every day —
they are often papped taking
smoking breaks outside
40 • The Sunday Times Style
Tribute heels,” says Lauren Garroni, who co-hosts the
fashion podcast Every Outfit. “The Row has become a
sartorial shortcut for It girls to convey a mature glow-up.
I’m thinking of Zoë Kravitz, Kendall Jenner and Morgan
Stewart McGraw’s recent style pivots.”
The Toronto-based Neelam Ahooja is something of an
influencer for The Row. She started her collection with
an oversized dolman-sleeve tee in two colours. Of
how many items she owns now, she will only say:
“I dare not count.” She describes the brand as
“sophisticated, classic but edgy, effortless and luxu-
rious, masculine and feminine … neutral palettes,
fluid draping, rich fabrics and classic styles with a
pinch of eccentricity draw in a wide range of clients
— those with a penchant for quirky and those who
are head-to-toe classic,” she says.“And the absence of
loud logos and bright colours are a draw for those
seeking subtle sophistication.”
Ahooja is one of the lucky few who get invita-
tions to the Olsens’ shows, which are always
intimate. More than 170,000 people follow the
influencer on Instagram to experience vicariously
her trips to The Row’s showroom and New York
boutique, where she might try on white gowns, long
black coats and quilted floor-length jackets fresh
off the catwalk. She describes the experience as
“usually pretty giddy” and “a dream”. If money
wasn’t an object, she says, she’d buy one of the
black alligator backpacks, which, while costing
in excess of £33,000, are often sold out.
As a private company, The Row does not
release sales figures, but Hennig says: “A
client who shops at The Row has almost
a 50 per cent higher spend than those who
do not purchase the brand. In terms of
brand affinities, customers who shop at
The Row also gravitate towards brands like Khaite,
Prada, Bottega Veneta and Toteme.”
Maybe as millennials age they are exhausted by
fast fashion and Y2K trends, or less than enthusiastic
Getty Images, Netflix, Focus Features, Backgrid
about the idea of embracing Barbiecore. Or maybe
tailoring and timeless classics feel like a good invest-
ment in uncertain economic times.
“That could be partly a subconscious reaction to the
looming recession, but let’s be honest, none of this is
exactly thrifty,” Garroni says. She owns one single item
by The Row. “It’s a blazer that I purchased using a
hodgepodge of gift cards. It was a size too big and
I had to get it tailored to fit me.” Was it worth it?
“I have zero regrets.” ■
 Add to basket
Metallic mules, the season’s must-have denim
shirt and apple green everything – there
are treats aplenty in store for your wardrobe
this season. Embrace the bright stuff

Photographs Theresa Marx

Styling Flossie Saunders
Model Peipei Tang

PROPER PINK
“This Siedrés dress is proof that
a catwalk trend need not come
with a catwalk price tag. I love the
supersized sleeves.”
Flossie Saunders, fashion editor

Main picture Satin dress, £350,

siedres.com. Lucent earrings, £280,
swarovski.com. From top Sandals,
£360, longchamp.com. Vegan leather
bag, £89, jwpei.com. Mules, £95,
dunelondon.com. From right Sunglasses,
£115, bonnieclyde.la. Sunglasses
chain, £85, talischains.co.uk. Beaded bag,
£310, cliopeppiatt.co.uk

44 • The Sunday Times Style

 Main picture Oversized denim shirt,
£79, denim skirt, £69, and denim mules,
£149, arket.com. Right Bag, £460, Coperni,
selfridges.com. Far right, from top Clutch,
£255, Cult Gaia, zalando.co.uk. Heels,
£349, lkbennett.com. Pillow bag, £230,
Kassl Editions, luisaviaroma.com. Lucent
rings, £230 each, swarovski.com

FADE OUT
“An oversized denim shirt
is the only thing I want this
spring. I’ll wear this one by
Arket tucked into jeans
or a skirt, with a navy knit
slung over the top.”
Karen Dacre, fashion director
 IN THE
BROWNIES
“I’m always drawn to
classic items that blend
beautifully into the
background, and this
trench by Reiss fits the
bill. I’ll wear it layered
over a terracotta shirt.”
Charlotte Williamson,
deputy editor

Main picture Caramel leather jacket,

£1,395, joseph-fashion.com. Trench
coat, £398, reiss.com. From top
Platforms, £275, russellandbromley.
co.uk. Belt, £185, dehanche.com. Bag,
£315, Staud, matchesfashion.com.
From right Wedge mules, £320,
Wandler, 24s.com. Bag, £390,
Hereu, matchesfashion.com

46 • The Sunday Times Style

 Main picture Blazer, £630, and
trousers, £350, toteme-studio.com.
Sandals, £199, flattered.com. Necklace,
£40, pilgrim.net. Left Sandals, £45,
next.co.uk. Far left, from top Silver
bag, £16, stradivarius.com. Beaded bag,
£215, Staud, mytheresa.com. Kitten-heel
mules, £345, byfar.com. Bucket bag,
£40, frenchconnection.com

BLACK
WATCH
“The key to wearing
black all year round is
statement accessories.
Teaming tailoring with
chunky flat sandals gives
this outfit by Toteme
an easy, everyday look.”
Helen Atkin,
junior fashion editor

The Sunday Times Style • 49

 NEUTRAL
GEAR
“White cargo trousers
are the spring essential
we should all have
in our lives. I’ll wear
this pair from the
Frankie Shop with a
blue Oxford shirt
and a blazer.”
Laura Atkinson, editor

Main picture Knit top, £59, oasis

fashion.com. Cargo trousers, £199,
thefrankieshop.com. Boots, £525,
neous.co.uk. Sunglasses, £122,
poppylissiman.com. From top Bag,
£18, bershka.com. Cap, £120, Isabel
Marant, matchesfashion.com.
Studded sandals, £110, Asra,
anthropologie.com. From right Bag,
£495, aspinaloflondon.com. Mules,
£380, souliers-martinez.com

The Sunday Times Style • 51

 Main picture Jumpsuit, £89,
warehousefashion.com. Sandals,
£175, souliers-martinez.com. Earrings,
£115, dinosaurdesigns.co.uk. Left Patent
bag, £75, Glynit, selfridges.com. Far left,
from top Boots, £525, dearfrances.com.
Bag, £320, manuatelier.com. Water bottle
and holder, £140, longchamp.com. Tote,
£397, Johanna Ortiz, mytheresa.com

Hair Linnéa Nordberg. Make-up

Philippe Miletto. Nails Cherrie Snow
using Dior manicure collection and
Miss Dior hand cream. Model Peipei
Tang at Milk Management

GREEN
PARTY
“The best way to
wear this juicy shade
is to immerse
yourself in it. From
earrings to shoes, it’s
all about head-to-toe
colour. It’s ideal for
wedding season too.”
Phoebe McDowell,
acting beauty
director

52 • The Sunday Times Style

 All
about

She’s been modelling

since the age of two and is
worth a cool £24 million
– but supermodel
Gigi Hadid still has her
insecurities. She talks to
Ellie Austin about body
issues, babies and what it’s
really like to be one of the
most photographed
women in the world
Photographs Yulia Gorbachenko
Styling Natasha Royt
 Shirt, £820, jumper,
£1,250, and skirt, £1,050,
Miu Miu. Platform mules
(throughout), £995,
Proenza Schouler. Socks
(throughout), £10, Falke

The Sunday Times Style • 55

 This page Fringe bra,
£920, crop top,
£645, and nylon skirt,
£1,205, Proenza
Schouler. Opposite
Bra, £205, Max Mara.
Jacket, £5,660, and
jeans, £790, Givenchy

56 • The Sunday Times Style

58 • The Sunday Times Style
 Shirt and knit
playsuit, price on
application, Raf
Simons. Tights,
£35, Wolford
This page Leather bra top,
£490, jacket, £3,090,
and trousers, £1,360,
Burberry. Opposite Dress,
£1,290, and jacket with
strap (on shoulder),
£830, Courrèges
The Sunday Times Style • 61
This page Mesh body,
£520, and leather
dress, £6,000,
Alexander McQueen.
Opposite, from top
Gigi on the catwalk at
Stella McCartney
and Tom Ford
 ‘I don’t
think I’m the
prettiest person
in the world’
Gigi Hadid has spent the past ten years zipping around the
world being shot for magazine covers and walking catwalks
for the biggest fashion houses. She has more than 76 million
followers on Instagram and an estimated £24 million in the
bank — and yet, at the age of 27, the thing she really longs for
is a regular nine-to-five gig. Is she mad?
“Yeah,” she laughs when we meet in a New York photo
studio on a freezing January morning. “I’m craving the
office job!” Modelling, she explains, involves showing up to
“a new job every day with a completely different set of
people”. It’s an itinerant way of life that she is now ready to
exchange for a more “settled feeling”. “I think it’s unrealistic
to see modelling as my lifestyle for ever,” she adds, her voice
deep and staccato.
This desire for routine was one of the motivations behind
the recent launch of Gigi’s first company, a luxury cashmere
brand called Guest in Residence. Prices range from £199
for turtleneck jumpers to an eye-popping £424 for
jogging bottoms like the khaki ones she’s wearing
today, along with an oversized black leather jacket
and a web of gold necklaces. She has also secured
a new TV presenting role on the second series
of Netflix’s fashion design competition show,
Next in Fashion, which started streaming on
Friday. Gigi has taken over from Alexa Chung
as a host alongside Queer Eye’s Tan France.
“I didn’t go into it like, ‘I’m your superior,’”
Gigi says of her conversations with the
contestants. “It’s more like, ‘I’m your buddy.
These are the cool and crazy things I’ve seen in
fashion. I loved showing up to the same studio
every day for a month with the same crew.
I could get to know people. The Guest in Resi-
dence office [in Manhattan] is the same for me.”
Warm, funny and self-possessed, Gigi handles
herself with a maturity that belies her age. But
then this is a woman whose life has unfolded on
an accelerated timeline ever since she landed her
first modelling job (for Baby Guess; the brand’s
co-founder was a friend of her mother’s) at just two
years old. By the age of 21, Gigi had already transcended
fashion to become a pop culture force (in 2015, she co-
directed the music video for DNCE’s smash hit Cake by the
Ocean with Joe Jonas, her boyfriend at the time and the band’s
lead singer). At 25 she became a mother to Khai, the daughter
she shares with her ex-boyfriend Zayn Malik, the singer and
former One Direction member.
“She has already given me so much,” Gigi says of Khai, now
two. “I always wanted to be a mum, but I was never obsessive
about it or [thought that] I was put on this Earth to be a mum.
I’ve always been quite organised, so having Khai at the time
that I did was a blessing. I’m so glad to be a young mum.”
Gigi gave birth at her family’s £3.2 million, 32-acre
Pennsylvania farm. She often spends time there with
her mother, Yolanda Hadid, a Dutch-born former
model and the ferociously ambitious former star
of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (Gigi’s
parents divorced when she was five; her father is
the Palestinian-born property mogul Mohamed
Hadid). With its horses, goats and chickens,
the farm provides Gigi — who splits her time
between Pennsylvania and a Manhattan apart-
ment — with a secluded escape where she can
ramble around with Khai and play backgammon
with her sister, Bella, and brother, Anwar, both of
whom are, of course, successful models in their
own right.
Time on the farm also means a respite from
the New York paparazzi who trail Gigi around
the city. “For a long time they made me shy away
because I was really sick of seeing my own face or
feeling like I had to get dressed for this thing that
I couldn’t control,” she says carefully. “It’s still a bit
suffocating to look out your window and be like,
‘Shit, they’re there again.’ The only thing that really
bothers me is if it’s going to take away from me trying
to experience things with my daughter because I’m trying to
protect her from that.”
For the first year of Khai’s life, Gigi and Zayn made their
own home in a farmhouse not far from her family’s ranch. In
The Sunday Times Style • 63
 Below Gigi with her younger sister, Bella.
Bottom With ex-boyfriend Zayn Malik in 2016
2021, however, the couple split following claims by Yolanda
that Zayn “shoved” her into a dresser during an argument.
Zayn denied the allegations and later pleaded no contest
(meaning that he wouldn’t fight charges) to four counts of
harassment. A judge put him on probation and ordered him
to take an anger management course.
While Gigi doesn’t explicitly mention Zayn’s name
during our conversation, she alludes to him in a loving tone
that implies a genuine lack of acrimony. “Just keeping the
importance of the child’s happiness at the forefront,” she
replies when I ask what her advice would be to those navi-
gating co-parenting arrangements. “You have a long life
alongside this person.” Gigi attempts to schedule work
commitments “when Khai is with her dad. That she can be
with both parents makes me very happy,” she says.
Born Jelena Noura Hadid, Gigi grew up in various wealthy
enclaves of California. Zayn, meanwhile, was raised in Brad-
ford. Gigi lights up when she talks about “the little bits” of
her daughter that are British. “She’s clearly a child who was
grown in my stomach eating a lot of British food — breakfast,
beans, curries. And she still eats like that. She even
says some words with a little [English] accent,
which I love.”
Gigi’s own childhood was carefree and
outdoorsy. “My mum would be in the office
doing work for an hour so I was roaming
around, doing a concert for myself in the
living room or playing volleyball.” Her
late-teenage years coincided with her
mother’s stint on The Real Housewives
and while she and Bella have recalled
frequent attempts to avoid the cameras,
the beginnings of their careers were
inevitably chronicled on the show.
“Technically I’m a nepotism baby,”
Gigi says, pre-empting my question.
“My parents came from very little” —
64 • The Sunday Times Style
her father fled to Syria with his parents in 1948 during the
Arab-Israeli war — “[but] I’ve always acknowledged that
I come from privilege. My parents told me, ‘Just because
you have parents who were successful, it doesn’t mean that
you shouldn’t walk into the job being as nice and as hard-
working as you can be.’”
It was when, after high school, she moved to New York
to study criminal psychology that Gigi’s modelling career
exploded. Within a year she was on the catwalk for big-name
brands and yet, alongside the excitement, she recalls an
intense pressure to conform to a narrow definition of beauty.
“When I started out I was a heavily trained volleyball player
and I had a certain body type from that. At that time fashion
hadn’t started to get into a more inclusive body-image
conversation. I was probably harder on my body than I should
have been. I wasn’t starving myself but I was very routined.
Since then I’ve got into this idea of body neutrality. I love my
body for what it has done but I’m not obsessed with it.”
All pillowy cheeks and lips, Gigi had arrived for our inter-
view with a face scrubbed clean of make-up and damp hair in
a top knot. “I don’t think I’m the prettiest person in the
world,” she says. I examine her voice and face for faux
modesty but detect none. “Some Botox could probably help
but I’m not so obsessed with caring that I want to do
anything about it.”
As Gigi’s profile grew, so too did her confidence in
speaking out on controversial sociopolitical issues. Unsur-
prisingly given her heritage, she is vocally pro-Palestine
(a stance that has made her the focus of online pile-ons) and
last year she publicly took on Kanye West after he lashed out
at her friend Gabriella Karefa-Johnson, a Vogue fashion editor
and stylist, who had criticised the appearance of tops printed
with the words “White Lives Matter” at the rapper’s latest
YZY show. “This is not a fashion person”, West captioned an
Instagram photo of Karefa-Johnson. “You wish u had a
percentage of her intellect,” Gigi fired back in the comments.
“You’re a bully and a joke.”
Why did Gigi get involved? “[Gabriella] is a really impor-
tant person for people to see in fashion,” she says. “There are
millions of kids who will benefit from knowing that Gabriella
is a celebrated and deserving person in this industry. I found
[West’s comment] not only malicious but also dangerous.”
Away from work, Gigi surrounds herself with a formi-
dable army of female friends that includes Serena
Williams and Taylor Swift (she describes the latter as
“really creative, thoughtful, caring, inspiring”). Gigi, who
has recently been romantically linked with Leonardo
DiCaprio, is candid about the challenges of forging a
committed relationship when your private life is
consistently dissected online. “I don’t know
how anyone expects anybody they see in the
public eye to have any sort of normal dating
experience if you tie people [to one another]
so quickly. It’s a bummer. I just stopped
reading it.”
In the near future she would like to try
her hand at acting. “I’ve gotten offers for
movie roles over the years,” she shrugs.
“But I would never want it to be a role
that people expect of me.” Whether it’s
clocking into an office job or taking the
big screen by storm, Gigi has ambitions
Getty Images
to do it all. I wouldn’t bet against her. ■
Next in Fashion is available on Netflix
Suede hooded body,
£2,990, and draped
skirt, £2,830, Alaïa

Hair Bob Recine at

the Wall Group.
Make-up Carolina
Gonzalez at A-Frame
Agency. Nails Mei
Kawajiri at 13 Market
Management. Set
design Griffin
Stoddard at
Streeters. Local
production Art
Department
 Fix up, look sharp Photograph Lily Bertrand-Webb

David Yeo

66 • The Sunday Times Style

 Since becoming sober, Alasdair Gill has one last vice – dressing extravagantly.
And he learnt everything he knows from his father, the late AA Gill
I’ll be 30 in April. On the 30th, just to sear it
in. It’s a date I’ve witnessed the vast majority
of my peers approach in a haze of panic, tear-
fully kicking and screaming as each day grows
closer, like a bucked-tooth child with a
looming dental appointment. I’m grateful
that I possess next to nil nostalgia for my
youthful twenties and am ready to seal off this
decade without an ounce of mourning. But
entering the next stage of adult life means
that the generation of youth beneath me is
more visible, with its whole new wave of
ideology, slang and, of course, style.
Among my contemporaries I swing to the
smart side of the aesthetic spectrum, even
when unsuited. The sight of young blokes
suited and booted seems to be an anomaly,
not just for day-to-day attire but for events
where you’d think there would be a require-
ment to suit up. I’m not referring to a
rumpled blazer teamed with a semi-tucked-in
shirt complete with suspicious off-white
stains, but rather a personal yet classic
number, snugly fitted to every corner and
crevice of one’s anatomy. Perhaps, though, it’s
unsurprising that young men aren’t wearing
suits — purchasing an automobile is more
achievable than a trip to Savile Row.
Still, I have found myself on Savile Row a
handful of times and almost every occasion
was to accompany my old man in feeding his
extravagant whistle and flute obsession. He
never grew bored with it, and these kinds
of outings occurred for as long as I can
remember. Dad revelled in pushing style
boundaries — outlandish purple tweed with
a matching baker-boy cap and spotted cravat,
suits with a couple of dead critters lying on
each shoulder, along with a fedora hat
boasting a pheasant feather curving out of
the seam. This was when I was visually
taught the importance of never blending in
with the masses.
I understand it now, being sober (I stopped
drinking almost three years ago) like Dad was.
Dressing extravagantly is one of the last vices
we have that can emit any kind of shock factor
to the world after giving up the alcoholic’s life
The process of being
fitted is almost the
highlight. I’ve spent
hours pressing little
square samples of
tweed, linen, wool and
velvet against my chest
of lawless chaos. It’s also an extreme way of Below Alasdair with his father, AA Gill, in 2013.
demonstrating self-preservation from the Opposite Alasdair in his suit by Mat Whitley
whisky-stained, piss-stenched rags that we
once solely existed in.
As a teen and in my early twenties, the
tailors Anderson & Sheppard asked me to
represent their clothing range at an annual
event for Savile Row. It was to show off their
most lavish kit, held at grand locations such
as Spencer House, Churchill’s bunker and
Lord’s cricket ground. I wasn’t asked to repre-
sent Anderson & Sheppard because I bore
any resemblance to a male model, but out
of sheer nepotism. Unsurprisingly, I felt
distinctly out of place surrounded by gaunt,
high-cheeked Etonian types who had
mastered the bowel-troubled, clenched-jawed
look, along with a predatory squint for any
camera edging remotely close.
Doing these events held but one interest: a
top-tier, extravagant suit that had been fitted
just for me. Having their proudest bespoke
variety of attire to waltz around in, just for the
day — I was never allowed to keep the suits —
was an eye-opening joy. I can still recall the
organisers’ dismay at my being the clueless
non-professional model prancing about,
continually needing refills of his dried-up
whisky prop. Being able to wear a three-piece
morning suit with all the trimmings —
mustard waistcoat, patent-leather shoes and a
warped top hat — felt remarkably warming
but a tad bitter. I knew full well it would be purple line through the patterning. If one is
decades before I’d be able to purchase my ever toning down the decor of a suit
own bespoke whistle, if ever. Even so, some- to colourless hound’s tooth or herringbone,
thing clicked within me — it was a milestone another element must be toned up. I opted for
in bursting my tailor-made cherry. the inner linings to be a loud and invasive
I’ve since found a little threaded loophole purple. Wearing it can fill a colourless void on
in feeding my desire for outlandish attire. the worse days and elevate feelings of worth
His name is Mat Whitley, and he is the on the better ones. I especially revel in
middleman between London buyers, such as wearing it to events where I would be deemed
me, and a Moroccan seamstress. In short, it underdressed or it would be considered inap-
means one can acquire a custom three-piece propriate, surrounded by flocks of men
suit for three digits. The process of being dressed in identical penguin suits.
fitted is almost the highlight. You ring him up, These days, working as a private chef, I save
he leaps out of his home barge, dragging my wages for a rare combination of suits and
multiple check-in-luggage-size bags filled kitchen knives. Possibly only I and Ted Bundy
with fabric samples, then chaotically balances share this unusual blend of necessities. Pride
them on his jittery moped and whizzes over in presentation is a relatively new addition to
to you. I’ve spent hours with him pressing
little square samples of tweed, linen, wool and
my life. I didn’t comprehend its importance
for many years, or perhaps I just didn’t have
velvet against my chest, which are tossed
fiercely to the ceiling if not deemed fitting.
the means of changing it. In my opinion, it’s a
subtle yet crucial step towards living a life of
Mat is slightly unhinged, charmingly camp self-worth. Making your bed isn’t simply
and emanates an aura of constant regret for a saying, it’s the commitment to bringing
every night he has ever endured. All that, part- self-respect into a new day. Similarly, a sharply
nered with his keen eye for detail, turns what
would otherwise be a dull bit of tailoring
fitted suit is morale-boosting, and indeed
mood-boosting, especially when one is caught
administration into the most amusing event.
A recent suit that Mat had tailored for me
in a huddle of dull designer penguins. ■
was a hound’s-tooth triple piece with a faint whitley.london, anderson-sheppard.co.uk
The Sunday Times Style • 67
 Up,
up Photographs Alex Dobé
Styling Verity Parker Model Ferida Lino

and
away From a head-turning coat to
show-stopping boots, the new collections
are guaranteed to raise your style game
Louis
Vuitton
Silk georgette and faux-
leather top and matching
skirt, price on application,
platform boots, £1,600, and
Dauphine Mini bag, £2,420

The Sunday Times Style • 71

 Loewe
Anthurium flower
asymmetric
dress, £4,150

72 • The Sunday Times Style

Gucci
Quilted linen jacket, £3,170,
matching midiskirt, £3,440,
boots, £2,020, and large
GG Supreme tote, £1,150
 Ferragamo
Crystal-embellished top,
£4,555, matching trousers,
£6,585, and heels, £775
Chanel
Tweed jacket, £5,960,
matching skirt, £3,135, belt,
£2,545, metal, glass and
strass earring (right ear, part
of a pair), £1,265, and metal,
glass and strass long earring
(left ear, part of a pair), £1,240

The Sunday Times Style • 75

 Burberry
Stretch-lace body stocking,
£590, satin bra top, £370,
satin and lace slip dress,
£1,390, and crystal-
embellished sandals, £990

76 • The Sunday Times Style

Giorgio
Armani
Embroidered tulle
body, £740, rhinestone-
embellished cape
(worn as a dress), £4,450,
and satin sandals, £740
 Prada
Satin top, £1,550, satin
midiskirt, £1,600, shoes,
£990, and tote, £2,600
Dior
Print bra top, £1,400, trench
coat, £3,400, print shorts,
£690, boots, £1,790, socks,
£330, Dior Tribales earring,
£620, D-Renaissance
choker, £680, and Mer des
Merveilles necklace, £980

The Sunday Times Style • 79

 Fendi
Knit dress, £1,750,
shearling jacket, £5,600,
wedge boots, £1,190,
and medium Peekaboo
Cut bag, £3,600

80 • The Sunday Times Style

Celine
Crochet bikini top, £300,
cashmere coat, £13,100,
miniskirt, £790, belt, £460,
Triomphe Frame necklace,
£300, Celine necklace,
£535, and Formes Abstraites
pebble necklace, £460,
Celine by Hedi Slimane
 Miu Miu
Bra, £490, top, £720,
apricot shorts,
£650, white shorts,
£350, and skirt, £680
Bottega
Veneta
Vest, croc-effect
leather coat, matching
skirt, mules, earrings
and necklace, POA

Photographs
@alextrescool. Hair Rimi
Ura at Calliste Agency
using Shu Uemura.
Make-up Fanny Maurer
for KVD Beauty. Nails
Anais Cordevant at Saint
Germain using Pale Rose
by Manucurist. Model
Ferida Lino at PRM

The Sunday Times Style • 83

 “We have a socialist government and it is very concerned
Move over Ibiza – the style to protect and preserve. We don’t want flash people. We
set are flocking to Menorca, don’t want Ibiza here — we are terrified of that
happening, local people talk about it all the time. There’s
says Kate Spicer. Just money here but it’s not flashy. There’s no Rolex brigade,
no trashy minor royals, actresses and Americans.”
don’t turn up on a superyacht There are unwritten island rules in Menorca, Chet-
wynd Talbot continues. “When I sell, I’ll say, ‘Word of

ISLAND
advice, buy an old car, do not try to show off. It will not
go down well.’ So you get people who have bought a big
country house, a six or seven million euro finca, driving
a wrecked Fiat Panda.” She was in Paris for Christmas
and someone said to her: “If you live in Paris and don’t
have a house in Menorca, you’re nobody.”

Ears prick up when the effortlessly cool Roísín Murphy

LIFE
makes a recommendation. And in recent years the
performing artist has been telling good friends: “You
should go to Menorca, it’s so beautiful, like a cross
between Ibiza and Ireland.” Murphy tells me she first
went with her mum in 2017 and says: “We both instantly
fell in love.” She swiftly bought a place in Mahon, where
regal townhouses in the Balearic island’s capital were
going for a song. “Mahon is this epic natural port, which Photograph Lucy Laucht
makes the whole place feel open and energised,” she says.
In the past few years there has been a buzz about
Menorca among a certain type of person. The French
were early to it, sick, apparently, of cost, bad manners
and the increasing vulgarité of Corsica and the Côte
d’Azur. Then in mid-2019 the arrival of the chic Parisian
hospitality group Experimental — which also has prop-
erties in London, Venice, New York, Paris, Verbier and
Ibiza — cemented the island’s style status.
“The vibe is supercool,” says the company’s director,
Xavier Padovani. “Menorca is definitely happening.” He
knew Experimental had to open there because there
was a constant hum of interest in the island from the
right people — everyone from the chef Hervé Duro-
chat from the sceney south London restaurant Pique-
Nique to a vintage clothing dealer he stopped to chat to
on Portobello Road. Experimental opened its 43-room
hotel in an old finca and army barracks last year.
Even more extraordinary for this small island, with a
population of about 100,000, was when the owners of
the global art powerhouse Hauser & Wirth bought an
18th-century British military hospital on Isla del Rey, a
small island in Mahon harbour, and in 2021 opened a
sizeable cultural centre, gallery and restaurant there.
The super-gallery’s marketing director, Marta Coll, is a
native Menorcan and is “very, very happy to be putting
my home, Menorca, on the global art map”, she says. In
Menorca, Hauser & Wirth functions more like a public
gallery; sure, you can buy serious contemporary art off
the walls but there are also important public outreach
and educational programmes. “Honestly, we have no
sales targets here, more a kind of cultural target.” The
first artist to exhibit, the Los Angeles-based Mark
Bradford, ended up buying two townhouses and the old
Discoteca Si! for a studio. Meanwhile, as soon as
Hauser arrived, island estate agents had people ringing
up and buying houses sight unseen over the phone.
Pimms Chetwynd Talbot sailed in to Menorca as a
boat hippy a few decades ago and now works in property.

84 • The Sunday Times Style

 Of course vulgarity is an acute and unacceptable
thing for the French. And for the Brits, too, since the
next big wave of Menorcan aesthetic migrants have
been the British, who arrived on the four-hour ferries
and one-hour flights from Ibiza, refugees from
grotesque displays of wealth and €30 starters in beach
restaurants. Trish Whelan, who used to work in the UK
music industry, was one of them. When even her very
successful friend the record producer Nellee Hooper
said to her, “Ibiza’s so expensive,” she says she “knew
I had done the right thing moving to Menorca”.
Whelan, a yoga teacher and healer, was one of many
west Londoners who moved to Ibiza a decade ago,
thinking, “Wow, I can live the dream on the island
I love.” She opened a retreat in the north and for a
decade the beauty and the lifestyle were all hers. “But
there were these big shifts. The showman shamans
with feathers in their hats, the car-crash spirituality, the
VIP culture. I remember when the VIP rooms had VIPs
in them. Now it’s uber-rich people. There are thou-
sands of yoga teachers on the island and the competi-
tion to survive is menacing.”
Benedicta Linares, 40, lives between Brook Green in
west London and Menorca, where she has a small hotel
called Es Bec d’Aguila, which is breathtakingly simple
and beautiful. For decades, when Linares told friends in
London and Paris about her love of Menorca, “They’d
roll their eyes and say, ‘Menorca?!’ Even friends in
MENORCA,
Barcelona and Madrid would poo-poo it, saying, ‘We’ll
be going somewhere a bit cooler than that.’ ” This
BUT MAKE
response has totally changed. “Now it’s, ‘Wow, I hear IT FASHION
it’s amazing.’ ”
She describes how, after a career in fashion, she, THE RESTAURANT
along with her ex-financier husband, lost “all motiva- Cap Roig — Roísín Murphy is
tion for status, power and money. We wanted quality of a fan of this clifftop eatery that
life with family and friends.” When they planned their specialises in fish. “Amazing
downsizing, “it could only be Menorca”. seafood with panoramic sea
A second hotel, Son Blanc, opens next month, and views. Everything is so clean,
despite being in the higher hundreds per room, it will the food and the nature.”
function like “a utopian community. We will have restaurantcaproig.com
communal meals, communal yoga and activities.” Son
Blanc has “its own energy, own water, own produce, we THE BAR
will let people connect with the island, with the land … Ulisses in Cuitadella has low-key
and with themselves”. hipster vibes, Stacey Duguid says.
“Everyone’s normal,” says the journalist Stacey “I think it’s the best food I’ve ever
Duguid, who bought a little townhouse in Cuitadella, a eaten, and there is a serious wine
city on the west coast of the island, last year. “You are shop too.” ulissesbar.com
surrounded by locals. They haven’t been pushed out.
I wouldn’t buy in Ibiza even if I could afford it. Much THE BEACHES
as I love that I can jump on a ferry and be at DC10 in With more than either of its
four hours, there’s too much of [Ibiza] that’s boring, bigger neighbouring islands
soulless, expensive, lifeless and full of all the people I’d combined, Menorca is famous
avoid in London. for its beaches. “The cool ones
“What I’ve found in Menorca is unbelievable togeth- are not the busy ones, like tiny
erness,” she continues. “It’s like the old, magical Ibiza, Calo Blanc,” says Xavier
but without the clubs and the drugs.” Padovani. “Look for those you
need to walk to that have no shop
— and definitely no beach clubs,
Right, from top The Experimental such as Cala Escorxada.” Cala
Menorca; the stone exterior of Son Pilar in the north is “really wild”,
Blanc; a bedroom at Son Blanc. while Cala Mitjana and Cala
Opposite Cala Binidali, in the Mitjaneta are considered the
southeast of Menorca most beautiful on the island. ■

The Sunday Times Style • 85

 Quilty Hot off the catwalk,
the ‘duvet dress’
is having a moment.

pleasures But can you really wear

it from bed to bar?
Sydney Lima gives it a go
“You look like a sick day,” my friend tells
me just moments after walking through
my front door. “You know? Like when your
mum used to make you vegetable soup,” she
continues, as though the initial comment
had failed to hammer the sickly comparison
home. I was wearing a pink “duvet dress”
that I had been sent to test drive and — so
I had planned — wear out to lunch.
From the moment I heard about the
concept of a duvet dress, a trend that began
on the catwalks of Paris and went on to
become a sleeper hit (geddit?), I was sold.
The dress that doubles as a bedsheet (or is it
the other way round?) had its awakening at
The Row show last October (the Olsen
sisters showed one in white silk) and also
featured at Khaite (in pearl satin). In Milan
Sportmax debuted the duvet dress in
colour (bubblegum pink!). And in London
Christopher Kane gave us a thigh-high
version that isn’t for the faint-hearted.
As someone who could easily sleep for
12 hours a night (given half a chance) and
then start the first hour of the working day

Hair and make-up: Aimee Twist using Dior Forever Foundation and Capture Totale Super Potent Serum. Getty Images
from under a duvet (again, if given half a
chance), you could say I was already a duvet
dress advocate. But if Crocs have taught us
anything, it’s that you should never jump
to a conclusion too soon.
Unboxing my Sportmax dress, I soon
realise the reality of a duvet dress. First,
it’s a dress. It has a zip (!) and a fastening (!)
and it fits more snugly under my arms than
my duvet ever dared to. As though caught
in some sort of “Expectation v Reality”
meme, perhaps I had expected a hug-in-a-
mug-style entity that would cradle me to
the restaurant. In fact, I was only a box of
Kleenex and a sticky bottle of Night Nurse
away from looking as if I had a temperature
above 38 degrees.
In the name of hard-hitting journalism,
Pink dress, £1,255, however, I decide to soldier on. Grabbing
Sportmax. Slippers, £595, my keys and fitting my hands into the
oliviavonhalle.com. dress’s two deep front pockets, which feel
Jewellery, Sydney’s own surprisingly comforting, I think maybe
there is hope yet.
Photographs Rosaline Shahnavaz Despite the dress being relatively thick,
Styling Helen Atkin it feels as though I’m walking outside in my
underwear. Only a few seconds outside the

86 • The Sunday Times Style

 This picture Dress ‘I haven’t received
made from bedsheet
from John Lewis’s linen
department. Choker
this much
and bracelet, price on
application, Ports 1961.
attention since
Bottom, from left The
catwalks at Ports 1961,
I dressed as
The Row and Prada
Jacob Rees-Mogg
for Halloween’
the duvet dress was certainly getting
people talking, and in some cases even
shouting across the road. Was I revolution-
ising the fashion trends of Finsbury Park?
Or was I just being trolled for wearing a
bright pink strapless duvet dress down the
high street at two in the afternoon?
Of course, bedwear as a trend has been
circulating for centuries, from the sheet-
like togas of ancient Rome to Maison
Margiela’s 1999 duvet coat and Viktor &
Rolf ’s 2005 satin bed-inspired collection.
More recently, the #duvetdresschallenge
and #pillowchallenge hashtags on TikTok
and Instagram had people upcycling
SpongeBob SquarePants and Shrek duvet
covers into gaudy tea dresses. It is a trend
that, quite literally, refuses to be put to bed.
Or, as my mum would argue: “It’s the
upmarket equivalent of dropping off your
kids to school in your pyjamas.”
It is perhaps strange that comfort is often
seen as a rebellious act within fashion.
The pandemic brought a plethora of head-
lines declaring “Comfort is the new luxury”
with the same vigour as if the monarchy
had been overthrown. Real comfort for me,
however, is far from luxury. Comfort means
wearing my 12 to 14-year-old boys’ tracksuit
from morning to night. Unfortunately that
kind of comfort will never be tolerated by
high fashion, and especially not by the
suited woman you are trying to impress in
a job interview.
Arriving at the restaurant, the side
looks and comments are still going
strong and my so-called comfortable
dress is making me uncomfortable.
Sadly, I conclude, it’s not for me.
So what are you meant to do with a
front door and a man shouts from the duvet dress? Where are you meant to
window of a shop: “Wow — what’s the wear one besides a fashion show or
inspiration?!” Why, sir, thank you for fashion party? Clearly the world was not
asking. My inspiration is to get to the ready for my lunchtime parade. I think I’ll
restaurant as quickly as possible. I haven’t leave this one to the pros for now. But who
received this much attention since I knows, if I leave it long enough there may
dressed as Jacob Rees-Mogg for Halloween. come a time when I add a new duvet dress
In a city where we tend to have our to my basket — just as I’m now topping up
blinkers on while walking down the street, on my extensive supply of Crocs charms. ■

The Sunday Times Style • 87

 ‘They let me
do some crazy
stuff here’ Everyone had a pair of Diesel jeans in the Noughties, but
then the brand fell out of fashion. Now the Italian label
is back – and the A-list can’t get enough of it. Karen Dacre
meets Glenn Martens, the man whose ‘belt skirt’ went viral

On the day the fashion designer Glenn Martens was

Photograph announced as the new creative director at Diesel, no one
Oliver Hadlee Pearch was more excited than his big brother. “He was a
megafan long before I got there,” says the Belgian
designer of his elder sibling, a fireman. “His Instagram is
dedicated to Diesel and has been for years.”
More than two years on, with celebrities from Nicole
Kidman to Kylie Jenner lining up to wear the denim
brand’s famous microminis and its show considered
among the hottest tickets at Milan Fashion Week,
pleasing diehard fans such as his brother is still a
top priority. “I think it’s really, really cool that
we are talking to the underground, to the
cool kids, to the Kardashians — but it’s just
as cool that we’re talking to guys like my
brother,” he says.
Martens, who speaks to me via video call
from the Diesel HQ in Italy, has his own
enduring love story with the brand. If you
were born between 1979 and 1987 and
wistfully remember Christina Aguilera in
low-slung bleach-wash jeans, begging your
parents to take you on a family expedition
to Diesel’s Covent Garden flagship and
those dog tag labels that came with every
pair of jeans sold, it’s one you’ll be able to
relate to. “At 15 I was dishwashing in a bar in
provincial Bruges and spending every penny
I earned on Diesel,” says Martens, 39. “It was the
first brand I felt connected to.”
Back then, Diesel — founded by the Italian
fashion mogul Renzo Rosso, whose roster of brands
includes Jil Sander and Maison Margiela — was as

90 • The Sunday Times Style


Picture caption etureius vitas
inihitius Us as volupta tem
voloribust, andio Ut qui beatia
This page Backstage at
the Diesel spring/summer
2023 show. Opposite, from
left Glenn Martens; the
‘belt skirt’ that went viral
 famous for its groundbreaking ad campaigns as it was
for its jeans. Among the most iconic was the 1995
campaign by David LaChapelle, which featured two
sailors kissing. “That was a big deal for me, it opened
my eyes to something more. What was happening
around me was boring — this was anything but.”
Boring is not a word you would use to describe
Martens’s life now. Indeed, there’s nothing about it
that’s remotely provincial — instead it’s a conveyor
belt of luxury fashion and business-class lounges, with
the occasional night of techno raving thrown in.
As part of a new wave of fashion designers who
are spearheading a revolution for streetwear-inspired
clothing, he splits his time between Paris and
Breganze, northern Italy, where Diesel is based. When
in Paris, Martens is the creative director of Y/Project
— he started working at the conceptual menswear
house in 2010, taking the helm of the label in 2013 after
its founder, Yohan Serfaty, died. Last year he added
couturier to his list of accolades, designing a one-off
couture collection for Jean Paul Gaultier.
Having two jobs means Martens spends part of the
week eating steak in France and the other dining on
raw fish in Italy (“I quickly learnt that pasta wasn’t good
for my love handles,” he says).
Martens laughs a lot — and swears a fair bit too — and
has a relaxed and straightforward way about him that’s
somewhat unusual for a fashion designer working at a
luxury brand (most are media trained and advised to
give little away). He studied interior architecture
before moving on to fashion and graduated first in
his class with a degree in fashion from Antwerp’s The contradictory side extends to his personal life.
Royal Academy of Fine Arts. Martens can be Martens says he is just as likely to be found on the
highbrow when he needs to be: “What I do at dancefloor of a club (he once spent 15 hours inside
Y/Project is a bit more serious, it’s about Berlin’s techno institution Berghain, he tells me) as at the
luxury and a design process that is all about opera in Vienna or hiking in Scotland. “It’s what makes
construction.” Diesel, which still uses “For me a good fit for Diesel,” he says. “One of the reasons
Successful Living” as its motto, allows I love it so much is because of the crazy stuff I’m allowed
him to indulge his wild side. to do here. You can’t do this shit at other brands.”
The “crazy stuff ” Martens is referring to is his catwalk
shows. His spring/summer 2023 collection for the label
was unveiled around a huge inflatable of bodies inter-
twined (the largest inflatable sculpture ever made) to an
audience that included 3,000 members of the public.
Meanwhile, the most recent show, a collaboration with
Durex, played out around a mountain of condoms. “Of
course, we have a fashion show and play the game in that
respect, but it is important to remember that we’re not a
classic luxury house, we are an alternative to it.”
The clothes he creates are anti-establishment too: with
cocktail gowns created from vintage denim, bum-
skimming jeans, “pantaboots” (loved by the actress turned
fashion peacock Julia Fox) and those internet-breaking
“belt skirts” among his signature creations.
Whether it’s a bleached denim two-piece set to
Getty Images, Alessandro Oliva, Shutterstock

delight an influencer or a pair of jeans to please a

fireman from Bruges, doing clever things with denim is
what makes Martens tick. “It is the most democratic
fabric in the world, and I’m not just talking about the
price point,” he says. “Denim is versatile. You can wear

From far left Rihanna, Dua Lipa and Shania Twain

in Diesel. Above Looks from the spring/summer
2023 collection. Opposite The label’s autumn/
winter 2022 show, featuring giant inflatable models

92 • The Sunday Times Style

it with a heel to a cocktail party, or with a sneaker and
go raving. Or you can wear it walking in the Swiss
mountains. It’s adjustable to every person and situa-
tion, every gender, sexuality, all aspects of wealth.”
Reminding customers why they liked Diesel was
Martens’s first objective after taking the position. “A
creative director’s job should be to celebrate what it
was famous for in the first place. When I got here,
I think it was going through a bit of a midlife crisis —
the team had forgotten to value what we have here. It’s
a goldmine.”
He started by getting well acquainted
with the house’s three-storey archive. ‘What’s so
“There’s a Diesel museum in the HQ,
which houses every single piece the
absurd is that
brand has ever produced,” he says glee- you can pick up
fully. “What’s so absurd is that you can
pick up a T-shirt from 1998 and say, ‘It’s a T-shirt from
perfect, let’s just do it again.’”
But it’s not exactly like for like.
1998 and say,
Martens is also dedicated to lessening “It’s perfect,
Diesel’s environmental impact on the
planet — and accordingly every new
let’s do it again”’
product must meet certain criteria. “If
you’re not thinking about the environmental impact in
this day and age, you’re an asshole,” Martens says.
“We’ve got a long way to go, but I’ve got to implement as
much change as possible.”
Martens’s progressive approach — coupled with the
trend for millennium-inspired fashion that remains
hugely popular with young fashion fans — has won
Diesel a generation of new fans. “We make sense to a
young generation. I remember my late teens and early
twenties as a time when we were all just going for it. It’s
a time associated with living independently from our
parents and being free of someone saying what we can’t
do. We enjoyed everything, made the best out of
everything. The reason Diesel speaks to this generation
is because it fits with this free way of thinking.”
There’s also the matter of prices. Diesel is a lot more
affordable than most of the brands with a slot at Milan
Fashion Week. Its cult handbag, the 1DR, is priced at
about £375, while one of its logo-print T-shirt dresses
will set you back £140. “We want to have nice acces-
sible prices but we’re realistic too. Just as we’ll never be
able to create a T-shirt for ten euros
we’ll never be affordable to everyone.
My mother was a nurse and a single
mother with two kids — she’d never
have been able to afford it.”
Is the mainstream stuff boring to
design? Not for this denim geek. Diesel
has 14 different fits of jeans, all of which
require Martens’s attention. He has
also grown adept at understanding how
tastes in jeans vary from country to
country. “There’s a lot of puzzling to
make sure the same collection can be
sold from London to Israel to China,
where taste and style vary so much.”
Of course, like any designer, Martens relishes the
opportunity to bask in the glory of a viral Instagram
moment — or to design a look every fashion stylist wants
to put on the front of a magazine.
“If I sell 50 belt skirts my ego is happy, but if we
sell billions of 50 euro T-shirts, I’m also going to be
smiling — the whole team is,” he says. “I guess that’s
successful living.” ■ @karendacre
diesel.com
 ‘You
could
go into
space
with Elon
Musk Jane Garvey and Fi Glover

wearing
are the straight-talking radio
stars who have made a
career out of telling it like it
is. So who better to road

those...’
Photographs Within moments of arriving at the studio in which
test this spring’s trends?
Laura Craik meets them

both checked they’d asked the right people,” Garvey

Ophelia Wynne they’re being photographed, Jane Garvey and Fi Glover
Styling have everyone eating out of their hands — the “chunt-
Flossie Saunders ering” (as they call it) that has made them such a hit
throughout their 30-year radio careers is as compelling
in real life as it is on air. Soon we’re all in fits of laughter,
making Garvey, 58, and Glover, 54, surely among the
most equable models the photographer has worked with.
That they are here to model clothes is as much a
surprise to them as it may be to their devoted listeners,
30 million of whom downloaded Fortunately …, the BBC
podcast they co-presented between 2017 and 2022
before joining Times Radio last October. “I think we
jokes. But they are definitely the right people: who better
to sift through spring’s key trends than two women who
can be relied on to tell it like it is? Whether they are
interviewing politicians (Garvey interviewed Hillary
Clinton during her 13-year stint as a presenter on
Woman’s Hour), grilling guests about the issues of the
day or riffing on divorce, parking tickets, the price of
coffee or the menopause, the duo are beloved for their
relatability and real talk. If they don’t think a pair of silver
trousers is going to work for them, they’ll say so — which
is precisely why it seemed a good idea to solicit their
sartorial opinions.

94 • The Sunday Times Style


Far out of their comfort zone they may be, but they are
nothing if not game. They’re also hilarious, their comedy
double act neatly honed after six years of broadcasting
together. Browsing the rails to decide which new spring
trends to try, it transpires that they share more than a
podcast and a formidable wit: they’re also the same
height. “I’ve not done a great deal of modelling, which
isn’t unusual for someone of 5ft 1in,” quips Garvey, who
admits her stature has bothered her in the past. “I’ve
never even been as tall as my own mother, which slightly
irritates me. One of my daughters is a little bit taller than
me, and the other one is three or four inches taller.” Her
daughters are 23 and 20, and she isn’t averse to sharing
Jane Garvey, left,
and Fi Glover
their clothes. “If I see something of theirs that I know
I can wear, I will nick it. I’ve also got their old secondary
school hoodies, although I think they’d be horrified to
discover that I occasionally pop to the shops in them.
And we’ve all got size five feet, which is handy.”
“My daughter has already grown out of my shoes,
which has annoyed us both, because there was a very
nice collection waiting for her,” laments Glover, whose
daughter is 15 (she also has a son).
Of the two, Glover is more interested in fashion, with
& Other Stories a high-street favourite and Emin + Paul
a more high-end treat. “And I do love Zara. It never fails.
Although I have to take up every single pair of their
The Sunday Times Style • 95
 trousers. I still haven’t found the perfect place to buy
tops and bottoms that work for my size. Everything
is taken up.” They both miss Topshop. “I used to love
burrowing around in there,” Garvey says. “Same here,”
Glover says. “I was really sad when everything unrav-
elled because it turned out to be such an unpleasant
story, and such a long way away from what you thought
you were buying into, which was carefree, well
designed, eclectic, British. And it wasn’t. It was really
shitty, tax-avoiding, sexist crap.”
They agree that fashion and radio make uneasy
bedfellows. “Fashion on radio is like cookery on radio
— a bit of a challenge,” Garvey says. “But we try to do
it justice. Rather than describing a jacket, we’d honour
the skill of the person who made it. Britain is so
good at fashion. The creativity here is incredible, and
the crafting skills of the British, particularly British
women, is so underrated and not really discussed or
celebrated enough.”
Glover agrees: “There are some things you have to
accept that radio is never going to be able to do, no
matter how much you pump it full of the hormones
of the new visual era. Fashion is always going to be one
of those because as soon as you hear somebody talk
about fashion on the radio, you want to go and see it.”

2 Above Jane
wears shirt, £110,
withnothing
underneath.com.
‘What can I say? I don’t
think I’ll have a lifelong love
Trousers, £36, affair with cargo pants’
mango.com.
Shoes, £249, Nor has radio traditionally been a medium that
lkbennett.com. has rewarded dressing in a fashionable manner, for
Fi wears shirt, obvious reasons. But this has changed. “Dressing for
£95, withnothing radio didn’t used to be a thing,” Garvey confirms. “But
underneath.com. all radio is visual now, weirdly, which is a massive

1
Coat, £260, pressure on those of us who went into radio because
it wasn’t telly.”
Hair and make-up: Aimee Twist using Dior Forever Foundation

Musier Paris,
selfridges.com. Glover agrees. “One of the absolute joys of radio
Trousers, £350 when I started doing it was that there were no visuals
(available from attached at all. I didn’t realise how liberating that was
March 19), jigsaw- until it changed. I used to wear ridiculous things to
and Capture Totale Super Potent Serum

online.com. Boots, work back in the day. There’s a terrible picture that
£33, zara.com. sometimes circulates of me wearing a PVC catsuit at
Left Jane and Fi work. I look back and think, ‘OK, that’s a bit strange.’
wear dresses, But it was all part of the ‘no one can see us’ thing.
£550 each, Everybody wore what they wanted to wear. Now
‘I probably am scared of meandem.com. there are cameras everywhere. You are as much
colour, but I think it looks really Trainers, £25,
marksand
filmed as you are listened to. So that does require a
certain amount of thought going into what I wear,
smart and rather wearable’ spencer.com which I didn’t have to do before.”

96 • The Sunday Times Style


All of which makes it an apposite time for the duo
to be experimenting with a slew of new spring trends
— the most agreeable of which they can hopefully
add to their work wardrobes. “It’s a bit of a treat, isn’t
it?” Garvey says of the prospect of dressing up. “It is,”
Glover agrees. “And actually, some of these clothes?
I quite like them. How about you, Jane?”
“It’s going to be problematic, isn’t it?” Garvey
says. “I can see myself in some of them too. We may
have a fight.”
Below Jane
3
HEAD-TO-TOE COLOUR
“I’m not terribly good with jackets. I’ve got
bulky arms and I don’t think you can cut a
jacket for boobs,” Glover says, perusing the jackets.
“And I’ve never really worn purple.” Which makes a
purple Jigsaw trouser suit a bit of a stretch, but she
puts it on anyway. The colour suits her. “The day
that changed my life,” she deadpans. She’s also keen
on the jumper. “I’d like to liven up my jumper
arrangement and this one does.”

1
wears T-shirt, £45, Garvey is equally trepidatious about double denim.
DOUBLE TROUBLE meandem.com. “It’s about wearing two different shades, so it’s not all
What happens when two friends and co- Shirt, £79, cos.com. the same,” Glover counsels. “Ah, but can you wear
presenters with different clothing tastes are Jeans, £95, whistles. triple denim?” Garvey rejects a denim chore jacket.
dressed the same? We are about to find out. Twin- com. Boots, £425, “This looks like a Chairman Mao type of thing.”
ning being something of a trend, both women agree russellandbromley. Instead, she goes for a denim shirt from Cos and
to road test a pink and red dress by Me+Em. Glover co.uk. Fi wears Whistles jeans in a darker hue. Verdict? “A little bit
is immediately in her comfort zone. “I very much jumper, £99, Handmaid’s Tale,” she says. “But I love the boots. They
like a dress. I have loads for summer but I’m not so blazer, £220, and are more comfortable than you might think. I’m never
good on winter dresses. Those are tricky. Those trousers, £140, taking them off. Although they’d last five minutes in
bodyconscious wool ones that have been around for jigsaw-online.com. my house before my offspring would nick them.” ■
the past couple of years, who are those working for?” Boots, £375,
Garvey, meanwhile, admits: “I probably am scared of russelland Jane Garvey and Fi Glover are on Times Radio,
colour, but I think it looks really smart and rather bromley.co.uk Monday to Thursday, 3-5pm
wearable.” Is this the future of the show — a uniform

3
of matching looks? “We probably won’t come to
work in identical outfits,” Glover says, but Garvey
disagrees. “Well, I actually rather like it — I think it
could be our new signature thing!”

2 STATEMENT TROUSERS
When faced with the trousers they are going
to road test, it’s fair to say that expectations
are low. “You could go into space with Elon Musk
wearing those,” Garvey says, on seeing a pair of Jigsaw
silver trousers on the rail.
“If those look nice on me, then I’ve actually been
in the wrong body and looking at the wrong mirrors
for years,” Glover says. “But they’re actually very
comfortable.”
Garvey’s Mango combat trousers are viewed with
equal distrust. “Jane has had a lifelong aversion to
combat trousers, and has become a well-known
spokesperson for the anti-cargo-pant movement,”
Glover explains. “That’s partly because the Tory
politician John Redwood once wore cargo trousers
in public, and fashionistas at the time did actually
blame him for killing the trend,” Garvey says. “That’s
what has stuck in my mind. I’ll be interested to see
how I feel about them when I try them on.”
She duly does. “Ready for battle!” she jokes.
“What can I say? I don’t think I’ll have a lifelong love
affair with cargo pants.”

‘I love the boots. They are more

comfortable than you might
think. I’m never taking them off’
Watch Fi and Jane behind the scenes on
our shoot at thesundaytimes.co.uk
 ‘How could I enjoy
the luxury of
new clothes when
I had left a war?’
A year ago, the stylist Olga Makogon’s world was turned upside down
when Ukraine was invaded and she fled from her home to Manchester.
She reflects on the people, and possessions, she has left behind
As told to Deborah Linton Photograph Jake Millers
I still remember how I exhaled when I
arrived in Britain. I sank into the front seat of
my sister’s car, tears streaming silently down
my face as unfamiliar trees and pavements
melted past the window outside, and noticed
my breath leave me — relief like never before.
I had fled Kyiv 19 days earlier, weighing
up whether to stay or go as bombs came
down. My boyfriend of two years, Sergey,
and I had driven through the night into the
Carpathian Mountains, and then crossed the
border into Poland with my parents, before
I left him — both of us — to fates unknown:
him contained within the country in case
he was needed to fight; me, aged 40 and
suddenly a refugee.
And then I was in Manchester, as one of the
first refugees accepted into Britain, driving
away from an airport some 1,500 miles from
home. It was March 15, 2022. My parents sat
in the back seat, the rucksack containing all I
had grabbed of my possessions was at my feet.
98 • The Sunday Times Style
I breathed in: silence, calm, safety. I thought
of home burning, of friends displaced, of the
border officer who had just checked our visas,
reading “Ukraine” and looking up, asking:
“Do you need anything?” Would everyone be
this kind? Everything was unknown but for
one thing: I felt certain we were protected.
Before the war I’d been working as a stylist
in Kyiv for magazines and private clients, the
clothing rails at my studio a mix of Ukrainian
designers and brands such as Gucci, Prada
and Alexander McQueen. It was a job I loved.
On the evening of February 23, 2022, I’d
locked up my studio in the ancient Podil
district at 7pm, gone to the gym, then walked
to meet Sergey at my apartment. We were
woken the next morning by war.
Now, in northern England, where my
sister’s family lived, I would have to put down
roots all over again while mastering new
skills and the language. I was like a child
learning to walk. Seven of us lived in my
sister’s two-bedroom house, sleeping on
mattresses on the floor. I was glued to the
news and social media. I read how houses
and districts I knew were destroyed, children
killed, women raped. I felt horror at the sight
of mass graves. I was here but I was still there.
I sent messages to Sergey and waited days for
his replies, terror-stricken that they might
never come. I fell asleep with these thoughts
and woke with them.
As weeks turned into months, about
eight million Ukrainians would cross the
border and six million would become
displaced internally. Within a year, more
than 7,000 civilians would die. I remained
shellshocked but, to move forward physically,
I learnt I had to move mentally too. I tried to
watch less, to stop living on my nerves.
In May I got a job at a fashion store,
Stylejunky Boutique, on the outskirts of
Manchester. The owner described it to me
as “more like a club run by stylists”, so I could
do what I loved again.
My parents and I moved into a basement
flat under the home of a couple who offered
to host refugees. Nothing was our own but
they treated us like friends, without pity.
They became family.
I was laying down the foundations of a new
life but was racked with survivor’s guilt. I was
ashamed to embrace freedom and held back
moments of joy from my boyfriend who lived
amid devastation, driving between Kyiv and
the city of Dnipro, volunteering for humani-
tarian work, providing clothes and supplies
for those in need. I felt guilty eating food that
he longed for, taking walks or sending photos.
The first time I bought myself something
with my pay cheque, a cheap high street
blazer from Primark, I agonised. How could
I enjoy the luxury of new clothes when I had
left a war? How could I put on lipstick when
he didn’t have food or work? It felt disloyal.
But, still, I was building a life. The hardest
thing was — is — missing my people. The
girlfriends I used to meet on Fridays after
work were now scattered across Europe. It is
unlikely we will be in one room again.
In August, six months after war broke out,
I paid a two-week visit home, for Independ-
ence Day, flying to Warsaw then travelling
22 hours to Kyiv by bus. As we pulled into the
city I found myself silently crying against
another window, this time for all the places

I recognised. I wanted to take in every tree,
every broken building. And then, Sergey.
“Were you waiting for a man like me?” he
asked as I stepped off the bus. He joked like
he used to. We hugged and cried and settled
into our old rhythm, but everything was
more pressing. We stole kisses in the super-
market and saw friends, but with every noise,
every siren that cut conversations short, my
body jumped with fear.
I returned to my apartment, suspended in
time and darkness. It had been untouched
since I’d thrown my possessions on the floor,
grabbed my documents and run. My flowers
were bowed, dead, on the windowsill, my
clothes were still strewn across the room.
“Hi, favourite jeans, favourite T-shirt, best
jewellery,” I smiled, bringing them up close:
a necklace with a bone pendant that my sister
This picture Olga Makogon
at Hale railway station,
Greater Manchester.
Opposite In Ukraine with
her family before the war
had bought me years ago; my blue mom
jeans from Mango that were a staple of my
everyday wardrobe; and a T-shirt with the
famous graffiti image of the fraternal kiss
that marked the fall of the Berlin Wall, along-
side the words “My God, Help Me to Survive
This Deadly Love”. I had worn it countless
times but its meaning became greater than
I could have imagined. I chose a few items to
take back to the UK and bagged up the rest
for volunteers.
I visited my studio, treading the old
cobbles and peering though the window of
this empty space that had once been so
vibrant in the heart of Kyiv’s artisan
district. I quietly said “thank you” and
walked away, because this thing I keep
feeling — acceptance — is the only way
I can survive what I cannot change.
In January I returned once more, to
Chernivtsi by the Romanian border, to see
Sergey. Electricity, internet and hot water
were infrequent, homes were cold and fridges
did not always work. But there was life. We sat,
like other couples, in candlelit cafés. People
bought roses and planned weddings. They
found pockets of beauty and imagined where
they would go when the war ends.
During each visit Sergey and I drank
each other in. We had good moments,
deep moments, new ones. I was meeting a
new him and he a new me. Where once we
had planned a family, now we planned for
immeasurable separation. He spoke about
death. No one taught us how to have a rela-
tionship this way, with no horizon in sight.
We have talked about giving up, but are
learning, instead, to be patient and wise,
even when it fills us with fear.
In England I exhaled again. I didn’t want
to admit the relief I felt to be back, but there
was comfort in feeling safe.
Sometimes I walk the pavements with an
invisible Sergey by my side, imagining us
holding hands in the rain. Instead of his
smile I am met with those of warm-hearted
people who don’t know me but have taken
me in. If they hear my accent and ask, I tell
them who I am: not a refugee, a Ukrainian.
I watch their faces, wondering: “When did
she arrive?” Working out if I’m a product of
war. Some show pity, which I cannot accept.
They rarely ask about home.
Division exists between those who
stayed and those who left. I didn’t leave to
betray my country, I left to protect my life
and my family’s, in whichever country
could bring us peace, and I would make that
choice again. I have discovered new dimen-
sions to my nationality, this nation that
shows the world how united it can be when
it’s torn; these people who are strong, with
no concept of surrender. I have also redis-
covered small joys, such as the wonder of
charity shops, and that it is OK to want to
feel beautiful when reality is ugly.
We do not know how long this fire will
burn. I’m not a doctor, a builder, a bread-
maker. There won’t be work for me in
Ukraine when the war ends. The closest
thing I can have to the life I had before is
the one I’m creating over here, but I carry
Ukraine in my heart every day.
I wonder about the meaning of that word:
home. It will always be Ukraine, but I have
accepted that this land that gave me a
chance to live, to be safe, can come to call
itself “home” too. The value of life is greater
to me now than it has ever been. I under-
stand that you simply have to live for all
those who no longer can. ■
The Sunday Times Style • 99
 ROCK
STEADY
Jewel-encrusted bracelets, rings to lust over and
diamonds you’ll want to wear all day long – revel
in these new-season headliners
Photographs Amie Milne Styling Flossie Saunders
Jewellery director Jessica Diamond
This page Metamorphosis
ear cuff in yellow, white
and rose gold with
titanium and diamonds,
price on application, De
Beers. Perlée rings in
white gold and diamonds,
£10,300, and yellow gold
and emeralds, £12,100,
Van Cleef & Arpels. Shirt,
£1,350, Brunello Cucinelli.
Opposite Grain de café
ring in rose gold with
obsidian and diamonds,
£18,800, and bracelet in
yellow and white gold
with diamonds, £42,500,
Cartier. Masterpiece
Three Stone Kingdom ring
in yellow gold with topaz,
£37,950, Pragnell. Jacket,
£1,330, and belt, £440,
Michael Kors Collection

The Sunday Times Style • 101

102 • The Sunday Times Style
This page Eternal gold
multi-coil bracelet, POA,
Prada. Top, £1,550, and
suede shorts, £1,600,
Hermès. Opposite Right
hand: Masterpiece ring in
platinum with sapphire and
diamonds, POA, Pragnell.
Scroll ring in platinum with
sapphire and diamonds,
POA, Boodles. Left hand:
Serpenti ring in white gold
with tanzanite, onyx and
diamonds, POA, Bulgari.
Joséphine Aigrette
Impériale ring in platinum
with sapphire and
diamonds and Liens
d’Amour ring in white gold
with sapphire and
diamonds, POA, Chaumet.
Tights, £40, Wolford
 This page Necklace in
white gold with diamonds,
POA, Bulgari. Bois de Rose
bracelet in white gold,
£6,850, Bois de Rose rings
in white gold with
diamonds, £2,150 each, and
Bois de Rose ring in white
gold, £1,100, Dior Joaillerie.
Jacket, £625, Rejina Pyo.
Opposite Lock bangles in
yellow gold, £6,425, yellow
gold with pavé diamonds,
£31,600, and yellow gold
with diamond accents,
£9,300, Tiffany & Co.
[Sur]Naturel ring in white
gold with emeralds, onyx
and diamonds, POA, Cartier.
Skirt, £340, Rejina Pyo
Hair Lewis Pallett at Eighteen Management using Aveda. Make-up Martina Lattanzi using Dior Forever Foundation and Dior Capture Totale
Le Sérum. Nails Cherrie Snow using Dior manicure collection and Miss Dior hand cream. Model Nicole Onwuchekwa at Wilhelmina

The Sunday Times Style • 105

 Sweatpants in
Paris? Mais non!
Would your style change
if you moved abroad?
Four fashionable women
explain their wardrobe
metamorphoses

‘Denim is king
in Paris’
Monica Ainley de La Villardière,
34, is a writer and co-host of
the Fanfare podcast. Originally
from Toronto, she moved to
Paris eight years ago after
marrying her husband, Marc,
a Frenchman, and now lives
on the Left Bank
I grew up in Canada, so you might assume
my friends and I wore trapper hats and
enormous puffer coats in winter and
Daisy Duke cut-offs in summer … and you
wouldn’t be that far off. We weren’t
unaware of fashion or even uninterested in
it. Yet its epicentre was generally accepted
to be elsewhere. So imagine my surprise
when I moved to Paris eight years ago
and found that the fashion there was kind
of subdued. Not boring as such, but
restrained, simpler, more quietly confident.
Parisians, I soon realised, were so
accustomed to the embarras du choix
they had forever been exposed to that the
beauty of dressing well was in selecting
wisely and not overdoing it.
Eight years on and there’s no denying
that my shopping habits have been
“Franco-fied”. Many Parisians invest in one,
maybe two, key pieces per season — items
that will work perfectly with the essentials
they’ve owned for years — then wear them
ad infinitum. The pieces I crave most are
now “wear forever” coats, well-cut jackets
and jeans, perfect white shirts and
meticulously crafted mid-heeled boots.

108 • The Sunday Times Style

 This picture and
opposite Monica
Ainley de La
Villardière found
Paris fashion
“surprisingly
subdued”
As I’ve learnt, if you suddenly want that
old Celine blouse or Hedi Slimane-era
Saint Laurent peacoat, you don’t need
to find a high street version. Instead,
save up, scour the city’s infinite
second-hand designer shops — I’m
partial to GoodJo — and there’s a good
chance you’ll find the very one.
There’s a common misapprehension that
everyone in Paris is dressed to the nines at
all times. It’s true that people do not permit
themselves to run around in leggings or
tracksuits all day (even exhausted mums).
Sports kit outside the gym remains a no-no.
But rest assured you will not find me — or
anyone I know — dressed for a fashion
show at the park on weekends. Denim is
king in Paris and generally accepted as
suitable for nearly every occasion — with
a T-shirt or men’s jumper and a baseball
cap on weekends; with a smart jacket for,
say, a fashion show; with heeled boots
and red lips for a nice dinner.
Perhaps because French style so rarely
incurs any drastic changes, many of its
icons are as relevant today as they’ve ever
been. Plus, encouragingly for expats like
me, several French style legends were born
elsewhere (Romy Schneider, Jane Birkin,
Josephine Baker). The je ne sais quoi seeped
into their aesthetic subconscious. You
can let it permeate yours too, with help
Iulia Matei, Getty Images, Marcy Swingle
from Instagram accounts such as
@ParisiensinParis (the creator keeps their
identity a secret so as to better snap true,
unfussy street style incognito). This
account simply captures the everyday
style we Paris dwellers are lucky enough to
see all the time from the café terrasses, and
makes it available — and potentially
imitable — to the larger world.
‘I’d often jot down
what Londoners
were wearing in
a notepad’
The writer Aja Barber, 40, moved
from Virginia to London seven
years ago. She now lives in
southeast London with her British
husband, Stephen
Before I moved to the UK I didn’t really
have a defined style. I wanted to be able to
afford Hussein Chalayan (and whoever
Björk was wearing at the time), but in
Virginia my wardrobe was mostly jeans
and a top. So when I first arrived I
immediately thought: “I’ve got to step up
my game.” London has such an anything-
goes attitude to fashion, though, that
straight from the off I felt more free to
experiment with my look. I would often find
myself carrying a notebook when I rode
public transport and gleefully jotting down
what others were wearing. I’d write down
colour combos — “wear neon pink with a
blue Oxford shirt together” or “pink +
bubblegum pink + royal blue + violet”.  as pointy-toe flats with kitten heels and
It made sense in my head.
My style changed very quickly. I was living
in east London, working in Shoreditch,
and was surrounded by cool independent
brands. I wore a lot of the graphic-design-
heavy label Rude and began to play with
colour. I bought my first Vivienne
Westwood blouse, which I still love but
am loath to admit that I now can’t do up
the buttons.  Virginia, people looked at my new get-ups
Above and below Since moving
to London, Aja Barber wears a
mix of second-hand clothes
and independent ethical labels
I was keen to try all the latest trends, such
fishnet tights, moving in the direction of
indie sleaze, I suppose. Fast-fashion stores
were more widely available in the UK than
they were in the States and I dove right in
because it was so normal to do so over here.
But I still had better options — amazing
charity shops, as well as all the east London
sample sales — so looking back, I wish
I hadn’t. When I returned home to
oddly, but every now and then someone
would tell me they admired my approach to
fashion and that always meant a lot.
Today, my wardrobe is a mix of 50 per
cent second-hand (luxury and denim),
50 per cent ethical independent brands and
a small fraction of leftover fast-fashion bits. 
I once told my best friend that I wanted to
look like a pile of clean, wrinkled laundry
and I’ve achieved that with deconstructed
second-hand Junya Watanabe, baggy shorts
from the brand Egg, and dresses, oversized
upcycled shirts and piles of big fluffy
sweaters. There’s loads of menswear in my
wardrobe too, which is often better made. 
Most important, though, thanks to
London, I’ve finally found what my style is:
instead of buying the latest thing, I ask
myself if every purchase will last ten years.
The Sunday Times Style • 109
 ‘In Copenhagen,
stilettos and bike
pedals are not
bedfellows’
Isabella Rose Davey, 31,
communications director of
Copenhagen Fashion Week,
moved to Denmark from
London three years ago
Bikes, woolly balaclavas, blonde plaits
and voluminous Cecilie Bahnsen
skirts: Copenhagen has an undeniable
aesthetic (and mode of transport) but
also many micro tribes within.
I’ve been based in the Danish capital
for more than three years, and the style of
the city continues to inspire — and also
surprise — me. I’m a Geordie but London
was very much where I finally felt myself,
sartorially and otherwise, and is where
I spent four glorious years working at
the British Fashion Council.
It was in this role that my style went full
throttle, with looks straight off the London
Fashion Week catwalks. I then relocated to
Hannah
Marriott works
a beanie in
New York
‘The current New
York uniform? A
duvet coat worn
with a beanie from
your kids’ school’
The journalist Hannah Marriott, 40,
moved from London to Brooklyn
just over a year ago with her family
Isabella Rose
Davey dresses
for comfort in
Copenhagen
the land of wind and snow, having been
offered a job that seemed a welcome change
at a time when Brexit had thrown a dark
shadow on the creative scene in London.
Landing in Copenhagen, my first
impression was of a nation that felt
overwhelmingly, well, homogeneous in
its look. All hair was glossy, blonde and
swishy; all outfit colour palettes were various
ranges of navy blue. It felt a little bit
Having watched Sex and the City at a
formative age, I wondered whether moving
to New York would awaken my inner Carrie
Bradshaw. Well, I’ve been here just over a
year. If there is a metamorphosis on its way,
I am still at the pupal stage.  parents; the current uniform is a duvet coat
When I moved in late December 2021,
with my husband and our kids, who were
three and five, the temperature hovered
around minus 1C, with the odd dip to
minus 12C for a month. Clothing was an
immediate issue. I hadn’t anticipated how
brutal New York winters can be; at my son’s
preschool they call it “danger cold”.
Within weeks I had dropped half of my
savings on clothes, but not in the name of
fabulousness. I’m a former fashion editor and
I’ve written loads about slow fashion and only
buying what you truly love, but this went out
of the window, I’m afraid. We shopped at
speed before one of us lost an extremity to
frostbite. I went to the US brand Everlane
and bought a huge coat that has served me
well — New York is a sea of black padded
nylon all winter. And I bought some khaki
trousers that were roomier than my usual
jeans, which I had, by that point, ripped (RIP)
trying to pull them up over thermals.
No sooner had I mastered one uniform
than another was required as summer hit.
It felt like opening a sauna door every time
we left our apartment. Nothing prepares you
for the ick factor when, for weeks on end,
your British viscose summer dresses stick to
your armpits like clingfilm.  to be, I suspect clogs may play a part. ■
claustrophobic. But after a few months
I became exposed to the brilliant
undercurrent of the city, discovering
designers such as Danish rising star
A Roege Hove, whose innovative knitwear is
worn by all the coolest Nordic girls, and
Venczel, which makes the sleekest handbags.
I have also embraced the urge for comfort
and dressing for the seasons — my woolly
balaclava never leaves my head and my
Rotate mittens ensure cycling in snow is
not a horrific experience.
My wool skirt suit from Ganni makes me
feel presentable in meetings and my
Andersen-Andersen sweaters always look
smart (and keep out the most chilling of
draughts). In the summer, harbour
swimming is the high point of any weekend
— think bikinis and Havaianas with loose
dresses by Skall Studio or cult PJ brand
Tekla, worn with sunglasses from the
Copenhagen brand Flatlist.
The big things I’ve learnt after three years
here? Stilettos and bike pedals are not
necessarily bedfellows (my Jil Sander shoes
have been through some serious repairs
after furiously cycling to the pub on a
Friday), and jeans in sleet-rain are a rookie
error — I am far better set in my Han
Kjobenhavn tracksuit instead.
It would take decades to understand New
York’s subtleties since all of its many
neighbourhoods have a distinct look and vibe.
In Park Slope, where we live, the dominant
cohort is, notoriously, white middle-class
worn with a beanie — often branded merch
from your kids’ school — plus leggings and
trainers with socks pulled up. But there are
also, confusingly, an awful lot of clogs on the
school run. More clogs than I have ever seen,
in pretty shades of biscuit and light grey, worn
with matching socks and sometimes, even
when it is chilly, bare ankles. Google informs
me that these are probably No 6 clogs.
How those pale suede clogs fare on the
pavements — sorry, sidewalks — I do not
know. Because this is a city that does not
make it easy to dress well, with its wild
weather and rats that make open-toed
sandals feel like a brave choice. And yet it is
awash with terrific outfits. In certain parts of
town, the street style is easily more OTT
than London. Like our server during a recent
trip to a Mexican restaurant in Greenpoint,
who had long flowing hair, toned biceps and
a pearlescent pink bustier.
As for me, I doubt my clothes will ever be
art, but now that the basics are covered,
I’m subtly changing my look too. I’ve just
had two more earlobe piercings — that
makes a total of four since I arrived. And
though I reckon it will take a little time to
work out what kind of New Yorker I want
The Sunday Times Style • 111
 Lennard wears a
dress by Junya
Watanabe Comme
des Garçons and
Marni shoes. The
vintage McDonald’s
sign was a gift from
her sister, Kate

‘It’s where good

taste meets bad’
A stalwart of the London
fashion scene, the superstar PR
Mandi Lennard has a flat stuffed
full of fabulous collectibles.
Mark C O’Flaherty takes the tour
Everyone knows Mandi Lennard. And Mandi Lennard
knows everyone. Well, everyone in fashion who matters in
London, that is. Lynne Franks may have created a template
for the all-powerful fashion PR of the late 20th century
(as parodied by Jennifer Saunders’s Edina in Absolutely
Fabulous), but Lennard reinvented that role for today. She
calls herself a consultant rather than a press agent, but
mostly acts as a kind of maternal finder, fixer and enabler
for new creative talent; she has been instrumental in the
careers of Kim Jones, Gareth Pugh and, most recently,
Matty Bovan.
She’s a global ambassador for Graduate Fashion Week,
has worked with Bistrotheque restaurateurs Pablo Flack
and David Waddington since 2004 — when they opened
what immediately became a canteen for the east London
Above The smiley rug is by the American streetwear brand Cactus Plant Flea Market, while the black and white rug is by the British fashion
designer and artist Christopher Nemeth. The 1970s Fiocco modular screen is by Pierluigi Spadolini for Kartell. Opposite, bottom The cushion
is by OriginalFake by Kaws, the vase is by the Italian designer Gaetano Pesce and the Mr Dob figure is by the Japanese artist Takashi Murakami

The Sunday Times Style • 113

 art and fashion communities — and oversees the “high
fashion” Barbies for Mattel. “It was funny when we did the
Comme des Garçons one,” she says. “Rei [Kawakubo] just
obsessed about the floral dress, she didn’t really care what
we did with the rest of the doll. I thought she’d be much
more controlling.”
While Lennard has been aligned with all things east
London for decades, five years ago she decided to move
to a loft-style apartment on the Thames, beside Tate
Modern. “It felt so right,” she says. “I was amazed how
everything I owned looked so perfect in the new space.”
It’s also her office, but she works wherever she finds
herself. “My job is about keeping clients updated on what’s
next,” she says. “That could be an article in a newspaper
or it could be music.” She frequently refers to her library,
from books on GI Joe and Paul Klee to histories of
Supreme and the Soho barber Cuts.
While she has always been in fashion, Lennard has never
wanted to design. Instead, she wanted to make things
happen. “I grew up in Leeds and all I knew was I didn’t
want to be ordinary. I got a job at the Benetton shop doing
visual merchandising and then in the one in Paris. Then
I came back and worked as a buyer at Browns when it was
the most important fashion store in London. It owned the
Comme store at the time and I worked there for a while
too. I was the first buyer to put Vivienne Westwood in a
shop other than her own.”

Lennard forged crucial relationships at Browns, and then

worked with the PR Marysia Woroniecka, who had helped to
launch Malcolm McLaren and Westwood as a fashion week
entity. “I remember not really knowing what I was doing,” she
recalls, “but I knew I could make things happen.” Woroniecka
was looking after Rifat Ozbek’s Quilts of Love Aids charity
event in Hyde Park in 1994 and asked Lennard to ensure they
got maximum coverage. “I called all the picture editors
directly,” she recalls. “I got it as a full-page photograph on the
front of The Independent the next day.”

Left The Bruce Lee bust was found at a New York flea
market, while the skateboard is by UNDFTD x Geoff
McFetridge x Solitary Arts. Above Lennard’s collection
includes a Louis Vuitton-branded View-Master, a Chanel
store decoration and a Saint Laurent coffee cup.
Top The burger light is by Undercover and the snow
globe is by Kaws. The striking Flos Chiara floor lamp
is by the Italian designer Mario Bellini

114 • The Sunday Times Style

 ‘It felt so right.
I was amazed
how everything
I owned looked
so perfect in
the new space’
Left Lennard converted what
was a bedroom into an office
and dining space. The table is
a vintage piece from Atomic
Antiques, Shoreditch. The metal
chairs are original Verner Panton
pieces, while the Takashi
Murakami-print chair is from the
artist’s 2018 collaboration with
Modernica. Below Lennard wears
a velvet coat by Comme des
Garçons and boots by Celine. The
Polo sculpture is by Rockman &
Photographs Rockman (designed by Lennard’s
Mark C O’Flaherty sister, Kate) and the wall hanging
is by British designer Matty Bovan

While Lennard has a huge collection of clothes and

accessories by designers she has worked with, her
everyday uniform is the same: “A simple Comme skirt
and one of dozens of black and white T-shirts from
Undercover,” she says. “When I dress up to go out, I think
a lot about what mood I am in and what I want to convey.”
Her apartment is a reflection of her life. “It’s what
Matty Bovan calls ‘taking taste to the edge’,” she says.
“It’s where good meets bad. And it’s where the most
interesting work is.”
As you’d expect, the apartment is also a social hub for
her friends. “The table is small but I fit a lot of people
around it for dinner, and I’ve realised that everyone likes
to gravitate close to the kitchen when they arrive, so
I now get the bartender Rudy Fergani to do cocktails.
He does a different one for each occasion and they’re
always delicious. The only guidance is that he can’t do
anything red — because I don’t want anything staining
my Chris Nemeth rug.” ■

The Sunday Times Style • 115

 ‘From one
angle I am
beautiful,
from another
I am wrong’ After her mother’s death, the author
Allie Rowbottom turned to injectables to hide her grief
– but nothing could mask her pain, she discovered
Photograph Matt Weinberger
My mother’s mouth was small. When she was happy
her smile was a self-possessed warmth, a homecoming.
She could stretch it to make dimples, a sign she was high
or lying, a sign she wanted something she feared she
wouldn’t get. At the end of her life, in September 2015,
I saw her forehead furrow often. In fear, in pain. Six
months later, I look in the mirror and see in my own face
her remnants. Her mouth, her lips, her suffering. I do and
do not want this to be the case.
It’s March 2016 and I’m 29 years old. I tell my husband
I’m going to the dentist and drive instead to a medical
spa deep in the Los Angeles suburbs, where I’ve sched-
uled my first Botox and filler treatment. It didn’t come
recommended but rather was offered by the cheapest
Groupon rate.
Inside the place looks like a TK Maxx has exploded
and scattered only its chintziest furnishings among the
rubble. Velveteen love seats, a “crystal” chandelier that
appears in reality to be plastic, a sign on the wall that
reads Self Love Club. “Hi Allie,” says the girl behind the
desk with a familiarity that suggests we’ve met before.
A technician in a white lab coat calls me to the back of
the office. There’s a reclining chair and not much else.
“So,” she says, “what are we doing today, hon?” I cling to
the word “hon”. It’s a habit I’ve honed in the months
since my mother died.
“I know I’m young,” I start, but struggle with how to
continue. I’m embarrassed by my desire for beauty, for
youth. And how to tell her about my mother’s mouth, her
smile? “Not that young!” the technician assures me.
“Frown for me.” I frown. “Someone makes that expression
118 • The Sunday Times Style
often,” she says and examines a clipboard. “You bought
the introductory Botox and filler package, so why don’t we
start with 20 units and a syringe of Juvéderm?”
“OK,” I say, no concept of what this means. “I don’t
want to look frozen,” I add. “Oh no, hon, 20 units is the
standard dose. And the filler is reversible! You don’t like
it, we take it out.” She leaves, comes back with a handful
of needles she arranges into a fan on a tray. They
remind me of medicine; how, in the early days of
my mother’s illness, we went together to the chemo-
therapy centre and a nurse taught me how to inject
her drugs using a special pillow that we stabbed with
needles until we got it right.
“Let’s get your Botox out of the way,” the injector says
and looms over me, syringe in hand. When the needle
hits my forehead, it makes a snap. Small stings, a light,
satisfying pain. “The ’tox should kick in fully in two
weeks,” she says and hands me a mirror in which I see
little difference. She prepares another syringe. “This one
might be more ouchy.” She taps the skin of my lips
before inserting the needle. It sears. A spreading, a
burning, as if I’ve been stung by a poisonous insect. Tears
stream from my eyes. “What am I doing?” I hear myself
ask, somewhere silent inside my mind. What would my
mother say if she could see me now? But this time, when The author
the injector hands me the mirror, I see someone new, Allie Rowbottom
a girl I’ve never met; I see beauty, stripped of time and at her
sadness. “Love,” I whisper. godmother’s
On the drive home, ice pack pressed to my mouth, home in
I think about my husband. We married in June 2015, two New York
months before my mother’s death. It’s only our first year
of marriage but we’ve been in constant conflict, my grief
an overwhelming force he can’t understand. I don’t want
to add to his confusion by confessing my deep need to
be beautiful, young. I know he won’t relate. I brainstorm
excuses I can give for my swollen mouth. I was stung by a
bee! I ate some weird sushi and I’m having an allergic reac-
tion! The dentist! But when he sees me, all he says is: “You
look pretty.” It feels like permission.
Despite my efforts to erase its toll, time passes. Every few
months, I visit the med spa in secret, rack up debt I solve with
the sale of my first book, a memoir about my mother’s life and
death. It’s more than a year since her death now, but I’m still
grieving, still crying myself to sleep. My frozen face comforts
me; when I look in the mirror, I see little of the pain I hold
within. I busy myself with pre-publication choices. Covers
and copy, an anxiety that creeps in, steadily, with each step
I take towards putting my work into the world.
It’s around this time that I begin to notice a change to
my face. I see it for the first time in a photograph in which
I appear frozen and oddly older, my mouth not just uneven
but slurred, as if in the aftermath of a stroke. I take a selfie,
see the same strange slur. I zoom in. Panic overtakes me.
How long have I looked like this?
I make an appointment with a new injector. I need
someone who can see me fresh, without the burden of
familiarity, time. In a high rise with a view of Beverly Hills,
I meet a plastic surgeon, who inspects my mouth. “I’d say
we need a full syringe of Restylane to even out the asym-
metry,” he says, and his nurse arrives with a paper I sign —
more numbers, the cost of beauty, the cost of youth, pain,
love. But after the treatment, paranoia persists. Is my mouth
still skewed? I try everything I can to answer the question
and see myself clearly. Selfies at close range, selfies at long
range, selfies taken with the camera on my computer, or
standing in front of my bathroom mirror and looking at my
reflection in a second mirror because I read somewhere that
two mirrors provide a truer reflection of reality than one.
But nothing I do provides an answer. From one angle I am
beautiful, from another I am wrong.
“I have a confession,” I tell my husband. He’s in bed,
reading on his phone. I’ve just come from the bathroom,
another self-punishing foray into the depths of filler-
induced facial dysmorphia. “What’s going on?” he says and
looks up, sees my face. “Baby,” he says, “you OK?”
After the confession, after my husband tells me I look fine
(“It’s a difference only you would notice,” he assures),
I publish my book and spend another two years chasing injec-
tions, more rather than less. Not one provider I see tells me
that the change in my face, the one I’ve spent countless hours
trying to pinpoint, the one I’m sure is real, is the result of filler
migration. A ledge of hyaluronic acid has settled above my lip
rather than in it, and twisted my smile. I figure it out myself,
make an appointment to have the filler dissolved. The
day I do, at a new surgeon’s practice in
Beverly Hills, is four years after my
mother’s death.
I look at myself in the mirror after
the procedure and see how the
product I’d bought to make me
younger has aged me. I see myself,
inextricable from the mother I loved,
the mother I lost. ■

Aesthetica by Allie Rowbottom is

published by Soho Press at £21.60

The Sunday Times Style • 119

 My low-tech
skincare routine
I blow hot and cold with beauty products.
My house is stuffed with them because I’m
constantly testing them, but I have quite a
difficult relationship with vanity generally.
I absolutely see that it can be an expression
of self-worth, which is great. But it’s also an
expression of actual vanity, which I like a lot
less. There’s a part of me that sort of thinks
people should wash their face, let their hair
air-dry and go about their day thinking
interesting thoughts. And then there is the
part that goes into ecstasies over a really good
serum or volumising shampoo. It’s sometimes
quite strange trying to reconcile the two.
My own beauty tastes are hippyish, more
Birkenstocks than heels, more garden flowers
than £300 arrangement. I don’t like things
that look too done anywhere in my house,
and that applies to faces too. (For exactly the
same reason, oddly enough — I find there’s
something very naff about “perfection”.)
So although I know for a fact that, in the
21st century, chemistry and science can hold
back and sometimes even lightly reverse the
ravages of time to an unprecedented degree,
I am resistant. I don’t love regularly shoving a
ton of strange chemicals on, let alone into, my
face, because nobody really knows what the
cumulative effect of either ingredients or
procedures will be 20 years down the line.
So when it comes to what I personally use,
I go with a variation on that line about reading
the label and not eating ingredients your
grandmother wouldn’t recognise, and I err on
the side of caution. I mean, it’s your one and
only face. Don’t go putting random stuff on it
and into it like it doesn’t matter. It matters. It’s
one thing having huge frown lines and going
for Botox when you’re properly old — being
properly old, you might as well go for it
(having first done research into who to see),
but I am genuinely horrified by very young
women having, and normalising, increasingly
bizarre procedures, like buccal fat removal.
Also, repeat after me: the best way to look
minimally withered in older age is to have fat
in your face. There is no greater beauty truth.
With all that in mind, here’s my
pathetically low-tech skincare routine. In the
morning I wash my face with a warm flannel
with nothing on it. Flannels are brilliant
exfoliants if you use them twice a day (and
Victoria Adamson
then chuck in the wash). I don’t scrub my face
like it’s a pan with stuck-on debris, but nor do
I dab feebly. Doing this did away with any
congestion years ago. I put on moisturiser:
She has tried hundreds of beauty
products for Style, but what does
India Knight’s daily routine really
consist of? A warm flannel, some
cleansing balm and the right moisturiser
Charlotte’s Magic Cream by Charlotte
Tilbury (£79) if I’m wearing make-up;
MZ Skin The Light Moisturiser (1 £150)
if I’m not. I really rub it in, for ages, until it
disappears, and then I leave it to sit while
I brush my teeth. That’s it. The whole
“routine” takes about one minute.
In the evening I remove eye make-up with
Bioderma Sensibio Micellar Water (£16)
— micellar waters are not all created equal.
Then I clean my face as if it were a military
operation using Emma Lewisham
Illuminating Oil Face Cleanser (2 £48),
which I reviewed ages ago and have been
devotedly using ever since, and my trusty
flannel. I massage in the cleansing oil for
ages. I alternate between this and Elemis
Pro-Collagen Cleansing Balm (£46), which
I’ve used religiously for years, possibly
something like ten years. (Also, I can’t say this
enough, oil cleansers are fine on oily skin. It’s
those harsh, strippy ones you have to watch
out for, because once they strip your skin, it
produces more oil to compensate.) Once my
face is completely dry, I use a serum,
currently Reome Active Recovery Broth
(3 £110), which is fantastic. I don’t see myself
stopping using it when this bottle runs out
2
3
1
— it’s amazing at smoothing, nourishing
and evening things out: you wake up looking
better than when you went to bed.
Then I sit and see what my skin feels like.
In the summer, I’d leave it at that unless the
weather was freakishly cold. In the winter,
I also use an ultra-luxe facial oil, for
preference one by de Mamiel or Alexandra
Soveral. Either way, it also gets massaged in
carefully and for some time. Then I go to bed.
If I’m going out at night and need super-
skin, I use Guinot Masque Essentiel Nutri
Confort (£37), which is a miracle in a tube. If
I’m going out in the day and it isn’t summer,
I might use Embryolisse Lait-Crème
Concentré (£13) as a primer. If my skin looks
blotchy or dull, I use The Ordinary AHA
30% + BHA 2% Peeling Solution (4 £8.50),
which sorts it. I don’t always wear sunscreen,
I’m afraid, but when I do it’s La Roche-Posay
Anthelios UVMune 400 SPF 50+ (5 £20).
If I look like crap and it’s an emergency, I get
on the train to London, find a hotel room and
book Asta to come round to give me a facial.
You can find her on the home-treatment
booking app Ruuby — she does everything
impeccably, like a human Swiss Army knife
of beauty treatments. ■ @indiaknight
5
4
The Sunday Times Style • 121
 Dear Dolly
Your love, life and friendship dilemmas answered
by Dolly Alderton

I work with a girl who makes me feel jealous because of her confidence, good looks and
ability to attract men without trying. Being around her makes me instantly feel bad about
myself, but we are constantly in close proximity so I feel as if I can’t escape her. How can
I work alongside her and not feel insecure? Annoyingly, when I am not with her I feel good
about myself and confident, but that evaporates when she’s around. Help! 

I’m going to offer you a radical way to look at
your feelings. Someone suggested it to me
years ago and I thought it was completely mad
— one of those phrases that only makes sense
in a therapist’s office. But with time I’ve found
its poignancy.
No one can make you feel anything.
Sit with it for a moment. Befriend this
stranger of a phrase. It doesn’t mean that
people can do anything they like to you and
your reaction is not their responsibility. It
doesn’t mean people can’t actively cause pain to others. The
wisdom that I take from this idea that no one can make you
feel anything is this: someone being themselves is not
an action relating to you. Someone merely existing is not an
assault on your sense of self, even if it feels like it is. If
someone makes you feel inadequate or insecure, without
doing or saying anything untoward, the assault is coming
from within you. It’s not that the person triggering those
feelings needs to be avoided, but, on the contrary, that those
feelings need to be confronted. Because if it’s not this woman
who makes you feel this way, it will be someone else,
someone with a particular personality or combination of
qualities that will throw you into debilitating self-doubt. And
no one should have that sort of power over you and your
sense of worth. I think you need to think of this woman as a
useful floodlight on your self-esteem. Be thankful for her —
she has not done anything to you and yet she has made you
aware of some of your insecurities that need to addressed.
The thing that you envy is her confidence. This, I promise,
can be fixed. And once you work out how to feel confident in
yourself, the fact of how she looks or how men react to her
won’t feel so important. Everyone gets their confidence from
different things and it takes a while to figure it out. For years
I thought my confidence was boosted by being a certain
weight or having a certain amount of likes from strangers on
social media or attracting male attention. But it turned out to
be completely ineffective in the long run.
Here’s what I now can tell you — hand on heart — are the
bravery, reading books instead of looking
at my phone, understanding the news, a
zero-tolerance policy on f***boys, not goog-
ling myself, not hate-following anyone on
social media, not reading bad reviews of
writers I envy, not bitching, not biting my
nails, not disliking the new girlfriends of
ex-boyfriends. Being someone who “mucks
in”, working out the causes I care about and
the ways I can be quietly useful, having
balanced eating and drinking habits that are
neither restrictive nor mindless, doing things on my own,
being brave in cold water, being truthful with people,
supporting women whose work I love, wearing a trouser suit.
Those are just mine. Yours will be different. But I urge you
to spend some time thinking about what actions you can
take, what things you can avoid and what habits you can form
that make you feel like your truest, most unashamed self.
That’s what will make the big difference: small daily choices
rather than any sort of physical overhaul or personality
replacement. That’s where you will find the confidence you
long for — when you make daily decisions that make you feel
proud of yourself, like you don’t have anything to hide. Then,
when you see another woman who’s equally sure of who she
is, her confidence won’t fill you with fear, it will inspire you
even further.
Another possible solution, which I have found greatly
effective over the years, is to befriend her. You need to
unwrap the mythology you’ve swathed her in and get
to know the woman underneath. She, like you, will have
her own insecurities and fears. I doubt that she walks into
the office every day feeling the power that you’ve ascribed
to her. Nothing neutralises envy more than humanising a
person whom we’ve dehumanised with our own stories
about how easy things have been for them and how compara-
tively hard things have been for us.
It is a sad fact that every woman I know has had to work
hard for her confidence. It’s not something that comes
naturally — it’s a daily practice to refuse to berate yourself
Alexandra Cameron

only effective ways of feeling confident: making work I’m and compare yourself to others. My advice is to remember
really proud of, working hard and efficiently, making my best that it’s not other people’s job to stop you from feeling inse-
friends laugh with a well-told story, setting myself a physical cure. That’s in your remit as your own lifelong best friend
challenge and completing it, travelling with curiosity and and champion. ■

To get your life dilemma answered by Dolly, email or send a voice note to deardolly@sundaytimes.co.uk or DM @theststyle

122 • The Sunday Times Style