In the first episode the 20 competitors were woken up by the ever-dapper Tim at 5 am and ordered to accompany him to the work room, bringing only their night attire and one plain white bed sheet.  The challenge was to make a garment using those items, dyed and embellished if necessary.

None of the contestants really shone as being particularly brilliant or annoying, so let’s just focus on the clothes.  You can see them all here.

Bert’s little cocktail dress was judged to be the best design:

It is quite sweet.  I’m not sure that most of us would wear something so short, but at least it does look like something that a young woman would choose.  That orange bodice was formed from Bert’s boxer shorts, which is quite cool.  It’s all very skimpy, though; a bit more ‘celebrity’ than ‘normal person’.  And the judges hated Bert’s styling, which they criticised as being very dated.  Big hair is OUT, party people.  The model should have had a pony-tail.  Anyway, Bert’s got immunity for the next challenge.

The worst design was Rafael’s shirt and grey trousers, so he was sent packing:

The judges absolutely hated those trousers, although guest judge Christina Ricci had a couple of nice things to say about the top.  I don’t know why – the way that it was cut made it look like it was gaping over her stomach, which isn’t a look that most women favour.

I think that the trousers were hideous and unflattering - they made the model look unattrative, so I dread to think what they would have done to those of us with normal hips and thighs.  Beyond the clothes, the judges were worried about the way in which Rafael didn’t ‘get’ what was wrong with them.

My two favourite designs were Becky’s frock:

And Viktor’s frock:

They were both well cut, stylish, and wearable.  Granted, Becky’s dress was probably as short as Bert’s dress, but I liked Becky’s dress more because it seemed to be well tailored.

I thought that this outfit was very over-rated by the judges:

It was made by Anya.  Apparently she’d barely used a sewing machine before, and had never made trousers.  Fair play to her; she did a decent job.  However, why would you go on Project Runway without knowing how to use a sewing machine?  It’s like taking part in Masterchef without first knowing how to make pastry.  Anyway, the judges went into raptures over the whole outfit, even though I think that the whole ‘tiny top and huge trousers’ thing is every bit as dated as Bert’s big-haired look – the whole thing screams ‘All Saints music video circa. 1997′ to me.

Kiwi celebrity Kate Hawkesby shared exclusive photos of her wedding in women’s magazine Women’s Day (and did so very successfully – I can’t find any other photos of her dress online).  Here’s the cover of the magazine, showing a full-length shot of the dress:

My sister bought the magazine, so I was able to see several photos of the frock.  It is undisputably hideous, I’m afraid: a confused, criss-crossed sparkly top, a long train, and a very strange cropped skirt-romper thing that looked like an adult nappy.  Why would anybody want to walk up the aisle looking as though they were battling incontinence?  I appreciate that my own wedding dress was very classic and could be described as dull by people who don’t like me, but I think I’d still choose ‘safe’ over ‘possibly can’t control crucial bodily functions’.

New Zealand designer Trelise Cooper created the dress.  I don’t imagine that she’s going to be bombarded with requests for copycat versions.

What do you mean, ‘it’s back’?  Where has it been?  Who doesn’t own a cardigan or two (or ten, in my case)?  Isn’t this like saying jeans are ‘back’?  There I was, thinking that every woman wore cardigans, and it turns out that they’ve been languishing in the fashion wilderness and nobody remembered to tell me.  Of course, nobody remembered to tell the countless shops that stock cardigans either, so that makes me feel a little better.

That Independent article feels that the return of the cardigan is sufficiently newsworthy and controversial to justify presenting an argument for and against.  From the pro-cardigan angle:

A cardigan can be thrown on over almost anything without smothering the impact of what lies beneath, and the flexibility it offers is paramount to its appeal. The cardigan resonates in these straitened times – especially thanks to its inbuilt “climate control” functionality. Don’t turn up the heating, pull on a cardigan instead. Feeling a bit rosy cheeked? Pop a few buttons.

And rebuttal from the anti-cardigan faction:

You will never look streamlined in a cardigan; you will always be just a little bit lumpy. The lumpier the cardigan the more intellectually aspirational you will appear, and the further into the “grandad from the Werther’s Originals adverts” territory you will stray. You may start finding Woodbines and parts of Hornby train sets in the pockets. You will certainly feel a little under the weather and will probably want to stay in bed all day long.

How utterly ridiculous.  As you’ll have guessed by now, I am firmly pro-cardigan, and am aghast at the idea that there is anything bad to say about this blessed garment.  What else can a woman wear when she’s going out and about and there’s a bit of a breeze?  A jumper?  You won’t be able to see the nice top you’ve already got on.  A jacket?  OK at times, but often too formal.  A zip-up hoodie?  Only appropriate if you’re wearing a casual t-shirt and don’t care about looking like a student.  A scarf?  Come on, people – we’re not all mentalist compulsive scarf-wearers.

Behold my favourite cardigan:

It’s raspberry pink (a far deeper tone than the photo shows), I bought it from Monsoon three years ago for something like fifty quid, and it’s earned me more compliments than nearly every other item in my wardrobe.  It looks good over all neutral colours – white, light grey, dark grey, navy, and black – and also over florals.  Here it is keeping me warm up the Eiffel Tower (and Claire, my niece, is wearing another one of my cardigans in this shot):

It can be useful for embracing the whole colour-blocking concept:

Regardless of what the fashionistas at The Independent might say, I remain firmly convinced that cardigans are a wardrobe stalwart; one of the most useful items of clothing you can find.  If I did a cost per wear analysis on my clothes, I’m sure that my cardigans would trump everything else – even jeans.  I wear cardigans with dresses, with jeans, over shirts, over fitted tops, over strappy tops, when I’m just lounging around the house and it’s a bit chilly – there’s never a time that isn’t a good time to pop on a cardie.  They can add a pop of colour to an otherwise monochromatic outfit, or they can provide a tonal match to other things you’re wearing.  They’re awesome.

Here’s my girl Glinda in the film:

That’s a whole lot of pink and sparkles – check out the size of her frock!  There’s no way that I’d be able to wedge a skirt like that into a standard stadium seat.  I decided that I needed to find a shorter, floaty pink frock, to enable me to dress as a younger, more casual, more summery Glinda.  I started looking for a suitable outfit yesterday and found the perfect frock on sale for $25 at Glassons.  Result!  Here it is:

I intend to bulk out the skirt to a suitably Glinda-like width by taking a pair of scissors to the stiff tulle petticoat that I wore under my wedding dress, back in the day.  Although it may sound bad to cut up the petticoat in this way, it’s hardly like I’m getting a lot of wear of out it.  I’m going to hem the cut-down petticoat with some sparkly silver ribbon.  I’ll also use some silver ribbon – or a length of glittery organza – as a sash.

I’m going to wear these shoes:

And this necklace:

And I’ll have to buy a crown, a magic wand, and some wings.

The one thing element of Glinda’s look that I shouldn’t have difficulties in achieving is her cloud of red hair.  My hair isn’t actually red (it’s more of a golden/brown/reddy shade these days, with natural silver highlights), but it does get big and curly without too much effort.  Check out this shot of me in Durban a couple of years ago, after a day of humidity had taken its toll:

That’s what we in the business call a ‘fro, people.

My love affair with vintage handbags started when I was 18 or 19, living in Wellington and developing a fondness for fairly girly fashion – lots of dresses and little skirt suits.  This was my first vintage handbag, and cost me $5 from a stall in what was then the James Smiths market.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve used that bag in the past 18 years, or how many compliments it’s earned me.  The colour of the leather is a perfect – and fairly distinctive – rose pink, and for a vintage bag it’s in great condition; even the lining is reasonably decent.

My second vintage handbag was this blue tweed number – I’m fairly sure that it came from a Wellington charity shop (or ‘op shop’, as they’re called in the part of the world), but it may have been a second hand shop find elsewhere in NZ:

Again, people love this bag and always comment on it when I use it – even total strangers on London trains ask me about it (and anybody who has spent much time in London knows how rare this kind of conversation is).

I love the colour, and also the leather detail:

Sadly, the moths got to it at some point and I found a few holes, but I’m  resourceful soul, so I covered them up with beading:

Hilariously, the last random stranger who complimented me on this bag made a point of saying how much she liked the beading, so it just goes to show that moths have their uses, and that making do and mending can pay dividends.

This stylish camel-coloured number was definitely a second hand shop find, and wouldn’t have cost more than $10:

Very Jackie O, don’t you think?  I’ve used this bag a lot over the years – particularly when camel-coloured stuff has been in vogue.

Those three bags have followed me to the UK and back, and been the finishing touch on so many great outfits.

This brown leather bag is bonkers:

It was a lucky find a few years ago, while I was home in NZ for a visit – I was walking past a brand new second hand shop and went in to have a rummage.  The owners hadn’t really opened yet and were mildly perturbed by me being there, but they didn’t actually try to throw me off the premises, so I made myself comfortable.  This bag was one of the first things I saw, and I pounced on it immediately.  Flustered, the shop owners didn’t really have a clue, and I bought it for a mere $2.  Bargain!  It was perfect as a nod to the boho aesthetic a few years ago (and was probably the only boho accessory I ever owned):

It’s also a very handy bag because the strap can be short (as per the picture), or lengthened to turn it into a shoulder bag.  Genius!

Finally, this bag was bought from a second hand trading shop in rural Bedfordshire – one of those places where several market traders gather under the same roof.

It’s handy because it’s actually a decent size and can be a practical choice for a working day (must as I love the other bags I’ve featured, they’re all fairly tiny and require a lot of thought if one is to rely upon them – although the tooled leather bag is a great option for a shopping trip).

This bag is a bit ‘pleather’, but I do like the colour:

I can’t write about these bags without also remembering two bags I’ve loved and lost (or, rather, foolishly passed on to charity shops and then missed).  One was cream leather and one was maroon leather, and they were both that classic ‘old lady bag’ style: the same size as my rose pink bag, but with a more curved rectangular body.  I hope that their new owners loved them.

It’s really hard to find decent vintage handbags now – people have cottoned on to their general fabulousness, and prices have skyrocketed.  To be fair, I have so many handbags (vintage and new) that I can’t justify buying them anyway…

My dream would be to build a house and design storage  solutions to fit my needs perfectly, but this concept does not gel well with my love of older houses – you can’t have both a new house and an old house (actually, you can: check out the fabulous Moss Brothers and their new-build traditional Kiwi villas – I will write a post about them soon).  In a pre-existing house, you need to have good furniture to provide a home for all your flotsam and jetsam.

Behold, a cabinet that would enable me to hide away a huge amount of stuff:

I saw it in a Greytown furniture shop last week – it’s a Chinese piece, apparently, and it’s painted a nice sage green colour (and that’s another obsession of mine: the sage shade of green).

Sadly, Tristan hates it.  Also sadly, it cost nearly $4,000, so I won’t be buying it any time soon.  But I love it.

Katie Holmes played Jackie Kennedy and did no worse a job than anybody else in the cast.  I don’t mean to damn her with faint praise, and it may well be that Jackie Kennedy really did speak in that simpering voice – I don’t know.  If she did, I find it amazing that nobody smothered her in her sleep. Anyway, this blog isn’t about film reviews, or political discourse, or annoying vocal tones: this blog is about fashion, so I want to write about Jackie Kennedy’s clothes.

There’s no denying that Jackie Kennedy (later Jackie O, of course, and that’s quicker to type, so let’s call her that from now on) was a stylish broad:

She certainly knew the value of clean lines and simple styles.  I’ve just googled through a gazillion pages of photos of her, and it’s hard to find her in an outfit that I wouldn’t wear very happily.  This is lovely:

And so is this:

I also like the way in which she found a timeless style early on and stuck to it.  She was perennially elegant.

While considering Jackie O’s wardrobe I couldn’t help but wonder whether she was the most stylish famous Jackie.  That’s right: I couldn’t help but wonder.  Just call me Carrie Bradshaw.

Anyway, here’s the only other famous Jackie I could think of: Jackie Collins.

Before you laugh at me, consider this: style is about people choosing what suits them, and sticking to it.  And Jackie Collins has done that – her hairdo never changes, and she rocks a blazer over a tight top almost every time she leaves the house.  Admittedly, she sometimes tries to get a bit ‘rock chick’:

And her fondness for animal prints is a trifle worrying:

And her face looks weird in nearly every picture, which makes me wonder whether it’s bad plastic surgery or bad Photoshop to blame.  But, on the whole, she looks good – and at least she wears that hideous animal print stuff only in simple garments.  It could look a lot worse, people.

Of course it’s a no brainer and Jackie O is more stylish, but props to Jackie Collins for working her look in a (mostly) dedicated fashion.  And full credit to both Jackies for favouring such large sunglasses.

Blimey, that’s a cute baby.  And – fur aside – I still covet Victoria Beckham’s awesome wardrobe.  And if you covet Harper’s wardrobe, this Daily Mail article spells out what each outfit involved (and is the source of all of the photos in this post).

Is there any real world lesson to learn from Team Beckham?  Sure!  There’s no reason why normal mothers can’t dress their sprogs in a one-piece that matches whatever they’re wearing.  Just think of your baby as a big, wiggly handbag and factor it into your outfit accordingly, ladies…

Exhibit A: Jessica Alba at some awards ceremony or other (‘Hottest Body’, probably – I don’t think she wins many plaudits for her acting):

Exhibit B: A Stella McCartney mullet dress on the catwork, and also on Stella herself and on her friend, Liv Tyler (who is an absolute dimwit, I have it on good authority):

Exhibit C: the Glassons version (Non-Kiwis – Glassons is NZ’s answer to Topshop, and provides a reliable barometer to whether a mental fashion trend is likely to make it onto the backs of normal people here):

That Glassons version is being called a ‘high low maxi dress’ by them.  I think it would actually be a cute summer frock if it was cut to just above the knee and didn’t have that silly hemline.

I just don’t see any point in a mullet dress.  Can anybody offer an argument in their favour?

As Work Jacq I rarely wore trousers (mainly because UK clothing brands tend to tailor trousers for women with straighter figures than mine – they didn’t seem to be able to cut designs that looked good on curves, so my trousers were either gaping at the waist or too snug over the hips).  Nearly every day I went to my formal City office in skirts and blouses, or skirts and knitwear, or dresses.  And because I don’t really like flat shoes with most skirts, I wore heels nearly every day.  One thing I loved about winter was the opportunity to wear flat knee-length leather boots to work and give my feet a bit of a break.  And sometimes in the summer I would break out my trusty pair of flat black strappy sandals, which was wonderful.

Other women would get around the endless heel-wearing by sporting flat ballet pumps, but I’ve often found that style of shoe hellishly uncomfortable; my problem has been with blisters on the back of my foot, where the leather can be too rigid.  This flat pair of purple shoes was a bit of a lifesaver for my last few months of City dressing, although there are limited ways in which a pair of vivid purple shoes can work as part of a City wardrobe (thank goodness purple was my firm’s corporate colour- the partners probably thought I wore these shoes to show my devotion):

When I wasn’t in London, I morphed into Casual Jacq and wore jeans, hoodies, Icebreaker wool tops and kiwiana t-shirts – and for nearly three years my casual shoe of choice has been this pair of trainers:

Those shoes are an instant bonding device when faced with an unfamiliar seven year old girl – however, the fact that young children covet my shoes should probablly tell me something, right?

Since we returned to New Zealand I haven’t been working, so – barring a couple of meetings – Work Jacq’s wardrobe has remained unused and Casual Jacq’s wardrobe has formed my daily uniform.  It’s getting ridiculous: I mooch around in super-baggy ‘boyfriend’ jeans from Gap, endless hoodies, a tee underneath for warmth, those ubiquitous pink trainers…

And it’s not just about my clothing choices – more often than not my grooming matches my super-casual persona.  Work Jacq wore her contact lenses every day, blow dried her hair more often than not, and didn’t go into London without first putting on a bit of makeup.  Casual Jacq, while lazing around in her UK living room, would be makeup-free and would give her eyes a break by wearing glasses.  Now, however, Casual Jacq leaves the house with wet hair and no makeup nearly every day.

Now don’t get me wrong: I’m certainly not suggesting that there’s anything wrong with being casual – but I fear that I may have taken it a little too far recently.  I’ve mentioned to Tristan and other people that I keep getting IDed when trying to buy alcohol at local supermarkets, even though the legal drinking age is 18 and the policy is to only ID people look younger than 25.  Party people, I’m 36!  While I accept that I look a little younger than my age, even my best friends wouldn’t be kind enough to claim that I could be mistaken as a 24 year old. 

Hilariously, I didn’t make the link between my Casual Jacq teenaged-boy styling and my ongoing ID issues until Tristan made a relevant comment last weekend.  And no, I’m not spiralling into an obsession about my appearance or anything, but is it appropriate for a woman in her mid thirties to dress like a teenaged boy?  Probably not.

In light of this, I’ve resolved to smarten up my act a bit.  I’ll still wear jeans, of course, but this week I’ve been choosing my flattering Citizens of Humanity bootcut pair, rather than my sloppy Gap or Levi’s pairs.  And I’ve been partnering my jeans with fitted tops, and wearing makeup and proper shoes (the pink trainers have only been used for dog walking).  Hell, I’ve even given my hair a proper blow-dry for three days running!  Basically, I’ve called time on my six-month sartorial holiday and decided to stop being so lazy when it comes to clothing choices and personal grooming.  And I’ve been reminded of three important appearance-related truths:

1. When you dress with some degree of style and make a bit of an effort, the pride you take in your appearance tends to be echoed by an increase in productivity and a bit more of a ‘go get ‘em’ attitude (both of which are fairly valuable when, like me, you’re trying to get your new NZ life organised).
2. It really doesn’t take much longer to dress well and make yourself look presentable.  I have no shortage of clothes and already this week I’ve put together combinations that I hadn’t worn for ages, if ever.  Makeup takes five minutes, drying my hair takes no more than ten minutes.
3. If you look like you take yourself seriously, other people tend to take you seriously.

And when my pink trainers finally give up the ghost I think I might opt for a sober navy pair to replace them!