Oh not to be a fashionista

Ah the joy of the autumn/winter fashion press shows! My predilection for all things Boden means that I will never, ever, be what is known as a fashionista. And I thank the Lord for that. It means that I will not - come Autumn/Winter 2009 be sporting leggings, shoulder pads, mini dresses, tassles, epaulettes, large jumpers with dubious designs knitted on them or anything that resembles the wardrobe from Flash Dance. For that my lovelies is what the fashion establishment would have us wear when the weather turns chilly again.

I found it hard to mask the disgust on my face at the thought of having to wear this trash come August (quick go out and buy normal clothes before this tosh hits the racks). However it seems the rest of the fashion establishment - made up of ladies of a certain age dressed head to toe in black and sporting Anna Wintour bobs, gay men dressed head to toe in anything designer and posing with their man bags and bald heads, and the twiglets - young, nubile fashion cupboard fairies who haven't been around long enough to know that a purple mini dress and shoe boot sky scraper heels don't make good press show wear - are either incredibly good at poker faces or were actually filled with sheer delight at the 1987 revival (surely they have photographic evidence of how bad we all looked first time around? Though I profess to have been too young to know any better!)

I, dressed head to toe in Boden, made a hasty retreat for fear that bad taste is catching. If you're lucky you'll never get to see these monstrosities - they rarely make it to store - unless of course the Vogue editors are misguided enough to turn them into fashion.

One wonders what fashionista's wear when they get married - fingerless lace gloves, holey fish nets and a back combed, dip dyed hair do no doubt!