My Oxford Street Primark Experience

Now I know that for many this may seem like a slightly bizarre topic to write about because lets face it who doesn't shop in Primark nowadays? But last week I found myself entering this terrifyingly huge establishment for the first time. Don't get me wrong, I've been to Primarks around the country before but nothing like this one; the flagship behemoth on Oxford Street.

It was 11am in the morning and the rest of Oxford Street was as usual on a weekday eerily quiet. Primark however was already abuzz with activity. I am a highstreet snob, and I am ashamed to admit that although most of the people I know shop there, it still gave me the creeps just to think about purchasing an item that wasn't destined to be shredded and used as costume. Everything about Primark scares me, from their fast and loose approach to ethics (which sadly probably isn't my biggest irk) to the sheer volume of clothes thrown about the place while women desperately scramble for the final size 10 inevitably hidden amongst the remaining 18s.

Primark is the epitome of fast fashion, the clothes aren't bad, in fact most are scarily fashionably up to date, they aren't particularly well made but then the highstreet isn't famous for its tailoring; no, it's the crazy disposability of it all that gets to me. When I entered the shop, I felt like I was going in slow motion whilst all the bargain crazed shoppers darted around me stuffing their extendable netted baskets with all they can contain. Stopping for a moment to take all this in under the harsh fluorescent lighting I noticed that the vast majority of shoppers were normal. Now I know this sounds like something slightly insane to notice, but despite the odd chav, nearly everyone was either foreign or a student.

I picked up a blue gingham 1950s style strapless dress with a bubble hem (the last size 10) and whilst deciding whether to try it on I was approached by a teenage girl who wanted to know if I was going to "take that or put it back". I'll give Primark shoppers this, they've got balls. So out of spite more than anything else I decided to join the half hour queue for the fitting rooms, all the while berating myself for being so stubborn. When I finally made it into the changing rooms, and after receiving many strange looks for only having one item I decided that as pretty as the idea had been with the dress it wasn't for me. I told myself that this was because it was badly made, and it was, but the real reason was that I have realised that no matter how OK it is shop there I will never ever be comfortable wearing clothes that are so mass produced, that no matter how much individual style you have you will never quite be able to make it original.

Yes, I shop in Topshop so this probably makes me a hypocrite but I like to think that while some shops enable style others make you become a slave to the fast and cheap way of looking at things and once you fall in its difficult to get out. Nothing keeps, nothing is reusable, nothing will look good in 6 months when you fish it out the bottom of your wardrobe, you can't even give it to a charity shop, so what on earth is the point of it all? Fast fashion for all for next to nothing is a slippery slope into a shopping addiction. I walked out without the regulation brown paper bag and felt as though I'd crossed a bridge, it might be cool and it might be cheap, but spending £100 on ten items is still at the end of the day almost like throwing money away.

Somewhere between lamb and mutton...

I suppose i'd like to think that i'm a seasoned fashionista, but in truth I am nothing of the sort. Its easy to read magazines and fashion supplements and its almost impossible to keep up with it all. I end up being bombarded with photos of clothes that I can't wait to own, and am left with a feeling that what I do own hasn't got any sort of flare or originality.

So many people stick to what they know, they stay within their comfort zone rather than experimenting with something different. Its easy to go to Urban Outfitters or Topshop and to feel like an alien, these shops lay it all out for us - you can look different and funky by copying what the mannequins are wearing, but when you get home with your bags of purchases it doesn't look like it did in the changing room. I want to look classic and elegant, and yet when I do venture onto oxford street wearing high heels, I long to be the teenager in plimsols and leggings. It is a conundrum that I partially blame on my indecisive nature, and also the fact that I am so often confused for a 17 year old that I think that I still have the right to dress like one. At what point is a girl (woman?/young lady?) supposed to dress her age?

Nobody wants to be mutton dressed like lamb, although I think I am probably still a few years shy of being the former, I still envy those who have their own very individual sense of style and aren't afraid of what people think. This particular point hit home yesterday as I wandered through Zara and wasn't sure if I should be shopping on the Ground floor (Womens) or -1 (TRF Teenage Fashions). What struck me about the womens collection was how old it feels, everything is in muted colours: beige, navy, coral and far too tailored for someone who isn't over 30. Go down one floor and I feel almost octogenarian as I get blinded by the sweetshop colours and ogle the teeny tiny denim skirts I once felt so comfortable wearing.

Where do twenty somethings fit into this mess? I think it comes down to confidence and individual style. In our twenties we have the freedom of experimentation without the teenage hangups and insecurities. Rather than worry about which box or bracket I belong to I intend to enjoy freedom of style while I can. Until of course inevitably the twin set and pearls catches up with me and i'm forced to grow up gracefully.

How to be Bromley with style...

I have noticed a very strange trend in the suburbs of South East London (North Kent) and as it doesn't have an official name I suppose the only way to describe it is the "black French knickers and 50 denier tights but no skirt and no shame" trend. I couldn't quite believe my eyes the first time I saw a girl in such apparel, I thought that there must have been some sort of wardrobe malfunction. There she was walking down Bromley high street on one of the coldest days of 2008 wearing a white t-shirt, grey jumper, thin black tights and black knickers. Now this isn't a trend a la Sienna Miller, who famously wore some giant granny pants over her tights. This girl was wearing her black French knickers under her tights and appeared to have for all intents and purposes actually forgotten to wear a skirt. As she walked past, I turned to see her bum cheeks on display for all of Bromley to see. Imagine my surprise a few weeks later when this began to emerge as a trend of sorts. More often ascribed to going out wear the knickers, tights and no skirt seems to have become a Bromley staple, and as I am informed by people from other suburban towns, it seems to have taken quite a hold all over the home counties. It also has become clear that you don't need to have a rear of the year in order to wear this trend, pear shaped, large, small any and all derrièrs seem to be clad in this exhibitionist trend. So for those who feel brave enough to try i am suggesting the Bromley look, but with a pinch more class. I suggest the Suzi (pictured above) from agent provocateur as it provides maximum coverage but still displays enough bottom, Charnos 40 Denier tights (from www.tightsplease.co.uk) and enough confidence, dutch or otherwise to walk down the street and face the questioning stares. Good Luck!

Flogging a dead Moss

Kate Moss for Topshop is back. I can’t help feeling that like its predeceasing collections this is just as big a flop. Ever since the first collection launched to queues of girls waiting expectantly to catch a glimpse of the “designer” herself and to fight each other for a few measly items (only 5 per customer) there was an expectation of great things. After the initial 24 hours where you could only look at certain items online, because everything was sold out – even the ugly t-shirt which made you look like a brown bumblebee – shoppers began to see it for what it really was. I fell for the hype and purchased two items which remain with their tags on in the back of my wardrobe, too embarrassed to admit that no, I didn’t look just like Kate Moss when I put them on my 5ft2 size 10 frame. With the average price of the items being at least £10 more than you’d normally spend for something in Topshop, only the die hard Kate Moss wannabes are really buying anything now. This third collection is much like the others, floaty tops, skinny jeans, gladiator sandals, dresses so long you need to be 6ft to wear them and of course the dreaded hot pants. The one item the British girl dreads as the weather gets warmer and that the Kate Moss collection seems to take great joy in pushing under our noses. It isn’t all bad, some of the clothes are actually very cute and wearable but this is undermined by the ridiculous prices which mean that instead of paying for the clothes we are paying for the name. Despite the negative publicity, I highly doubt that this collection will go anywhere, it will be back in the autumn and probably at least once more in the spring before Topshop get Agyness Deyn to design something because by that time she’ll almost definitely be ready to cash in on her “coolness” too.

My two cents on London style

Teenagers thrive on feeling like individuals. When I was younger this meant that while we were all wearing identical ensembles from Tammy Girl the few who dared to be different were Goths. They wore dog collars and were head to toe in black, but in doing this they achieved exactly what they wanted to, they stood out and were seen as different. Teenagers are all insecure creatures, but none more so than those who see being Londoners and therefore knowing how to dress as a birth right. Topshop has been around for decades, and yet despite being a high street staple never really stood out from the rest. Then they did something amazing, and ironically highly original, they started selling individuality. Teenagers in London can dress as though they’ve been trawling the Brick Lane or Portobello markets without going further than Oxford Circus. The Topshop generation are identifiable at a glance, bright colours, casual layering, bleached hair, plenty of eyeliner and of course drainpipe jeans are de rigueur. They are cool, or at least they act as though they are, like members of a club where only a few know the secret password. They sit in bars, coffee shops, parks and talk loudly about anything they want with authority; people need to hear their opinions. But I always observe them with a wry smile because at the end of the day production line individuality is nothing more than your average run of the mill conformity, dressing to belong.