Hmmm, let’s see ….
Scarlett Johansson sheltering from the rain in a London mews and ending up in the showroom of Roland Mouret, becoming his muse the process. (From mews to muse – geddit?)
Matthew Williamson getting some of his pretty mates to wear his tiny first collection for London Fashion Week in 1996. His pretty mates included Kate Moss and Jade Jagger. The little jewel-coloured cardis and big hair buns were the best thing about LFW that year. Fashion heaven.
Yves Saint Laurent winning the Wool Secretariat competition in Paris aged eighteen, being brought to the attention of Christian Dior and running Dior at twenty-one.
Nan Kempner (the protagonist varies according to who you read, but I’m going with Nan) wearing one of Yves’s pant-suits to a restaurant in the Seventies and being told that women couldn’t wear trousers. So she took them off to reveal a little silk slip and walked to her table. That’s style.
John Galliano, almost bankrupt, making a whole collection out of black silk – the only fabric he could afford – and delivering it in the back of a Mini. Showing it in a decrepit Parisian mansion with top models appearing for free, as a favour. Anna Wintour loving it. A fashion god reborn.
Joan Burstein buying the whole of Galliano’s graduate collection and showing it in the windows of Browns.
Almost everyone playing ball at Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball. Magical.
Audrey Hepburn and Margot Fonteyn in anything they wore. Obvious, but nevertheless true.
Nicole Kidman in Galliano for Dior at the Oscars, raising the tone to a level from which it struggles to sink. We tend to forget the true awfulness of the big hair and trashy outfits of the eighties and early nineties. Hideous. Thank you, Nicole.
Cheryl Cole finding her style on X-Factor. Not just the clothes, but the smile, the sparkly eyes, the passion. Can anyone remember what Danni wore?