My earliest style icon must have been my mum.
I look like my mum, its no bad thing. She tells a story that when she was living in Zambia in the 1960’s someone called her “Twiggy” at a dinner party, mum, not being too up to date with popular culture, thought the gentleman terribly rude until she returned to England and discovered it had been quite the compliment.
From my childhood I mostly remember having to trot to keep up with mum as she strode about – something I realise my daughter has to do too. I particularly remember a day out in London when I really thought I’d lose her as she headed off down a corridor in the tube; I used to hold onto the corner or her jacket rather than her hand as this proved a more reliable tether.
So you get the picture, tallish, thinish, long long legs (make your own joke about them running in the family)
Mum’s style was pretty pragmatic as she worked as a primary school teacher – pleated wool skirts and polo necks – but she did have a one dress that I thought was impossibly glamorous.
It was a white dress she made that she wore to church, sewn from a silky fabric with big blue dots and circles on it. It was a simple long sleeve tunic dress with a tie belt and I loved it. It was silky and swishy and she wore it with a pair of blue leather cork heeled sandals. Given that my mum was 5 ft 11 in bare feet in heels she must have been hitting 6 ft something.
Even now, 35 years later she is still my original style icon, not so much for what she wore, but how she wore it, with a sure knowledge of her value coming from within not from without.