A Dress that Doesn't Bite

Once as a child I remember being warned that a painter who is too concerned with making things look beautiful runs the risk of over sentamentalising the subject matter and cheapening the image beyond repair. Not needing things to look beautiful (or contrived) was part of the discipline of being a painter. It was almost a responsibility.

Many of my more fashionable friends seem to hold this dictum close to their hearts when buying their clothes. They eschew lovely garments that suit them perfectly preferring instead to look a little 'off.' How obvious to sport a style that compliments in a shade that flatters. How embarassing. How crass. Blessed with the knowledge that their natural advantages will always shine through, no matter what, these friends take a kind of reverse pride in their unbecoming attire. What matters is that they are knowing. What matters is that they have thought at length about what it all means and have found the system wanting. They would feel pitifully naive being seen to have pulled out all the stops. They wouldn't be seen dead looking their best.

Out shopping last week for a dress to wear to two summer weddings it seemed to me that when everyone else is dressing this way it takes real confidence to choose clothes that look, well-nice. I can't rise to the challenge of trying to look wonderful in spite of what I wear. It's too big a gamble as I haven't the inner or outer resources. I like clothes that make the most of what I've got. Besides I do not wish to look edgy at these wedings, having no axe to grind - I am happily married myself and have no doubts about the suitablity of the unions I'll be witnessing. I want clothes that express that I am entering into the spirit of it all entirely. I don't wish to bring any irony to the situation. I just want to look festive and womanly, or like a wild librarian out on the tiles after late night closing.

I began by trying on a pleated black jersey Balenciaga dress that made me appear scary and a little unhinged, Joan Crawford on a bad day I thought although it was a beautiful piece that someone else would have shone in it. Next I climbed into a frilly, abbreviated black stretch silk Zac Posen dress that looked good but was a bit too naughty-French-au- pair wreaks-havoc-in- Madame's- stolen-gown. This was not a bad look in itself but it would have taken an awful lot of wearing and you can't ever guarantee the fantastic mood that such a garment requires. Then I tried a Moschino mixed animal print shirt dress in which I looked quite frightening, like a spoilt housewife whose boredom levels had proppelled her into major league prescription drug dependency. Even the assistant in Selfridges looked at me with mild alarm. Finally I chose a sky blue Moschino chiffon dress from the Cruise collection with pale red polka dots and a bit of a frill at the hem. It was quite humourous-looking on me in a sea-sidey sort of way but it made me seem Italian (a minor miracle) and it's a pretty dress in which I know I can feel happy and relaxed . When I stared at myself in the mirror I actually found myself feeling a little Christmassy which is my all time favourite sensation.

I left the Moschino boutique in high spirits but walking down Regent's Street I faltered slightly. It's a very celebratory garment, certainly, witty and luxurious, but it isn't the slightest bit wierd. What will people think?