Puff pastry: good. Puff sleeves: bad.

What to wear when you don't want to dress like a creepy kid?

Apologies for banging on about the cruise I’ve just been on. I only mention it as, before we set off, I went shopping for some new things to wear on board.

I’d never been on a cruise before and panicked that there’d be a grand staircase, and I’d be expected to sweep down it before the assembled paparazzi wearing something like this:

So I rushed out to the shops. My mission? To assemble a glamorous capsule cruise wardrobe. Exciting!

Then I remembered that I don’t enjoy clothes shopping because:

Cheap clothes look terrible unless you’re 18.

Expensive clothes look better. But then there’s the pressure of making absolutely the right choice, and wearing it forever because it’s an INVESTMENT. I’ll then spend the garment’s lifespan being too ashamed to admit that I hate my investment.

Charity shops used to be great and some friends still have the knack of squirrelling out incredible vintage designer pieces for £4.50. I just see acres of bobbly Primark knitwear and Boohoo tat from 2019.

High street shops are big on trends. This has always been the case. It’s why I have misshapen feet, my little toes bunched right up against the others, like baby rabbits huddling up to their mother in a hutch. This is the result of cramming my trotters into ‘trendy’ narrow pixie boots when they were briefly popular in 1983. Worth it, though, eh!

Trends don’t suit me. At least current trends don’t. For instance: puff sleeves. Fashion magazines would have it that it’s all about ‘interpreting’ a trend, and finding your own take on it. But how do I achieve this without looking like a gnarlier version of these spooky kids?

The creepy kid aesthetic. On trend for Summer 2024

Puff sleeves aren’t just creepy. They also trigger a wave of shame in me. Many years ago, on an over-ambitious family road trip through Spain, I’d been tasked with booking a hotel in Santander. As I’d forgotten to do this our family of five had to sleep in the car, and as dawn was breaking my daughter realised she’d left her favourite soft toy in a restaurant the previous night.

Morale was low as we trouped through the rain, passing wasted looking people who’d obviously just tumbled out of clubs. I glanced at my sweet little girl and noticed that something had happened to one of the puff sleeves of her dress.

It had entirely un-puffed. That deflated sleeve, I thought as we plodded miserably onwards. That’s our holiday encapsulated right there.

And now puff sleeves are everywhere. I’ve even seen a puff sleeved denim jacket swaggering down the street with an over-inflated view of its own importance. I text my friend Wendy Rigg, who’s not only invited me to be her roommate on the cruise, but also happens to be a fashion director and all round style expert. What is it with all this puffery and when will it end?

‘The trend has been here since series one of Bridgerton,’ she says. ‘Then there was Villanelle in Killing Eve and of course Poor Things. A gently puffed sleeve adds a little width to your shoulders and can be flattering,’ she adds, ‘but unless you belt a puff sleeved dress it can create a bit of a galleon-in-full-sail look.’ Tell me about it.

There comes a point on any clothes shopping trip that desperation kicks in. The shops are closing in twenty minutes. As I’ve left it so late there’s no time to order anything online. Puff sleeves aside there’s an awful lot of frills and frothy lace which I fear would create this kind of effect on an older woman:

I want to look like a grown up but not like Nicola Sturgeon fresh out of Hobbs. At this point I start grabbing at items, like a child set loose at a party buffet - the kind of kid who’s only allowed rice cakes and celery sticks at home and is about to cram 200 chocolate fingers into her mouth. I’m fuelled by caffeine, adrenaline and sheer desperation - a dangerous state to be in. It’s almost like being drunk. I’d probably buy a rubber mini skirt if the sales assistant was charming enough.

Why not buy something daring? I’m thinking. Stuff age appropriateness! I can wear whatever I damn well like!

I hone in on the fashion equivalent of an embarrassing aunt - showy and brash, exposing far too much flesh. A dress that requires a strapless bra - which leads me to the baffling hangar of knickers that is Victoria’s Secret. A shop where staff outnumber customers by around fifteen to one, so I’m besieged by eager young women, choosing numerous unyielding options to clamp around my chest.

I’m only going on a gentle river cruise! Not charging onto a battlefield on horseback!

By now, overheated and exhausted, I mistakenly choose the bra that’s the colour of a waterproof plaster and appears to be have been cast in bronze, it’s that solid.

I escape Victoria’s Secret and next day I head off on the cruise with Wendy, where no one cares what we’re wearing. Apart from the occasional wearing of a five year-old cotton dress, I exist in solely in black trousers and T-shirts for seven days.

Here I am at our Netherlands stop off. It was all fantastic fun. But I was definitely over-thinking the outfits.

Love,

Fiona xx

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