When it comes to the winners on the BBC’s smash hit show The Traitors, Claudia Winkleman’s wardrobe surely comes out top.
Her turn as the bloodless host, with her cellophane slick hair and an array of Lady of the
Manor-meets-Siouxsie Sioux looks, is one of the reasons the show’s unlikely premise, which involves a bunch of self-publicising, scheming wannabes in a gloomy castle, has been one of TV’s biggest successes.
The Traitors is in its third series and Winkleman’s wardrobe has become a central character in the show – each appearance analysed and dissected as viewers want to get the same look.
Under-the-radar Japanese knitwear brands take turns with homegrown Brora Fair Isles, Bella Freud tailoring mixes with M&S. Yeti boots – why not?
It’s a clever fusion of high fashion and Middle England, overlaid with a touch of the scary dominatrix. Celebrity styling rates pretty high on my list of the most unrewarding jobs imaginable.
The stress is pretty grim, having constantly to summon up myriad outfits that tick the hit-box, while navigating the insecurity of clients who rely on their appearance for their selling power.
Now that the award season is kicking into action, stylists in London, New York and (probably still) Hollywood are corralling their clients’ wardrobes, hoping to nab the star looks from big fashion designers, or working with them to create bespoke outfits.
Some stylists are emerging as celebrities themselves, such as Law Roach, whose work with Zendaya on her publicity tour for the film Challengers gained her endless front page coverage with her tennis theme outfits. But, in the main, these are the silent elves, scurrying madly behind the scenes to produce flawless clients.
Winkleman credits Sinead McKeefry for her perfect pitch style – and with the recognition she’s receiving for her work with the TV presenter, it may shift that dial for the stylists on other shows. When it comes to showbiz, the truth is it’s the stylist, not clothes, that maketh the man – or woman.
Nicole is let down by her unsexy outfits
One film star whose stylist does a great job for her public appearances is Nicole Kidman. But, sadly, it didn’t work with her new movie Babygirl. The film, focusing on a middle-aged woman’s fixation with a young male intern, who senses in his female boss her desire to be sexually controlled, has had a mixed response. And the clothes were a disaster.
I found the film less interesting than it might sound and strangely unsexy in large part due to Kidman’s unconvincing costumes.
In real life, few female tech CEOs appear in gala-style evening wear night after night and run their empire in an array of figure-hugging bodycon. The film’s unrealistic styling puts a distance between the viewer and Kidman and undermines what should be a tense, emotional drama.
The sole time I really felt engaged with her character was when, very bravely, she strips off to be naked in front of her virile coercive lover, exposing her pale, child-sized
physique that seemed at odds with her face. Only then did her vulnerability come through.
Yes it’s crunch time again at the cinema
I watched Babygirl at a proper cinema, with tickets and seats and, unfortunately, the opportunity to buy buckets of popcorn. As the adverts and trailers ran, it was almost impossible to hear anything because of the crunching, munching and rustling.
It used to be crisps, didn’t it, that were the favourite food at the movies? But now sickly scented popcorn is the food of choice.
I wonder if there’s a correlation between some people’s viewing pleasure and the amount of infuriating noise they can make.
Join the club for a meeting of minds
For years, I’ve studiously avoided joining a book club. Being required to read a book of someone else’s choice and then chewing it over with a group of people, all dead set on appearing to have the most original take on the book, sounded like no fun at all. But, with a resolution to try more new things this year, I got together with a local group of friends and we had our first meeting last week.
Though I had little time for the book (Monsters: What Do We Do with Good Art by Bad People?, by the American writer Claire Dederer), I realise that age has given me a greater appreciation of other people’s opinions, particularly when we disagree.
Unlike the experience of English Lit at school, where the tedious dissection of A-level texts has left me with a lifelong distaste for Jane Austen and James Joyce.
Dazzled – and not in a good way
The politicians in charge of London’s roads may think they are saving lives by making traffic crawl at 20mph but I’m convinced that far more lethal than the cars’ speed is their dazzling headlights.
I used to think something was wrong with my eyes because they can’t cope with the Star Trek-style glare but now I’ve learned the reason is the blinding LED lamps fitted on modern cars. Surely banning them would be just as effective as making us drive at the pace of a horsedrawn carriage?
I’ve just dug myself into a giant hole
My sister introduced me to Mount Aso, the most delicious, pink-budded, Japanese variety of pussy willow which seemed perfect to brighten the end of the garden. Naturally wanting what she had, I immediately ordered one online to get it in the ground asap, to create early spring colour.
I expected the tree to be two foot high and easy to plant. But a vast, six foot tree was delivered, requiring serious digging to get it in place. Next day my grocery delivery arrived from Ocado, including a packet of frozen peas so large it scarcely fit in the freezer, rather than the usual 500g.
Is there a known condition for being someone who fails to read measurements correctly?
