Fashion all faux pas

The trouble, or maybe the charm, of being a reporter is that you are expected to be an instant expert on any given subject on any given day.

Sometimes you manage it. Sometimes the wheels fall off. This week, it was the wheels, the heels and the shoulder straps.

It was close to deadline on Tuesday night when the photos for Air New Zealand Fashion Week came through. Luckily, it wasn't my job to write the caption, although it would have been less painful than listening to a mid-40s man throw around words that he knew belonged in the world of fashion but not quite what continent.

Warren was faced with a photograph of a woman wearing a dress. A dress which was black. And little. It was part of the Little Black Dress Show for Fashion Week.

He knew what LBD stood for but not that you have to be careful not to get VPL when wearing one, which is why they recommend the G for the butt and P to keep it skinny. Understand dahling?

Anyway, Warren thought the woman was wearing an "off-the- shoulder" dress, when it was quite clearly off two shoulders, in fact it was strapless. Let me just say that if I wasn't here late on Tuesday night, The Press would have an embarrassing correction to make.

Ah fashion. One minute you're happy in corduroy, the next you think everything should be made of velour. It's such a merry-go-round.

My fashion sense has, um, evolved, over the years.

Things took a sharp downward turn at high school when I became enamoured with pastel green. I was so taken by the colour that I invested in a pastel green suit. For as long as the heat stayed in the sun that summer, I swept around, head to toe in matching cotton shirt and trousers - like a beautiful swan plant on legs.

Then I moved into a little something I can only describe as "Grandpa chic". I raided my grandfather's wardrobe for a flat cap and maroon braces. I teamed these authentic items with long khaki shorts and a green shirt. My friend Raewyn called it my "gear".

"Will you be wearing your gear again today," she'd ask.

"Yes," was the answer, for about six months. I hated it when my gear was in the wash.

Post-gear years were grim. I had a tight friendship with two girls, Hayley and Tash. We fell deep, deep into tracksuit bottoms, teamed with brushed cotton shirts and Loaded Hog baseball caps. If it was cold we'd add rugby jerseys which were about four sizes too big.

All our parents assumed we were gay. It would have been too bad for us if we were, the gays wouldn't have wanted us - not dressed like that.

Somewhere around London things came right. It could have been the relatively cheaper clothes, the company I kept, the grown-up job or that I wasn't saving to get to London any more.

Anyway, summer's a-coming. Fashion Week would have us believe we need a new wardrobe but we can probably survive on most of last year's favourites.

Fashion is not as complicated as a flick through the style section might seem. The rules are basic:

1. The word "fashion" in the clothing label or shop name will almost certainly mean the clothing does not come within a padded shoulder's breadth of fashionable.

2. Nothing on a catwalk will look good on you. It barely looks good on them.

3. If you think you look like mutton, you probably do. Get changed.

In saying that, I plan to be wearing jeans and a T-shirt right up until the day my boobs get so saggy the nipples dangle from the bottom of the T-shirt. I just hope someone lets me know when that happens.

Air New Zealand Fashion Week finishes today.

- © Fairfax NZ News