I looked back at my life in fashion. These are the outfits I most regret

Every time I hear a knock at the door, I presume it’s the fashion police coming to arrest me for my sartorial sins. For most of my life, I’ve looked as though I got dressed in a blackout. Much of what I’ve worn is as regrettable as it is unforgettable.

As a cash-strapped teen in the ’70s, my make-up drawer contained one mini-mascara, which dried up after the third eyelash, and a freebie lipstick in a colour so vile a mortician would think twice about using it on a cadaver.

My outfits were just as tragic: a mix of cheesecloth smocks, clogs, denim overalls, platform shoes and ponchos. At least, I think it was a poncho. Looking back at photos, it could have been a dead yak.

I would also like to point out that the people who designed the crocheted string bikini have never studied anatomy. It’s physically impossible that four teeny triangles can cover anything bigger than a freckle.

The ’80s ushered in the kind of apparel horrors which can only now be worn on Halloween. Leg warmers, parachute pants, jelly shoes, leotards, bullet bras, bum bags and, worst of all, stirrup leggings. Most of that decade I looked permanently poised to leap into the saddle – except I didn’t own a horse.

The rest of that time, I was decked out in a shell suit. We all had shell suits: Mum, Dad, my three sisters. Hell, if we had owned a horse, I’ve no doubt it would have been wearing one, too. If only we’d been able to harness the static, we could have powered the whole metropolitan area.

Even more cringe-worthy was the baggy jumper dress with shoulder pads. Mine was in a yellow so vivid that it blinded anyone who looked directly at it.

KATHY LETTE

Everything we wore came in neon colours so sickly sweet that we must have induced night terrors in dentists nationwide. Particularly, those obligatory leggings in violently clashing patterns. I don’t know about you, but I prefer a fashion fad that comes with zero migraine risk.

Even more cringe-worthy was the baggy jumper dress with shoulder pads. Mine was in a yellow so vivid that, just like the sun, it blinded anyone who looked directly at it. Teamed with red platform shoes and a green bomber jacket, I was a human traffic light.

But did I stop? No. The ’90s confirmed my ongoing Good Taste Avoidance Program. This was epitomised by the underwear-as-outerwear look.

Back then, Victoria’s “Secret” was that nobody bigger than size 8 could fit into any of it. The ubiquitous black “teddy” with groin press-studs also required an engineering degree to operate. An hour wrestling with this lacy lingerie and my head was sticking out of the crotch, one breast in the neck hole and pubic tufts fetchingly framed in various peekaboo portholes. A leather miniskirt and a pair of high-heeled, spiky ankle boots completed the ensemble.

Stylists maintain that your clothes are supposed to say something about you. If that’s true, then this was an outfit that said, “I’m going straight from here to an orgy and there’s no time to stop off at my brothel on the way.” I’ve since learnt that it’s best not to wear clothes that reveal parts of your anatomy only an obstetrician should see.

By the 2000s, it was clearly time for a stint in image rehab. But then along came the Hervé Léger “bandage dress”, popularised by Cindy Crawford, Naomi Campbell and Linda Evangelista.

This is the kind of skin-tight dress you wear when you’re hungry for attention, or maybe just hungry. Looking back, I wonder where we kept our internal organs? In our handbags? If only it had been available in a heavier bone size. I don’t quite know where the inspiration for the bandage dress came from, but I’d be very surprised if it didn’t involve some kind of satanic ritual.

I’ve just packaged up all my fashion faux pas and taken them to a charity shop. Because what I’ve learnt over the decades is that there’s really only one thing you should always wear – your heart on your sleeve. That’s the best accessory for any outfit. Now go clean out your closets and give generously.

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