This week I had a royal event to attend, the 60th anniversary of the conquest of Everest. My supercool grandad was a mountaineer on the triumphant 1953 expedition, meaning my grandmother was invited. As her favourite (and only) granddaughter, she asked me to accompany her.
It’s not often I hang with the Windsors. My first thought wasn’t, “Ooh, how exciting!” or even, “How do you curtsey again?” It was, “What the heck am I going to wear?”
Then I got distracted by something shiny and forgot to buy a new dress.
The weekend before, I was in a tizz. I tried on everything I owned in my head and rejected it all for being too slutty for Her Maj. I had no desire to go down in history as the young woman whose cavernous cleavage gave the monarch a heart attack.
Thank bombshell, it was the Vivien of Holloway bank holiday sale. I’m not usually a sale shopper. I don’t find stressful crowds conducive to making well-thought-out purchases. But this was a wardrobe emergency.
I arrived at 10.05am on Saturday morning and the shop was already packed with fabulously attired bargain hunters. Thankfully I found this floral Jezebel in my size and escaped before I drowned in a sea of red lipstick and victory rolls.
It’s a classic 1950s wiggle dress in an English rose print. Both of these factors were nods to Lizzy, who has reigned since my favourite fashion decade. I’m not sure if she noticed.
My favourite things about the dress are the nipped in waist and the modest neckline. A frock that shows off my waist but not my comedy cleavage is my fashion happy place.
I can report that the event went excellently. The queen was very good at smiling and making small talk and she looked suitably regal in her purple brocade suit.