Bare-legged in the bleak midwinter

Sorry girls. I know you stocked up on cable knit thigh-highs last year but Vicky Ward (Vogue, October 2010) says bare legs are hot in New York. And we all know New York is where the hot people are (Except when they’re in London, obvs, darl. Or Paris. Or er… Tallinn? Basically wherever the The Sartorialist last went, I think).

Anyway, the point, she explains, is that in NYC “it is usual for a woman to arrive in her office pencil skirt uninhibited by tights (even trousers are worn with peep-toe sandals and a tanned ankle) and for a truly chic evening out, you must be without tights, taut and gleaming.”

Um… seriously? Oh yes. And, in a line apparently plagiarised from Mecca Bingo’s 1953 Miss World application pack, she advises British Women to do the same:

“Step with bare legs and a gleaming smile no matter if it is raining, sleeting, or snowing.”

It goes on. And just when you thought the urge to smack this woman couldn’t get much stronger…

“Status dictates that, no matter what, you appear at a cocktail party with legs that look like their just back from a winter break in St Barts (fortunately for us, winter sun is short flight away). Also mandatory are 4in heels that tell the room: ‘My car dropped me at the door.’”

But then, slowly, you begin to realise that what you’re feeling isn’t scorn, not really. It’s pity.

“Here we get pedicures every two weeks. We wax from the thigh down. Those who can’t afford to fly to Palm Beach every weekend keep a bottle of Airflash to hand – leg foundation from Dior.”

Until finally…

“We don’t train, tone and wax our legs into perfect condition 365 days a year only to bundle them into tights.”

No. No you don’t, Vicky. But then, neither do we.

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One Response to “Bare-legged in the bleak midwinter”

  1. […] right you can’t take them off. Flashing your pants is one thing, catching pneumonia is very much another. This is not America. Under no circumstances should you take off the […]

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