The stereotypical image of the hairy-legged, plump, saggy-breasted feminist is one which haunts women sharing their values even now. Feminists are frumpy with dank hair and wear jumpers made of hemp. They are dowdy and grey and boring. This is no longer the case. I believe, and it seems many others agree, that to go against oppression and subservience is to embrace your femininity rather than shun it.
Yes we are women! We look like them too! It's not about dressing for men as the more radical feminists would have you believe. They are, in fact, the ones dressing for men - Trying to look invisible or purposely unattractive. The modern liberated woman dresses for herself, mixing comfort with style in order to feel confident and assertive. If men find her attractive? So be it! That isn't what it's about. A successful businessman goes to work in a sharp suit not to impress women but to show he has made an effort. Looking good on the outside makes him feel good on the inside. To act any differently to this makes a mockery of feminism - where equality is at the core of the ideology.
Michelle Mone - Founder and CEO of MGM International; Lauren Laverne - Television and radio personality; Kate Nash - Singer/songwriter. These women can easily hold their own in a debate with a man and have all excelled in their chosen field while still having fun with fashion and not feeling the need to take on a masculine look.
If we women all dressed for men we would be wearing PVC bras and knickers not maxi dresses, cigarette pants and quilted waterproof jackets. Fashion itself is liberation. Women pay for their Chanel or Moschino themselves and such coveted items are emblems of their economic autonomy, showing that they make as much money as a man without having to mimic one with their wardrobe.
So the item I've got my eye on at the minute? A faux leather pencil skirt from the Topshop A/W collection. Am I buying it so my bum looks good to a man? No. Is it being bought for me by a man who wishes for me to look good on his arm? No. It's a foxy, fiesty piece with enough originality to be noticed by the fashion-savvy crowd but enough sophistication to show that I am dressing for me and wearing what I love rather than what men lust after.
