I haven't recovered my pre-Strictly Come Dancing grooming
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Version 0 of 1. Heavens to bustier! When I read that Strictly Come Dancing finalist Natalie Gumede frequently sent back the costumes designed for her by the BBC costume team because they were too revealing, you could have knocked me down with a feather boa. Censoring her own cossies? I don't get it … is she for real? The Coronation Street star is supposed to have claimed: "Nine times out of 10 I get some [material] added" See, I'm cut from a very different kind of cloth. When I was a Strictly contestant two years ago, I started out covering up my jiggly bits – mainly as a public service – but after a few weeks of squirming and firming I changed my tune. In fact, I would BEG for "a cut-out midriff dress like Kristina" or "peek-a-boob top like Ola". Yes, Strictly style as a situational aesthetic is awfully quickly internalised. And once initiated into the culture of Strictly, it was very hard to get out. You take a working psychotherapist with a wardrobe of sensible woolen suits, then hold her captive inside the Strictly bubble for long enough, and she'll start thinking a bias-cut, stretchy rhinestone-covered mini dress is normal daywear. It's a kind of Stockholm syndrome; I ended up adoring and emulating my spray-tanned captors: "Please, please, PLEASE this week let me have a glittery silver fringe that barely covers my fanny?" Waist-plunging neckline? Near-bare arse? – No problem. People close to me, however, were considering an intervention. "But can you ever be near-naked", I argued, "when every inch of your visible flesh is coated in a thick layer of orange pancake?" Nearly the same as a bodysuit … innit? Then of course, there are other layers - fishnets, skin-coloured mesh over the cut-out bits, and enough undergirding to support a Christmas tree. To be honest, on Strictly you wear more items of clothing than in any other setting; they're just, er, not in the usual places. Now tell me if the joy of the show isn't seeing normally dour people suddenly baring muffin-tops over thigh-hugging, lurex flares? I'd pay good money to see Jeremy Paxman in a pair of those. But each to his own, and if Natalie Gumede wants to maintain her mystery, good luck to her. But being a Strictly alumna has given me license to continue dressing as trashily as I damn well please. And I frequently do; at my December birthday party I wore a sparkly pair of scarlet harem pants with a jewel in my navel (I've had a tummy tuck since Strictly – natch). What's more, I still sport fake lashes, hair extensions and the occasional spray-tan. Yes, I confess, two years later, I still haven't recovered my pre-Strictly sense of grooming, body-image or wardrobe decorum. And why should I? Who's complaining? All right, in my personal circles I'm known as as "Barbie's mother" but I take that as a compliment. Yes, life's far too short for mid-calf pleated skirts and pussy-bow blouses – well, unless they're in clingy crepe de chine edged with Swarovski crystals … and get ripped off after an 8-bar intro. Our editors' picks for the day's top news and commentary delivered to your inbox each morning. |