How practical is Posh

You are planning your outfit around a busy day of social and professional engagements. You have a meeting with an estate agent, followed by lunch with a friend.

 

You want to fit in a spot of shopping and, later, a walk in the park with your baby.

Do you wear a) a comfortable but stylish pair of jeans, smock top and ballet pumps; or b) a skintight leather pencil skirt, figure hugging, bra-revealing designer blouse, vertiginous heels and gigantic, face-swamping shades?

If you are an ordinary person, you will no doubt be drawn to the practicalities afforded by the former.

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Pretty in peach: But is it practical day-wear?

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If you are Victoria Beckham, however, you will undoubtedly have opted for the latter. Because let's be honest, Victoria doesn't really do dressing down, no matter how mundane her to-do list.

By night, meanwhile, she increasingly looks like she has been marooned in a dressing-up closet for several days with an invite to a party that no one else is going to.

However, even by her own unique sartorial standards, last week there were a couple of particularly high-octane appearances - from the eye-watering pink bra and zebra print dress she sported to the MTV awards in Los Angeles, to the peculiar corset and hotpants twinset that she chose to wear to the Glamour Women of the Year party, and the bunion- flashing, cripplingly high spiked stilettoes she wore to the Graduate Fashion Awards.

It is Victoria's daywear, however, that really fascinates.

Even the most basic of activities cannot take place without, at the very least, six-inch heels, giant sunglasses and, oddly, a leather cap. The cap is a recent favourite, worn for both parties and first class air travel.

Particular highlights on the Victoria Beckham outfit spectrum include the spike-heeled boots and hotpants she wore for a 'stroll' along the seafront with her children in St Tropez, and the skintight pencil skirt and teetering heels she popped on to go house hunting with a Beverly Hills estate agent last month.

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Teeny skirts and VERY high heels: Harldy what you'd do the school-run in

 

We have to assume she perused ground floor areas only, as she certainly wouldn't have been able to walk upstairs without sustaining an injury.

Then there's the salmon pink pencil skirt and tight blouse she chose to wear to visit the 'Strictly Pleasures' sex shop in Hollywood earlier this year. Most odd.

It is hard - to be frank - to recall a single occasion where one has ever seen Victoria Beckham look comfortable.

She is the definitive sufferer of a dangerous new affliction: Debilitating Fashion Syndrome (DFS), an alarming condition in which sufferers allow their fashion choices to hamper their ability to lead a normal life.

What must it honestly be like to be one of these people, though? Put simply: how, given the constraints of her wardrobe, does Victoria actually manage to live her life?

After trying out some of her outfits for a day, I can report that she must do so with immense difficulty at all times. Even the most basic Victoria Beckham look - think black leggings, skinny vest tops and heels - renders day-to-day activity something of an assault course.

For a start, just getting dressed is a palaver. There is a common denominator to Victoria's clothing and it's best summed up as follows: tight. So much so that it takes quite an expenditure of energy simply to put it on.

As I huff and puff my way into one of her signature pencil skirts over a period of some minutes, I find myself musing whether this is in fact Victoria's sole exercise regime.

Then there are the shoes. I try on a pair of beige patent Yves Saint Laurent heels, the very same ones Mrs Beckham recently purchased during one of her shopping sprees.

I say 'try on' but 'hoiked into' is more strictly accurate. Effectively I have to be manoeuvred into them like a crane dropping an enormous boulder into place.

They are so high - a six inch heel combined with half an inch of padded sole for good measure - that once you've got one on it's impossible to effectively balance without the support of a passer-by until you've levered yourself in the other.

Actually walking is even more of a feat. Admittedly I'm not a physically fit person, but it is still rather odd to get shooting pains in your calves from the mere act of putting one foot in front of the other.

The shoes also take me from 5ft 7in to over six feet tall. I feel like a giant giraffe stalking the streets of London.

In fact, it is only by actually wearing a selection of Victoria Beckham's outfits that you realise quite how peculiar she must look in the flesh.

The default leggings and black vest top with oversized belt and heels combination seems relatively neutral when viewed on the pages of a glossy magazine.

But try actually wearing it to trot down your local high street and I can testify that you feel rather like you should be touting for business on Sunset Boulevard.

As I hobble through central London, I am aware that people of both sexes are staring - and it is not because I have a nice bottom (I don't). I just look weird.

More to the point, it is more or less impossible to actually do anything for longer than two or three minutes at a time.

I try to go shopping sporting Victoria's favoured 'sexy secretary' look, but find that quite aside from hobbling round the shop floor, it takes me so long to disrobe to try anything on - and perhaps more pertinently to put it all back on again - that it's easier not to bother.

It now becomes obvious why Victoria often gets shops to close to other customers while she flexes her credit card: it's a clear-cut matter of prolonged changing room availability.

She must also have the bladder of a camel because it is certainly too much of a drama to go to the loo with any frequency for much the same reason.

Lunch isn't much fun either. For a start, when you are wearing a skirt with a waistband the size of a Hula Hoop - the crisp, not the child's toy - there's not much room even for your radicchio salad.

Perched gingerly on the edge of my chair, I find I am unable to pay much attention to my dining companion either.

It's not that she's not interesting. It's just that I am concentrating very hard on not allowing my face to crack into a smile.

The ultimate test, of course, is the famous 'celebrity baby carry', a pose on which Victoria is something of an expert. You know the one: stylish, unblemished high-fashion outfit topped off with obligingly sunny baby clutched in one arm.

Is it actually possible to hold a baby while simultaneously sporting eyewatering heels? Not having one of my own, I have to borrow a baby to find out.

Martha is just a few months old and a cuddly delight, with an immensely obliging mother.

But I can tell she is suspicious of my ability to hold onto her daughter with any skill given that I can't stand up straight without the support of a friend.

I conclude, not unsurprisingly, that high fashion and babies really don't match, a theory first highlighted by Britney's spectacular topple over her flared jeans and wedges while clutching her son Sean Preston.

The point, of course, is that most of the time Victoria simply doesn't have to match her clothes with the sort of daily timetable that governs the rest of us.

She doesn't have to hoof between the school run and Sainsbury's, juggling three bags of last-minute shopping and a couple of screaming toddlers.

She doesn't need to be practical because most of the time her movements are restricted to a hobble between a hotel lobby and a purring limo.

These clothes set Victoria apart. They say: "I am not one of hoi polloi. I am a celebrity. As such, I don't need to concern myself with tedious practicalities."

Yet it still can't be very comfortable, even sitting in the back of a chauffeur- driven Bentley. No wonder she always looks so grumpy.

Compare, for example, the self-conscious pose of Victoria's MTV appearance last week alongside that of Cameron Diaz, who was sporting the same Christian Louboutin heels with an equally short dress but, by means of her relaxed, giggling sexiness, looked a million times cooler.

Fundamentally, for all her high-maintenance glamour and burnished limbs, Victoria's clothes send out rather confusing signals.

They say 'look at me' but also 'don't touch me' - not in the least because it's all so darned tiring. It's all very well having your boobs peeking out from a skintight top, but by the time you've wriggled out of it you'll be so exhausted you will only be fit for sleeping in bed, never mind anything else.

The one thing you can say for it all is that it's a look Victoria has made her own. And I am happy to report that she can keep it. 

source: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/femail/article.html?in_article_id=461097&in_page_id=1879