Jess Cartner-Morley: the best images from the week that haute couture found its rebellious streak

Jess Cartner-Morley introduces a new double-collar neckline that is less boardroom – but certainly a sleeker way of keeping cosy

'The absence of collar-points means this feels less clearly like power-dressing'

The bit of your body between chin and décolletage is the power dressing equivalent of an erogenous zone. Think of dog collars, of the knot of a neck tie, of strings of pearls. It's the only part of your outfit you can see in passport photos, or that is visible before you've removed your coat.

In other words, what happens there matters. There will always be a power collar of the moment, for alpha women as much as for men. Elizabeth I had her ruff; Alexa Chung had the Peter Pan collar. It is a marker of the depth of Alexa's influence over contemporary womenswear that her trademark collars laid the foundation for the look that became the Alpha Neckline of the past two years: a shirt collar worn pulled over a crew-neck sweater. Softer and more feminine than a shirt and jacket, but sharper and sassier than a blouse or a scoop neck, this look is office-appropriate but fun enough for weekends, too – perfect, in other words, for the Smartphone era in which the boundaries between work and downtime have blurred.

But the shirt-collar-over-crew-neck look has become a victim of its own success. (The writing was on the wall once high-street stores started reproducing trompe l'oeil shirt collars to jazz up every other sweatshirt.) The point of fashion is to kick the story on, to shake us by the lapels when we get too comfortable by the fireside. And so there is a new Alpha Neckline. Double, again, but different: a high, tight neck under a lower, loose one. So a polo neck under a collarless coat, or a crew neck under a cutaway boat neck. The absence of collar-points means this feels less clearly like power-dressing – but on the other hand, by negating the need for a messy scarf, it lets you stay cosy while keeping the silhouette sleek.

If you are not ready to give up the pertness of a collared shirt, there is a halfway house. Wear a shirt under a crew neck, but let the collar points stay tucked underneath the sweater. This gives you the new Alpha Neckline look without the need to alter your wardrobe. If that's not a power move, I don't know what is.

• Jess wears polo neck, £16, next.co.uk. Coat, £95, warehouse.co.uk. Trousers, £350, by Stella McCartney at matchesfashion.com. Courts, £69, dune.co.uk.

Styling: Melanie Wilkinson. Hair and makeup: Laurence Close at Carol Hayes Management.

A new documentary, Five Years: the Victoria Beckham Fashion Story, looks at how the former Spice girl successfully transformed herself into a lauded designer

Victoria Beckham is one of the most compelling characters in the fashion industry today. Everybody, everywhere, is fascinated by her, and how she has pulled off the coup of the century, transforming herself in five years from Spice Girl Wag to a designer whose collections are applauded by critics and who is about to open a boutique opposite Dover Street Market. Judging by the number of times we get asked "but what's Victoria really like?" we thought a few of you might be interested in this video, made in collaboration with Skype, which tells the story of five years of VB with behind-the-scenes footage, interviews and catwalk footage.

Reading this on mobile? Click here to view the video

And if you fancy putting the questions to Mrs B yourself, this is your chance: she will be doing a Twitter Q&A at 3pm on Wednesday 29 January, so get those questions ready to tweet @Skype.

China's rise as a global power is reflected on the catwalk and the shopfloor. Red is the new black and, with the dawn of the year of the horse, luxury brands are embracing the equine factor

For a city-sized snapshot of how China's international image has changed, try this. At the beginning of this century, in London and New York, Chinese new year was something that happened in Chinatown. To the non-Chinese, it meant paper dragons and fortune cookies. Ancient culture, tasty food. Fast forward to 2014, and Chinese new year is a major event on the international society map, a retail red-letter day from Bond Street to Fifth Avenue, and a major driver of income.

If the global reach of a culture's high days and holidays reflects both cultural and economic dominance, the worldwide devotion to Halloween could soon be superceded by Chinese new year, which falls handily in the fallow retail period between Christmas and Valentine's Day. That it is considered lucky to buy new clothes to wear for new year no doubt endears the occasion to the fashion industry. At the upper echelons of Chinese society, this tradition has led to the January haute couture shows in Paris becoming an important annual shopping excursion. In the shoe industry, the Chinese superstition that it is unlucky to buy new shoes during the first fortnight of the new year is now factored in by the smarter labels; on the website of hip luxury shoemaker Charlotte Olympia, customers are reassured that their order of the "Eastern Cosmic Collection" will be delivered before Friday's cut-off date.

Consider the case of the red envelopes. Red envelopes are a highly specific Chinese holiday gifting tradition, whereby cash is presented by married couples to unmarried relatives and children, in "lucky" red envelopes. Angelica Cheung, editor of Vogue China, recently posted on her Sina Weibo account (a Chinese equivalent to Twitter) a snapshot of a glittering pile of branded "red envelopes" by Celine, Gucci, Fendi, Furla and Hugo Boss. "Western brands are becoming eastern. Red envelopes are becoming prettier and prettier as they contend for supreme beauty," she wrote. Smythson, a brand firmly anchored in British heritage, recently announced it is honouring the dawn of the year of the horse with a commemorative pack of red and gold envelopes with the legend "Happy Chinese new year" printed in English and Chinese lettering, which will be presented as a gift-with-purchase to all customers spending more than £250 in the London, Paris and Hong Kong branches of Smythson – the assumption being that a good proportion of those customers will be celebrating Chinese new year.

The red envelopes are symptomatic of a change of strategy by luxury brands in China. The first stage of expansion, predicated on impressing Chinese consumers with European prestige, has given way to a second stage in which a more self-confident Chinese luxury culture demands that brands respect the Chinese heritage. The new-generation Chinese consumer has no interest in kowtowing to a dusty European heritage, but instead expects to be understood and made to feel special. Chinese preferences and schedules are now front of mind for the luxury industry. Last week, Givenchy launched a range of gift-orientated leather goods– key fobs, iPad cases and so forth – in the lucky Chinese colour of red, with the star of the Chinese flag.

Chinese new year has intensified a more wide-reaching trend away from black and towards red. The power shift in the international economy is played out on the catwalk and on department-store shopfloors in a changing colour palette. Black, which dominated catwalks for years when its "Manhattan uniform" status gave it ultimate prestige, has receded from view as China, where it is associated with bad luck, has risen.

That 2014 is proving to be the tipping point for the retail significance of Chinese new year is partly down to the equine factor. Friday 31 January marks the first day of the year of the horse, a connection which few luxury houses that can claim equestrian heritage have failed to capitalise on. Should you be in the market for a gold-and-diamond, equine-themed bracelet with which to celebrate the holiday you can choose from the Hermes Gallop, with a moulded horse's head, or a Gucci horsebit-link bracelet. Burberry and Ralph Lauren have also capitalised on this opportunity. The horse motif has even been appropriated by brands with no particular claim on it. Diane Von Furstenberg has a limited-edition horse-printed wrap dress; Vivienne Westwood has issued a gold pendant with a horse falling from a traditional Chinese knot, and the Westwood orb in lucky red.

Bloomingdales in New York is celebrating new year with a month-long programme of special events and limited-edition products. As the store explained: "It is important for us to show our respect and appreciation for Chinese culture, in an exciting way."

This season some of the most prestigious fashion designers have made clothes with words on. Jess Cartner-Morley chooses some high street versions

Lack of catwalk presence likely to negatively affect Mulberry in coming season as it continues without creative director

Tickets to the Mulberry catwalk show at London fashion week are never easy to come by – with Cara Delevingne on the catwalk, Mossy and Alexa in the front row and tables piled with Claridges' finest cakes, seats are highly sought after – but at February's week of catwalk shows, they will be more elusive than ever. Nonexistent, in fact. That is because Mulberry, which is currently without a designer after the departure of Emma Hill last autumn, will not stage a show.

A string of names have been linked to the Mulberry job in the past six months. At various points Erdem Moralioglu, Roland Mouret, Mary Katrantzou and Sophie Hulme have been rumoured to be "in negotiations". In the late autumn, a deal was close enough to being signed that the label reserved a seat at the British Fashion Awards from which it hoped to introduce their new designer – but the awards came and went and no deal was signed.

The lack of catwalk presence is likely to further negatively affect Mulberry in the coming season. Catwalk and front row photographs from the shows are a staple of fashion magazines and websites for an entire season. Without visuals that can be included in those pages, a brand slips from view.

But perhaps more significant is the difficulty in signing a deal. It is no secret that Hill's departure was driven at least in part by creative differences with CEO Bruno Guillon, who since joining Mulberry from Hermès in 2012 has focused on repositioning Mulberry from being a small, quirky British label to a serious international player.

The quality of the leather has been upgraded, with a corresponding hike in prices. Mulberry achieved cachet by courting hipster celebrities – in the past it held pool parties at the Coachella festival in California, a strategy that proved successful in placing the Mulberry name and handbags front and centre of fashion coverage of the festival – and successfully positioned itself as an aspirational but accessible brand for young British women. There is a long road to travel between that version of Mulberry and the British Hermès that Guillon appears to be aiming for.

'Text has never been so fashionable'

The fashion snob inside me is screaming right now. I'm going to be honest: I have always felt clothes with words on to be fashion for stupid people. Style is storytelling using silhouette and colour and fabric and reference. The message is supposed to be in the clothes, not scrawled on them. In other words: if you're doing your clothes right, they shouldn't need subtitles.

And yet, what do I know, because it seems that subtitles are the height of chic. Perhaps it's a spin off from watching subtitled Scandi dramas that these days we feel hip and culturally on-point if we're looking at words. Print news circulation notwithstanding, text has never been so fashionable: open any interiors magazine at random and chances are you will find vintage fairground lit-up letters, salvaged 1940s tin bakery signage and/or Emin-esque neon scribbles on the page. I also suspect that, on a more pragmatic level, the rise of online shopping has a hand in this. Clothes with words on, like those in bright colours, jump out of the screen.

Anyway, the point is that the text-emblazoned sweater is back, albeit in slightly more high-minded form than when logomania ruled the fashion airwaves. Advertising the name in your label is not what this is about; this season's spoken-word fashion is a speech bubble in knitwear form. At mass fashion level, the message is usually fairly anodyne. Lucky, Happy, Chic are going to sell you more knitwear units than Disillusioned, Bored, Spotty. Sophistication is easily added by the use of French words, or the word Paris, so expect a silent greeting of Bonjour to become a high-street commonplace.

Wordy fashion isn't going to win any literary prizes, but that's not the point. Clothes with words on have always been cheerful and informal. These are not clothes you will be wearing to the opera, but clothes you will be wearing to the pub. You can talk over them, in other words. A year ago, jumpers with dogs on were the new jumpers with pineapples on. Now, jumpers with words on are the new jumpers with dogs on. If I were you, I wouldn't read too much into it.

• Jess wears jumper, £119, marksandspencer.com. Skirt, £59, cosstores.com. Sandals, £245, russellandbromley.co.uk.

Styling: Melanie Wilkinson. Hair and makeup: Laurence Close at Carol Hayes Management.

Lilac can be a tricky colour to wear. Jess Cartner-Morley shows us various pieces that might just work

'It is much easier to work out how to wear lilac once you start thinking of it as Mature Pink'

Technically, lilac is a pale version of purple, but in its soul it is more closely related to pink. To be specific, it is a mature version of pink, for older women. In the same way that little girls are sold pink, elderly ladies are sold lilac. Lilac is the colour of soap you buy your granny for Christmas, the colour of scented drawer-lining paper, of gift-shop biscuit caddies.

Last year, pink, much belittled as a pre-teen marketing tool, mounted a successful campaign to re-establish itself as a respectable element of the grown woman's wardrobe. (See the mania for pink coats that saw the high street's best versions selling out in early September.) This year, we are seeing a concerted effort to convince us we can look young and modern and relevant while wearing lilac.

It is much easier to work out how to wear lilac once you start thinking of it as Mature Pink. (Pale purple, by the way, is violet. Quite different from lilac. Bolder, with a hint of disco-ball shimmer.) As with all pastels, you have to find a way to give it some backbone. Lilac made a number of appearances at London fashion week's spring/summer shows. At Christopher Kane and Sister by Sibling, the hipster take on lilac was to use it as the backdrop for a slogan sweater, which is a straightforward way of making a wallflower colour more assertive. At Burberry– where it plays a starring role in this season's ad campaign – it was worn head to toe, blouse teamed with a matching skirt, or lilac lace trench fastened and belted as a coat-dress. (I hardly need point out that, in all cases, lilac was worn with bare legs, not black opaque tights. To those fighting this still, I say: the sooner you give up your opaque dependency, the better. It's like a software update for your wardrobe. Yes, it's a pain, but everything works so much better once you bite the bullet.)

Lilac works best when there is a lot of it, and it is not too fussy. A full lilac outfit, with clean lines and simple accessories, will look a great deal less old lady-ish than a don't-mind-me glimpse of lilac, which can tip a neutral outfit into saccharine territory. Think of it as pink for grown-ups, but don't kid yourself you're wearing purple.

• Jess wears shirt, £28, dorothyperkins.com. Skirt, £28, asos.com. Courts, £175, russellandbromley.co.uk.

Stylist: Melanie Wilkinson. Hair and makeup: Sharon Ives at Carol Hayes Management.

Team Beckham gather round to see her latest collection, where the cool factor has been combined with trademark elegance

In pictures: Victoria Beckham's autumn collection

It is a truth universally acknowledged that if David, Brooklyn, Romeo, Cruz and Harper Beckham make a public appearance together, it will be virtually impossible to get anyone present to pay attention to anything else.

And no one knows the power of the Beckham brand better than Victoria Beckham and Simon Fuller, business mastermind of the Beckham empire. So it was a striking display of confidence in the latest Victoria Beckham fashion collection that while the designer directed proceedings from backstage, and the backer looked on from the audience, the three Beckham boys made their first appearance catwalk-side, along with front row regulars David and Harper.

What's more, the clothes on the catwalk held their own. With a 7,000 sq ft boutique on London's prestigious Dover Street being prepared for an opening later this year, Victoria Beckham needed to deliver a strong collection to fill it, and this one was a hit. The past two years of the now five-year-old Victoria Beckham brand have seen it develop from its starting-block of glamorous dresses into more experimental territory, trying out looser shapes and androgynous elements.

The experimental spirit has been generally applauded, and has gained the brand respect and attention in the industry, but the clothes have not always felt as instantly desirable. With this collection, it seemed as if a fresh balance had been struck, the newfound cool factor distilled and used to pep up the elegance and femininity of the original aesthetic.

Design detailing and 360 degree dressing were the key words backstage. The silhouette was long, lean and fluid, with hemlines of skirts and coats mostly covering the knee. There was little cinching of the waist, and almost no flashing of leg; sex appeal came through the element of surprise, as the designer put it backstage, with unexpected slivers of skin shown at the back of a dress.

There was a generous helping of what is known in the industry as "fashion content", which roughly translates as the depth and detail and messaging that makes clothes interesting. For example, coats fastened at the hip with bracelet's length of heavy chain, but engineered so that they moved fluidly; a black and red tweed coat was based on a 1968 vintage coat, but the tweed remade in a rubberised, modern version; tunic-and-trousers offered as a cool cocktail hour look, a highlight being one all black look with a matt crepe top edged with silky black ruffles at the hip, over slouchy trousers.

"Mummy works, and Daddy works. We think that's a positive message, and we wanted the boys to see what it is that Mummy does, because they'd never been to a show before," said Victoria Beckham backstage, explaining the front row debut of Team Beckham. The older children "are taking one-and-a-half days off school for this trip, which is really unusual, we don't usually do that," she added.

David and Brooklyn were in suits and ties for the occasion, while the younger boys were in Burberry trenchcoats, showing an admirable understanding of the role of brand ambassador. (Romeo, 11, recently starred in a Burberry campaign.) Harper Beckham wore a grey silk dress pulled out by Victoria before leaving the hotel early that morning. Victoria said: "I'd love to say that David dressed her, but it wouldn't be true."

Victoria herself wore a fine black crew neck sweater with a calf-length black silk pleated skirt with pointed Manolo Blahnik courts, echoing the look of her new collection. She insisted, however, that "most of this week I've been in jeans, Chelsea boots and a knit".

"Every season I can push my fashion message a bit more, really get into the detailing: so this season was loose, but with more detailing. Last season was boy meets girl, this is a little more feminine," she said, singling out the intarsia knits as an innovation for the new season.

Jess Cartner-Morley: Taking inspiration from late 1970s American suburbia, Stuart Vevers’ Coach debut for Autumn Winter 2014 is the brand’s first ever runway show

Designer's 'American Explorer' collection embraces weather at New York fashion week with hiking boots and fur-lined coats

Tommy Hilfiger brings a sunny note to New York fashion week, even when he covers his catwalk in fake snow. Positivity is what this brand does. So while fashion week lamented the snowfall, Hilfiger embraced it, turning the Park Avenue Armoury into an Alpine party scene, with cuckoo clock-shaped ski lodges.

Entitled American Explorer, this collection was a good-natured mash-up of cold-weather style references from Seattle to Switzerland. Consider the Tommy Hilfiger version of a winter skirt suit, as modelled by Jourdan Dunn (left): a mini version of the Dirndl skirt in parka-olive velvet, with a Rocky Mountains-esque sleeveless puffa in matching velvet, worn with a denim shirt, a knitted bobble hat, and fur-lined clogs.

This winter's must-haves were smartly updated: wedge hiking boots with sheepskin lining providing a neat midwinter twist on the wedge hi-tops which have become an urban uniform all over the world; chunky sheepskin-lined jackets were offered as enticements for those ready to move on from the fur-lined parka.

A more cerebral note was struck at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. When the Costume Institute reopens in May – under the new name of the Anna Wintour Costume Centre in honour of the Vogue editor's 16 years as cheerleader-in-chief – it will host a retrospective of Charles James, a London-born, American-based 20th-century couturier hailed as a genius in his lifetime but who has all but disappeared from fashion history books.

Harold Koda, curator, defended the decision to honour the man: "What I've noticed about shows that get a response from the public is that they are about fashion as a dream. We've done shows that are close to people's real lives – we did one about sportswear – and they are not the ones which capture the public imagination. What people want is the poetry and romance of a truly fabulous dress."

The gowns on display will provide that in spades. Christian Dior credited James with inspiring his "New Look"; Cristobal Balenciaga said James was "the world's best couturier". Coco Chanel and Elsa Schiaparelli both commissioned and wore Charles James dresses. These days, they are best known through their appearance in the society photographs of Cecil Beaton, a great friend of the designer.

The veteran New York Times fashion photographer Bill Cunningham described him as "the Einstein of fashion". James was a pioneer of the internal engineering of clothes. He was the first to figure out how a grand gown could be self-supporting from the torso, and therefore strapless. Initially trained as a milliner, he used mathematical and architectural methods and calculations to create dresses which sculpted the body beneath into newly elegant proportions, while allowing the wearer to move comfortably. His 'Clover Leaf' ballgown featured concealed inverted pleats which caused the skirt to aspirate on the dancefloor, lifting from the ground like an ice skater's dress – despite weighing in at over 10lbs. (To conquer one of the perennial problems of eveningwear, he even invented a waistline which was engineered to be narrow for cocktail hour, but allow for expansion after dinner.)

The curators hope to introduce James as a compelling character to fashion history. Included will be the gown for Mrs William Randolph Hearst. to wear to President Eisenhower's inauguration in 1953. In a turn of events typical of James, a perfectionist with scant regard for deadlines, the dress was not ready in time. (Mrs Hearst did, however, debut it at the coronation of Elizabeth II a few months later.) "James did not care about his clients, or his partners, or even his family, really," said Koda. "He was dedicated completely to the pursuit of his creative expression. He was a true artist."

To attract a younger audience to a show which, Koda concedes, "your average Williamsburg hipster might not immediately be interested in", the museum will borrow ideas from scientific exhibitions to expose the inner workings and hidden engineering of James' dresses. They will also draw out what James himself called "the procreative function" of his dresses, highlighting what Koda calls the "labial folds" and other subliminal signals of the gowns.

Celebrating a designer whose world never went beyond a small circle of wealthy women is likely to stoke claims of elitism; a sensitive issue for fashion in New York, with the industry mourning the departure of Mayor Bloomberg and unsure of the more egalitarian Bill de Blasio – elected to City Hall on a more egalitarian ticket.For their part, James and his clients were not overly concerned by egalitarianism. Mrs Hearst once said approvingly of her Clover Leaf dress that when she wore it, no one else in the room existed.

The catwalks have witnessed a revolution – clothes to keep you cosy. But don't think you can surrender to practicality

I had spotted my first New York fashion week trend before I left Heathrow's terminal 5. There was a fellow show-goer – her tote bag was Céline and bulging with magazines; you can call me Sherlock – queueing to board my flight wearing a long, sleeveless fur over her regular coat. The fur was oversized and slouchy, but with the sleeves lopped off it was somehow rakish, cosy and elegant all at once. You could tell it was real fur, which isn't for me (it had been her grandmother's, it turned out, when I quizzed her in the customs hall at JFK, and she'd chopped off the sleeves herself) but I found myself wondering where I might find a long, sleeveless, faux-fur coat (not, repeat not, a yummy-mummy-school-run gilet, but knee-length or longer), an item I now knew I needed to make my life complete, but which I hadn't known existed until that moment and had never seen in real life.

Less than 24 hours later, at the DKNY show, what should the third model on to the runway be wearing? A black calf-length, faux-fur, sleeveless coat.

That's how fashion week works. It's not linear. It comes at you from all directions at once, like being caught in a blizzard. What you see on the catwalk, what you see on the front row, what the people you ask for directions are wearing, when you're lost and searching for some so-hip-it-hurts downtown venue in the latest undiscovered corner of a foreign city – they always turn out to be fragments of the same story. It's a bit like having a mind palace, only slightly less impressive, since instead of solving a murder or saving a nation from tyranny all you get to do is come up with a new look to try out on Saturday night.

So, the sleeveless fur coat was the first clue. Then there was the Alexander Wang show, for which everyone had to travel to Brooklyn, making the most almighty fuss about it on the way, as if Brooklyn was some unheard of backwater. Wang seemed to be making a point about even cossetted Manhattanites engaging with the elements. "Extreme conditions and survival," was his pre-show soundbite. One model wore a shiny anorak over a double-breasted jacket, over a collared leather shirt, with a bright silk scarf tucked in to cosy the neckline. At Thakoon, the inspiration was the harsh climate of Patagonia, and models wore calf-length skirts with two layers of knit: one snug and to the hip, with a "shoulder-topper" of a chunky high-necked knit cropped above the waist. At Tommy Hilfiger, the sparkly fake snow on the catwalk conjured up a feelgood winter wonderland, as if we were inside a snowglobe. The models wore beanie hats, flannel shirts, sleeveless padded jackets and hiking boots. At Coach, new designer Stuart Vevers made chunky coats and cosy boots the focus, instead of handbags. A calf-length skirt worn with a cosy, hiplength knit was a major trend, seen at Victoria Beckham, Thakoon, Phillip Lim 3.1, DVF and Donna Karan.

This is fashion to keep you warm. And at New York fashion week, that is a revolution. Clothes that keep you warm, like food that fills you up, are antithetical to a long-held Manhattan style ideal, which is best summed up as the "my driver's waiting outside" look: shoes that no one could walk more than a block in, a bag too small to accommodate an umbrella, let alone a change of shoes, pristine winter whites, bare legs and impractical, canape-light coats. For the first time in years, New York winter fashion is getting real, on and off the catwalk.

However, this is not about surrendering to mindnumbing practicality. Yes, there were far fewer women shivering in cocktail dresses outside shows this week, but there were still plenty of bare legs. Instead of going without a warm layer so as not to kill your look, the new approach is to make your warm layer a fashion statement. Leandra Medine, of the Man Repeller blog, was nailing it day after day. Once she was in jeans and an ivory turtle neck, worn under a floor-length orange coat; then in jeans again, but under two loose black layers, one sheer tunic almost to the knee, one chunky fur trimmed knit cropped at the waist. Coats, I can report, should be worn either belted super tight, or falling-off-the-shoulder loose. (Doing the buttons up the normal way is a no-no, I'm afraid.) Scarves are enormous, and used for dramatic effect – think of shoulder-robing a blanket, rather than tucking a neat length of cashmere into your collar. Oh – and by day two, I had counted eight sleeveless furs among showgoers.

As for me, I did all the shows in flat biker boots, a first in 15 years of travelling to fashion weeks. It was quite life-changingly brilliant. When I dropped in for a cup of tea with Victoria Beckham the day after her show– where else are you going to get a cup of PG Tips in New York? – she looked impeccable, as always, wearing a similar calf-length skirt to the one she wore on show day, but this time in ivory wool, with a deep crimson Celine sweater. She complimented me on my boots, saying they were like "cute riding boots". I had thought of them as being like chic wellies (useful when I get back to the UK, by the look of it), but "cute riding boots" is better. Now, here I should admit that when she asked me where they were from – or rather, in fashion week parlance – "who they are by" – I didn't tell her they were from Marks & Spencer, and cost £75. I bottled it. But I'm telling you. These boots are my top tip. And in return – anyone know where I can get a sleeveless fake-fur coat in London? Because then, we'd truly have cold weather dressing sorted.

Live coverage of all the shows, trends, front row action and backstage gossip from the first day of LFW

Move over, Hollywood. These days, we're looking elsewhere for style inspiration, and it's television stars who are leading the way

Fashion has moved with the times, and Hollywood glamour is getting left behind. Television is the on-screen catwalk that really matters. The pomp and bombast of silver-screen style – Scarlett O'Hara's Gone With The Wind ballgown, Ursula Andress's belted Bond-girl bikini– feel as overblown as a 1990s mobile phone. Saturday nights are spent on the sofa, watching a character wearing the same sweater she wore last week.

The new generation of screen goddesses aren't goddesses at all, but real women. It is probably significant that almost all the small-screen style icons who matter are in complicated, multi-episode programmes, rather than in one-off dramas. Their lives have ups and downs and contradictions. They have talents; they have faults. They have love lives in which the narrative loops well beyond "fall in love, negotiate adorable/dramatic mishap, get married, the end" – and their wardrobes reflect this. The world didn't fall in love with Sarah Lund's Faroe Islands jumper in The Killing the first time she wore it. Only when it became a recurring theme – a part of the character – did it develop a cult following. As the actor who plays her, Sofie Gråbøl, explained to the Guardian, the jumper is "perfect because it tells so many stories. It tells of a person who doesn't use her sexuality – that's a big point. Lund's so sure of herself, she doesn't have to wear a suit."

In less than two decades, the fashion industry has been transformed beyond all recognition by new technology. Fifteen years ago, designer catwalk shows were open only to a couple of hundred people, and all images were kept under tight central control. Now, by contrast, shows are livestreamed with the aim of reaching a global audience immediately. (Burberry, with its Tweetwalk, made it a point of pride that the looks debuted on Twitter a few seconds before they appeared on the catwalk; those watching on their laptops had the news before the front row did.) The price-tag hierarchy of fashion has also been upended by the phenomenon of the designer-to-high-street collaboration. H&M has taken the mass appetite for fashion and used it to persuade Karl Lagerfeld, Stella McCartney, Martin Margiela and Isabel Marant to dance to its tune. Designers are now expected to serve the new, informed fashion consumer. Any online retailer finding that, say, "jumpsuit" is becoming a popular search term is now in the habit of telling designers that they need to make more jumpsuits.

Hollywood style has displayed a fatal reluctance to move with the times. It is striking how often "old-school glamour" is referenced in descriptions of red-carpet dressing. Today, we like our icons a little more real. The style crush on Carrie Mathison in Homeland, played by Claire Danes, or on Stella Gibson in The Fall, played by Gillian Anderson, has quite a bit in common with our running obsession with the wardrobes of Michelle Obama and the Duchess of Cambridge. (Note, for instance, how the duchess "recycling" a dress for a second outing is a news story that gets more hits, these days, than her wearing a new one.)

Small-screen style icons capture our imagination because clothes are part of character. These wardrobes are about a sense of self, not about adhering to trends. Real style is intimate, psychological and complex – just like good TV.

Carrie's tailoring, Peggy's hats... Guardian writers choose their small-screen style crush

Carrie Mathison, Homeland

American Vogue loves to put serene, beautiful actresses on its cover; crotchety-faced, nervous-wreck federal agents, not so much. Interesting, then, that when Annie Leibovitz photographed Claire Danes last summer, it was not the sunshine-blond, movie-star-and-mum version of Danes who gazed out from the newsstands, but Carrie Mathison, her Homeland character. Her gaberdine and leather Burberry trench was tightly buttoned, the collar turned up incongruously against the August weather; her hands were thrust into the pockets, her gaze cool and level. In one of the pictures inside, Danes was in a surveillance van, wearing a knee-length Victoria Beckham sheath dress accessorised with bulky headphones and trademark crossed-arm pose. Similarly, when Danes starred in a fashion shoot for the New York Times's T magazine, she was wearing Comme des Garçons and Valentino, but still recognisably Carrie, with that shiny, natural hair, posing against the backdrop of Tel Aviv.

Carrie wears trouser suits, macs, shoulder bags: a commuter-train uniform chosen for its practicality and anonymity. The level of repeat in her wardrobe has a heartening reality. She wears the same pieces again and again and again, as a working woman in her position would. She looks fantastically sexy in black leather jacket and grey cotton marl T-shirt. She has a grey trouser suit that does nothing for her, and looks as if the real Carrie might have bought it on a distracted shopping spree – a marvellous, ego-less touch from the wardrobe designer. She is not using fashion to armour herself against the world, as many of us do, and there is a lack of artifice that lends her an emotional vulnerability. The dark colours and lack of artistry leave the spotlight on her face, which is marvellous: the suspicious, twitchy eyes, the epic crying, the manic, toothy smiles.
Jess Cartner-Morley

Peggy Olson, Mad Men

At first it almost hurt to look at Peggy – and not in the good way it hurt (and still does) to look at Don and Joan. A tight ponytail and tiny, fearful fringe topped off a motley collection of overly fussy blouses tucked unflatteringly into frumpy skirts in pukesome shades of green and beige. Everything screamed social and sexual immaturity and vulnerability, which, of course, attracted the disgusting Pete Campbell to her as blood attracts sharks. This in turn led to an interlude of secret maternity wear, followed by secret baby and secret adoption. A girl grows up fast under these conditions, and since then Peggy's wardrobe has – like the woman herself – become less fussy, more focused, more put-together. Ponytail and separates have gone out, a bob and dresses have come in. But it is still clearly armour. Necks are high, patterns sober, hemlines sensible, at least for the 1960s. They are not chosen with fun, comfort, self-expression or any other frivolity in mind. They're there to help her in the job she's doing among men who – despite, or more likely because of, her success – will still seize any opportunity to do her down. I suspect her personal taste and professional needs will finally converge in the 80s pant suit – though, God and Matthew Weiner willing, the series won't stray beyond 1979.
Lucy Mangan

Vod Nordstrom, Fresh Meat

Fresh Meat captures the lives of six university students foraging for meaningful friendship amid carpet stains and penne pesto. There's a posh one, a sensitive one, a pretentious one, a good-time girl, a geek – and then there's Vod: magnificent, hedonistic, goofy, uninhibited Vod. The daughter of an RAF officer and a boozy mother, Vod is both insecure and full of bluster, with an anti-establishment streak that seeks outlet through spliffs, pints and bovver boots. Her wardrobe is an experimental mish-mash of mixed messages: braces, blue lipstick, a rocker quiff and a leopard-skin dressing gown. Zawe Ashton, the actor who plays Vod, told the Guardian last year: "I always describe her as having no subtext, no filters. The whole birth of that character was so much about hair and makeup and wardrobe."

Vod is largely uninterested in looking feminine, save for a BP-sponsored university event where she dressed in full ballgown, only to clamber on a table, unleash bags of fake oil from under her skirt and cry: "Carry on stuffing your faces with sausages – ignore the oil spill!" She's bold, unnerving and a little bit wrong – but who cares?
Rosie Swash

Jane Tennison, Prime Suspect

What I most love about DCI Jane Tennison's clothes is that DCI Tennison doesn't really give a damn about them. Yes, she looks chic and stylish in her simple blouses and plain tailoring (it's hard to make Helen Mirren look bad, in all honesty), but her image is largely unimportant to her. Lynda La Plante's heroine doesn't think about fashion any more than her male colleagues, who, though not blessed with Tennison's room-hushing sexuality, are dressed in similarly bland suits.

Sometimes we see Tennison stir after a late night of heavy drinking and obsessing over evidence, having slept in her crumpled workwear. And even when she's on top of her game, nothing is overdone; every last detail feels authentic. Her shoes are always sensible courts, never dominatrix heels. She goes for soft tailoring, not power suits with sharp angles and jumbo shoulder pads. Her shirts look stylish, but generic and robust enough to deal with the odd yolk stain at post-briefing fry-ups with the lads from the station. Nothing is perfect, everything is functional, ticking all the right boxes, while her attention remains firmly on the job at hand. The sheer ordinariness of her wardrobe – when, nowadays, female detectives such as Stella Gibson in The Fall must appear as though fresh from a Whistles sample sale, or like Sarah Lund, as famous for her jumpers as for her ace detective work – is exactly what makes DCI Tennison's such an unforgettable look.
Sali Hughes

Claire Underwood, House Of Cards

Say what you like about Claire Underwood, the blond, terrifying one played by Robin Wright in House Of Cards: her wardrobe is cold, hard perfection. As one half of a Washington DC power couple, Underwood knows that perception is everything, and dresses accordingly. At work, she is pristine in form-fitting shift dresses, crisp shirts, mannish trousers, tailored overcoats and expensive accessories: Louboutins, perhaps, or an Yves Saint Laurent tote. By night, at the Capitol Hill galas where she publicly swaps longing looks and urbane witticisms with her husband, she binds herself into chic, corseted gowns and strapless cocktail dresses. Whatever the occasion, her palette is as controlled as her small talk: black, navy, charcoal, pewter, cream, white. Every outfit shows off her tanned, gym-toned biceps and lithe, bare legs (hosiery is for wimps).

From her precise fringe to her sharp stiletto heels, Underwood's look projects control. It's a perfectly curated aesthetic that confirms her as the commander of her own tastefully accessorised destiny; the wearer will never be found slobbing out in a holey T-shirt or accidentally inhaling a pint of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food. And yet it's not much of a spoiler to reveal that Underwood is as battered and broken as the rest of us, if not more so. As House Of Cards progresses, you wonder whether those beautiful corsets are the only things holding her together.
Hannah Marriott

Stella Gibson, The Fall

I always suspected that power blouses were unwearable by mortals like me, who live in the same world as bra straps, spaghetti bolognese and an ironing deficit. Watching Gillian Anderson coolly cut a swath through BBC crime drama The Fall in a succession of the glorious things left me wholly convinced. Anderson played a murder detective who worked with a certain stillness, even when calmly practising strangulation techniques on her own wrist, or accepting sex from a man at her hotel door by merely reaching for the Do Not Disturb sign. Those silken, cream-coloured blouses were part of that stillness, yet they almost revealed her flesh; a hint of woman in a man's world. These are blouses that make a subtle joke about their own femininity; associated with Tory wives who pretend to be ladylike while actually wearing the trousers, or royal women who have to look pretty for the camera while commanding with a will of steel. In fact, a plain silk blouse is one of the sexiest things you can put on, if you're not really meant to be wearing clothes that make people look at you. I dread to think how much you have to spend on one that sits right on the body like Gibson's, effortless and breezy as expensive milk.
Sophie Heawood

Leslie Knope, Parks And Recreation

I admit, the reason I love Leslie Knope's wardrobe has a lot more to do with Leslie Knope than with the clothes. In Knope, Amy Poehler has created one of the truly great female TV characters: bursting with ambition, unflappably optimistic, indefatigably gauche and, most of all, eternally good-hearted. And her all-time idol is… Joe Biden. If you don't love this woman, you have no soul.

Knope's clothes reflect her character perfectly in that the underlying ingredients should be awful but, put all together, they become surprisingly endearing, even inspirational. Those brisk skirt suits and 1970s trouser suits could look C&A, but on Knope they bespeak an ambitious woman who is unfettered by feminine concerns about prettiness or elegance, one who dreams of being Hillary Clinton but is really, well, Leslie Knope. Her bolshiness and lack of self-deprecation should be an inspiration to us all, with or without the brown trouser suit.

Her off-duty style depends on her mood: on bad days, it's teenager-like hoodies and jeans; on special nights out, it's mainstream pretty dresses. In other words, her wardrobe is the same as 90% of western women. But Leslie shows us how to Knope it up.
Hadley Freeman

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