Punk's influence is everywhere. Jess Cartner-Morley shows you how to edit punk's elements into something chic

'The point of punk is that it is awkward and uneasy and challenging: everything wearable clothes aren't'

Wearable punk? That's an oxymoron, surely. Like slow skydiving. The point of punk is that it is awkward and uneasy and challenging: everything wearable clothes aren't.

Except: says who? I mean, the punk police can't exactly tell us off for breaking the rules, can they? Where's the punk spirit in that? There's nothing punk about laying down all kinds of mimsy rules about whether you can wear ripped jeans before noon, or tartan after Whit Sunday.

So, counterintuitive as it might be to view punk as an aesthetic from which you can cherrypick baubles to prettify your wardrobe, that's exactly what I'm suggesting we do. The Punk exhibition at the Met in New York is full of examples of the tropes punk incorporated into the mainstream – including, of course, Liz Hurley's Versace safety-pin dress. True, the mohican is always going to be a hard look to pull off IRL – unless you are Sarah Jessica Parker at the Met Ball, but that's not IRL, is it? – but tartan, rips, graffiti daubs, leather and the aggressive traffic light/bumblebee colour combinations that characterise punk all lend themselves to a lo-cal version. The high street has been doing this for years. You haven't been able to move in River Island for bags with studs on since about 2004.

But, thanks to the Met show, studs are just the jumping-off point this season. Punk's influence is everywhere: string-vest mesh and ripped jeans; paint-splash prints and artful rips; zips and leather and – of course – studs and safety pins. The trick is to edit the punk elements into something chic, and modernise them into something that feels relevant. A head-to-toe Seditionaries homage will alarm the squares, and look predictable and museum-piece retro to the hipsters, which is a lose-lose. Temper the aggressive spirit of a punk piece with items that project control and calm. (This is why a blazer over a ripped or gaudy T-shirt, while an overdone style meme, still works: there is a sense of fun and spirit, but the brakes are on.) Most of all, wear it your own way: as long as you stay true to that, the punk police won't have a ripped-denim leg to stand on.

• Jess wears jumper, £189, richardnicholl.com. Leather trousers, £968, by Each X Other, from net-a-porter.com. Heels, £695, jimmychoo.com. Vest and watch, both Jess's own.

Styling: Melanie Wilkinson. Hair and makeup: Tonee Roberio using Mac Cosmetics.

Children's label Crewcuts sees White House aesthetic expand its influence over British life with its zingy take on preppy classics

This weekend, in an operation masterminded from a minimalist-chic brick-and-glass headquarters in central London, the White House is quietly expanding its influence over British life.

Crewcuts, the mini-me arm of American retailer J Crew, has become a leading light in burgeoning childrenswear, with the help of endorsement by the First Daughters, Sasha and Malia Obama.

Ever since the girls wore clashing J Crew coats at the president's 2009 inauguration, the brand's colourful modern-preppy aesthetic has been in high demand – and the White House connection was underscored when Malia, 14, chose J Crew for the second inauguration in January.

Crewcuts has been given a prominent space in the two-day J Crew pop-up boutique in London, next door to the Central Saint Martins College of Arts building, where the label will fund a J Crew scholarship for an MA fashion student next year.

The initiative celebrates the arrival of J Crew in the UK, as the brand prepares to open its flagship UK store on Regent Street, central London, in November.

An endorsement as commercially powerful as that of the Obamas is a precious commodity, one that will J Crew will discuss only in the most delicate terms. "We are honoured to be part of such a momentous occasion in both history and fashion," said Jenna Lyons, J Crew's creative director, in 2009.

Jenny Cooper, head designer of Crewcuts, says the company is "very happy and flattered" when Malia and Sasha wear the label.

Cooper, who lives in Brooklyn and has two young sons, points to underlying cultural factors that have played a crucial role in the rise of Crewcuts. She says: "Children are the focus of our lives more than they ever have been. Our family life is more public, and we talk about it more than previous generations did. And as a result of that, there is more interest in childrenswear."

This shift in motivation among consumers of childrenswear, from making a mundane purchase to making a lifestyle choice, is reflected in a willingness to spend more on children's clothes.

Eve Karayiannis, founder of the luxury British childrenswear brand Caramel, commented recently that "people are looking for the same quality and style in their children's clothes as their own. One reflecting the other. I read once that children of today are an extension of one's own brand."

The UK children's clothing market is worth £6bn, according to a study by Key Note.

J Crew and Crewcuts have enjoyed a surge in popularity in the past decade and annual sales have trebled to $2.2bn. The key figures credited with the transformation of what was once a fusty catalogue brand are the chief executive, Mickey Drexler, and Lyons.

The brand, positioned at the top end of the middle market, has forged a distinctive style that has made it aspirational for the middle-class consumer. At the same time, the lower ranks of America's "two percenters" – those earning more than $250,000 a year – have reined in their spending in the shadow of the recession, trading down from top-drawer brands such as Ralph Lauren to more affordable alternatives including Coach and J Crew.

At Crewcuts, colour is king, says Cooper. "We don't talk down to kids with our designs. We make clothes which appeal to kids and to their parents."

By bridging a gap between tweedy, formal childrenswear, which looks "smart" to grown-up eyes and garish, cartoonish clothes that appeal to the younger generation, the label has forged a niche in the market where the clothes are "a mix of casual and special – we think that's a good dichotomy", says Cooper.

As the traditions of dressing boys in blue and girls in pink have faded, the J Crew embrace of colour has hit a nerve. "I've noticed in children that their reaction to colour is very strong and instinctive. When they see a colour that they like their eyes light up, there is a sharp intake of breath," says Cooper. "Girls still gravitate towards pink, but we give them options – we will always include a beautiful yellow or a persimmon."

But J Crew will face a challenge winning over recession-hit British consumers, in an economy where the outlook is bleak. With a girl's summer dress at £60, the brand has priced itself above the UK's competitive high-street market.

But Cooper believes Crewcuts will strike a nerve. "One of the things I love about England is the wonderful colour sense", says Cooper. "My grandmother was an Anglophile, and used to buy quirky coloured cashmere in London. It's very sophisticated here. I'm hoping we'll fit right in."

Leopard-print is everywhere. There are still rules however. Jess Cartner-Morley shares her definitive guide to wearing animal print in the office

'Leopard-print has crossed the final frontier - it's now OK to wear in the office, too'

Twenty years ago, you could probably have smoked a cigarette at your desk, but you wouldn't have got away with wearing leopard-print. That would have been outrageous. How things change. Smoking, these days, is socially transgressive, while animal prints are as genteel and normal as a lunchtime cocktail was in 1963.

Leopard-print is everywhere. We identify with it, and are drawn to it. It is the clan tartan of modern womanhood. From being something that sluttish women wore after dark, it became something that everyone wore after dark. Then it became daywear. And now it has crossed the final frontier and become officewear.

There are still rules about leopard. After a decade of painstaking research, I think I'm close to compiling the definitive guide. Rule number one: you can't wear it for a job interview, not because it is slutty, but because it shows, as they say in Westminster, questionable judgment. But once you've got your feet under the desk, you can bring your leopard with you.

Rule number two: don't get your animals mixed up. The reason no one blinks an eye at leopard-print is that it has become so common that we have stopped seeing it as an animal print. It has become no wilder than a polka dot. The same does not apply to zebra stripes, or even giraffe spots: these will still be read as a bit crazy, and so are less useful for the office – but all the more impactful out of it.

Rule number three: filters may be used liberally. Turn a leopard-print sepia, or snow leopard monochrome, and it is more elegant and refined than the full-fat gold and black version.

The last of the leopard-print rules applies out of the office. To the old adage that you should never show both cleavage and leg, leopard-print can be added as a third either/or element. If you want to play it safe, then out of the three, pick just one. Of course, I'm not saying you do want to play it safe. Perhaps you don't. With leopard, legs and cleavage, you can apply the famous line about Martinis: one is just right, two is too many – and three is not enough.

• Jess wears T-shirt, £198, by Equipment, and trousers, £225, by Milly, both from harrods. com. Heels, £60, topshop.com.

Styling: Melanie Wilkinson. Hair and makeup: Tonee Roberio using Mac Cosmetics.

Byzantine chic, the furry 30s and 70s kitsch – there are some surprising style references this season. We reveal the years that influenced the looks of summer 2013

1174

It's just so weird that no one mentions the 1170s, isn't it? So thank goodness Dolce and Gabbana pointed out the brilliant Byzantine chicness of 1174 with its AW13 collection, which references the mosaics in the Catedral de Monreale in Sicily. Hand beading, laciness, cardinal red. As fresh now as they were in the 12th century.

1591

The Brooklyn hipster beard (19th-century blacksmith/Mumford & Sons/Johnny Harrington) has been the defining men's hairstyle reference of the past year. But the July release of Julian Fellowes' Romeo and Juliet brings news of looks hot from the 1590s. Damian Lewis as Lord Capulet revives the 16th-century monastic bowl cut as silver-fox material (yes, really) while Ed Westwick as Tybalt makes a strong case for the manbob.

1922

The Gatsby effect, as it turns out, is not about flapper dresses but about party styling. Gingham bunting and cocktails in teacups were the jubilee year's default summer setting, but this summer's parties need: white balloons; shallow champagne coupes; candles under belljars and fringed table lamps. Polo horses on the lawn strictly optional; handsome men in oatmeal cashmere always welcome.

1936

When Phoebe Philo unveiled this furry Birkenstock-like sandal at the Céline show it was instantly declared a) fabulous and b) reminiscent of Méret Oppenheim's 1936 work Breakfast in Fur. It's unlikely you'll know someone who buys the Céline's, but commenting that someone's sandals are "so 1936" is the surreal compliment of the summer.

1998

The late 90 saw a trashy Americana aesthetic rule – see thrift-store chic on the Prada catwalk. Buffalo 66, the 1998 film, was this look's repeat watch. A road movie starring ex-con Vincent Gallo and a blonde Christina Ricci in a babydoll slipdress, get ready for its comeback. Preen referenced it for spring/summer– a drive-by of slipdresses, snakeprint and big blowsy flowers.

1955

Dior will for ever be associated with the 1950s. The 1950s will for ever be associated with iced-tea femininity. So, how better for Raf Simons to make the point that the 1950s wasn't just for squares than by using 50s artwork by 60s badboy Warhol. A Warhol 1950s shoe– note the on-trend Nan-height heel – is summer's heir to spring's slogan sweatshirt.

2003

In the wake of Hurricane Sandy, Marc Jacobs nodded to Manhattan's new weather obsession by installing a version of Eliasson's decade-old Turbine Hall sunshine on his New York catwalk back in February. With weather-watch at record levels even for Britain, this is a timely reference on this side of the Atlantic. Recreate the look with the help of the "Kelvin" filter on Instagram.

1967

The year Elvis got married, Martin had a dream and the Summer of Love happened, 1967 is also the year season six of Mad Men is set in. Betty Francis, nee Draper, has returned to her rightful place as the alpha style icon. Last week's episode had her in a high 60s look of sequinned yellow gown, worn with full hair and makeup. She's turning heads again – spoiler alert! – Don's included.

1977

Behind the Candelabra opens at disco's peak, 1977. You can tell because I Feel Love is playing and Matt Damon is dressed in high-waisted jeans. While Michael Douglas' Liberace might plump for fox fur coats and glitter hairspray at breakfast, cherrypick Damon's leisurewear – striped shorts and blouson jackets – and that hair. Best leave the blinged chauffeur's uniform to the annals of history.

1981

Forget the plot in The Americans and follow the clothes instead. I give you Keri Russell's excellent denim wardrobe. The first time we see Elizabeth Jennings in mom mode, she's wearing high-waisted jeans with outside seams and a scoop-necked raspberry-coloured body. Brooke Shields in the Nothing Comes Between Me and My Calvins ads, combined with big hair, were clearly on the moodboard.

1989

No one is suggesting that today's nationwide release of Shane Meadows' Made of Stone is licence to de-mothball your Joe Bloggs jeans and Afflecks Palace hoodie. But there are some aspects of the original 1989 look that are worth revisiting, namely mid-blue jeans and expressive T-shirts. Worn By has done that burning-money-print T-shirt– you needn't be diehard to wear it.

1994

Hot British designer JW Anderson recently admitted that he is obsessed with the original unisex scent cK One. But that's not the only reason that the early-to-mid 1990s look is a Thing. Socks and shoes with a frayed denim hem is primed to be a hipster look of the summer. Plus – breaking: spaghetti strap vest are all set for a comeback.

The Great Gatsby has spawned an abundance of flapper dresses on the high street. Jess Cartner-Morley picks out some gems for your own 1920s romantic drama

Who will create the next It bag after Emma Hill leaves the Somerset-based luxury label later this year? Jess Cartner-Morley lines up some contenders

Scenario 1: The dream appointment: Katie Hillier

The Mulberry appointment is thrown wide open by the fact that prime candidate Katie Hillier landed herself a very smart new job only two weeks ago. Katie Hillier has been a kingmaker of the It bag world for a decade, creating sellout bags for Marc Jacobs and Victoria Beckham, among others. Part of a golden set of London college graduates (Stella McCartney, Katie Grand, Luella Bartley, Giles Deacon) Hillier is ridiculously well-connected but also one of the nicest women in fashion. If she hadn't just been appointed creative director of Marc by Marc Jacobs, this would be a shoo-in.

Scenario 2: The fun appointment: Lulu Kennedy

In fashion maths, London = Fun. (NB: New York = Money, Paris = Chic, Milan = Sex/Power.) Having the smarts to maximise and monetise this important variable (eg putting dogs on the catwalk; having the Muppets on the soundtrack) has been a key element of Hill's success at Mulberry. Lulu Kennedy can run a meeting all day, but she can dance on the table all night as well. The new Mulberry creative director needs to keep the brand plugged into the quirky-British-humour energy source, which Lulu Kennedy, fairy godmother to up-and-coming British talent turned designer in her own right, could do.

Scenario 3: The next-generation appointment: Sophie Hulme

Sophie Hulme, most recent winner of the emerging talent award for accessories at the British fashion awards, would be a statement appointment for Mulberry. Her sleek, clean-lined totes have become a staple in the wardrobe of every London fashionista who can't afford Céline (ie, 99.9%). Hulme's star has risen as part of the modern minimalist movement, and her appointment would represent a move on from the jolly, bags-with-silly-charms-on aesthetic that defined Mulberry's heyday under Hill. If Mulberry is feeling brave, Hulme could be in with a shot.

Scenario 4: The celebrity-friendly appointment: Charlotte Dellal

Charlotte Dellal, designer of the Charlotte Olympia label, has a wickedly British, dark sense of humour. Her latest collection of accessories has a fairytale theme: think espadrilles with Rapunzel-braided soles, and pumps with chunky heels styled to resemble book spines, imprinted with the legend "Happily Ever After." Half-sister of Chanel model Alice Dellal, Charlotte has an address book that would fill the front row with glamorous women, which is key because the front row has always been a Mulberry strong suit. A Cordwainers graduate, Dellal began as a shoe designer before expanding into bags – but in an era when a menswear designer can take the helm at Yves Saint Laurent womenswear, as Hedi Slimane has done, that isn't necessarily a dealbreaker.

Scenario 5: The French star: Nicolas Ghesquière

Nicolas Ghesquière was unceremoniously released from Balenciaga last year, but the fashion rumour mill is convinced he is poised for a comeback. Womenswear Daily has named him the designer most likely to succeed Marc Jacobs at Louis Vuitton if that contract is not renewed when it comes up next year, but no official announcement is thought to be imminent. The Somerset-rooted Mulberry company culture might be a stretch for Ghesquière, a designer steeped in the history of Paris couture. But in the two years since Mulberry poached the Hermès managing director, Bruno Guillon, as CEO, the British label has edged closer in its outlook to that of a French luxury house. It's unlikely, but not impossible.

• This article was amended on June 17 at 10.30. The article originally stated that Katie Hillier was a Central Saint Martins graduate. In fact she attended the University of Westminster.

'Folk luxe stands for what we want our holidays to be: relaxed, yet perfect. Completely laid-back, but just naturally stylish'

Folk luxe – this year's name for posh boho – is the guilty pleasure of summer trends. We scoff at it, but we still wear it. The same thing happens every year, as regular as clockwork: we get within touching distance of summer holidays and shop windows start filling up with peasant blouses and Gypsy skirts in spice market colours. And endless, endless rows of bugle beading.

We can't keep away from folk luxe, even now that it is a decade old and slightly embarrassing. This is because we are, as usual, expressing our aspirations and insecurities via the time-honoured medium of fashion. Folk luxe stands for what we want our holidays to be: relaxed, yet perfect. Completely laid-back, but just naturally stylish. The sort of holiday where you spend the days having long, lazy lunches in the shade, yet somehow pick up the perfect level of sun-kissed tan. Where there are a few bumblebees around for atmosphere, but no more mosquitoes than can be warded off with a terracotta-tubbed citronella candle. When you're buying your sheer cheesecloth blouse, or your slouchy, cross-body holiday bag, what you're really doing is scene-setting for this scenario in order to will it into life.

That's my theory, anyway. I could be wrong. It could simply be that we all harbour a secret, unquenchable, desire to look like Jools Oliver on a mid-noughties school run, but I like my theory better. And whatever our motivation, this trend isn't going anywhere – at least not as long as the French Vogue staffers are head-to-toe in cheesecloth, white jeans and floppy hat all summer, as they are now. It is worth noting that Parisiennes, in their maddeningly haughty Parisienne way, are entirely unembarrassed by the non-newness of this trend, and happy to splash out Isabel Marant prices for it.

Ah, yes, Isabel Marant… You can buy this look in any high street store in Britain, but if the paisley is fuzzily printed and the seams are fraying, it won't quite work. Which is why I am wearing a "peasant" style dress that costs £770. Relaxed perfection doesn't come cheap, a fact you will no doubt have been appraised of last time you booked a holiday.

• Jess wears dress, £770, by Isabel Marant, from Matches. Heels, £450, Jimmy Choo.

Styling: Melanie Wilkinson: Hair and makeup: Tonee Roberio using Mac Cosmetics

After decade on Milan catwalks, designer Christopher Bailey creates menswear collection influenced by British greats

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, even in the most fickle of industries. Burberry's return to London after a decade on the Milan menswear catwalks was always going to be a blockbuster show – but in the event, it was also an emotional homecoming. Designer Christopher Bailey created a subtle, nuanced collection which moved beyond the obvious pole stars of British menswear (Savile Row, punk, Bond, country gent) to celebrate instead the more eccentric, colourful, offbeat style of David Hockney and Alan Bennett.

"I once saw David Hockney on Jermyn Street, wearing a cream linen suit with a perfect green paint smudge on it," explained Bailey backstage after the show. "I love the way Hockney wears colour, so that you're never completely sure how deliberately the look is put together." The role of Alan Bennett as played by Alex Jennings in the National Theatre's production of Hymn led Bailey to rediscover the joys of brightly coloured ties contrasted with knitwear. The result was a collection entitled "Writers and Painters", which Bailey described as "a celebration of artistic and intellectual spirit." The return to London felt, said Bailey, like "such a treat."

The first model onto the catwalk wore a blue shirt with a tomato red tie under a green sweater; another wore a streamlined update of the blue linen jackets in which Hockney has frequently been photographed, hands thrust into pockets, over an emerald green shirt. Colman's mustard yellow, a shade Hockney has often chosen for trousers, appeared in leather duffel bags and soft lace-up shoes. But while the colours flirted with eccentricity, the silhouette was streamlined, elegant and wearable. With jackets ending at the hipbone and trousers cropped smartly at the ankle bone, the lines were crisp and clean rather than crumpled and bohemian. At catwalk prices, these clothes are destined for an elite customer, but the fashion message – colour, an abbreviated trouser length, a very British look which is neither dandy nor punk — is strong, simple and wearable enough to reach the huge audience of Burberry, who have 2.1 million Twitter followers.

The male psyche being what it is, conflict and bluster has always been a part of the history of menswear, but a key story of these London menswear shows has been a reframing of the debate around British men and fashion. The story is moving on from opposition between the camps of loopy, fashion-college creativity and of Savile Row tradition, to a sense of healthy creative tension. As the London menswear shows grow in stature, so does the sense of British menswear as a broad church which can support more than one set of values. After all, it was a Savile Row apprenticeship for a rebellious Central Saint Martins trained East End boy, Alexander McQueen, which unleashed one of the great geniuses of modern fashion. Mayor Boris Johnson yesterday launched a menswear map of London which shows the birthplace of key British inventions from the suit, to the Wellington boot, to the Bondage trouser. Johnson, wearing Church's brogues, an M&S tie and a suit by a Savile Row tailor ("can't actually remember his name, jolly nice chap though") extolled the virtues of British tailoring, which in the Johnson rendering "was developed as a direct response to the flimflammery of French fashions."

Two centuries ago, Beau Brummell's 'dandy' look was immediately pounced upon with satire by contemporaries — and yet it is Brummell's vanity which British men have to thank for the move from knee breeches to full length trousers, a hemline development which even the least dandyish would recognise, with the benefit of hindsight, as progress. The London menswear catwalks have proved that mens' hemlines are, somewhat surprisingly, still in flux. Catwalk stunts aside – cycling shorts and culottes, anyone? — the abbreviated trouser, cut to finish shy of the top of the shoe, has been a staple of the front row and of the catwalk. Tom Ford, showcasing his new collection in Mayfair – a sumptuous show in perfect harmony with Burberry's hymn to colour – pointed out how the trouser legs were cut shorter, so that the pin-sharp trousers weren't spoilt by puddling over the shoe. Meanwhile, at the other end of the spectrum from Ford's luxury label, the showcase for Marks & Spencer's collection of British-made menswear — which includes pastel cashmere sweaters sure to please those seeking the Burberry or Tom Ford look without the pricetag – the trousers had been shortened this season, by "an inch to an inch and a half," said menswear head Tony O'Connor, "which is just enough to give that clean line above the shoe, but not so much that a man is going to feel like he's at half mast."

Designers hope 'boyfriend'-style jeans won't make your bum look big. Jess Cartner-Morley picks out the best the high street has to offer

'After years in jeans that cling to your calves like a desexualised, knee-height wet T-shirt competition, there is something appealingly elegant about looser jeans'

Were the aliens to land this summer, they would no doubt be puzzled by one aspect of our society above all others. Namely: why do humans wear such tight jeans? The stranglehold the skinny jean has over our wardrobes is pretty much absolute. Boys in bands wear them; mums on the school run wear them. Wags wear them for lunch; Starbucks baristas wear them to work. It may have taken a while to get us into skinny jeans, but now we're in them, they've got us in a tight grip.

But the first rustlings of denim rebellion are being heard. Most jeans sold are skinnies, but the look has started to disappear from shopping pages. (No one needs to be told where to buy skinny jeans any more.) We are being tempted back into "proper" jeans – jeans that are more than tracing-paper outlines of our lower halves stitched in denim – by the new body-conscious face of the old-school slouchy jean, which is the slim boyfriend jean.

The name is clunk itself, but that's because the point of the name is to convey a message: "These are 'boyfriend'-style jeans, but don't worry, girls – they won't make your bum look big." In Gap, they call this style the sexy boyfriend jean, which is even sillier and sounds as if it has been conceived by someone with English as their fifth language.

After years in jeans that cling to your calves like a desexualised, knee-height wet T-shirt competition, there is something appealingly elegant about looser jeans. Elegance is not a quality often associated with loose jeans, but we're not talking Stone Roses baggy, rather a cocktail-trouser, skimming silhouette. Many designers have gone to town on the casual look, with pre-ripped knees and pre-faded feathery bits, but I'd sound a note of caution if you're over 35: just because you can still rock a miniskirt, don't think you can pull off ripped jeans – they tend to look age-inappropriate at a relatively tender age. On the other hand, a roll at the cuff is a key part of the look, accentuating the borrowed-from-the-boys idea.

But all that really matters is that they are Not Skinnies. Wait… can't we just call them that?

• Jess wears jeans, £209, by Paige, and sweatshirt, £109, by Monrow, both from fenwick.co.uk. Heels, £365, jimmychoo.com.

Styling: Melanie Wilkinson. Hair and makeup: Tonee Roberio using Mac Cosmetics.

The leather jacket is no longer an icon of rebellion but a standard item of suburban day-to-night wear. Jess Cartner-Morley helps you get the look

From the 5:2 diet to Tiger Mothers and the furore over skivers-and-strivers, discipline has become the guiding principle that informs our lives. But is it a step too far when having OCD and increased workloads become a badge of honour?

We have reached the end game of have-it-all culture. Because I'm Worth It has had its day, and discipline is the new decadence. The Nike Fuel Band, which tracks your calorie expenditure and praises you for an active lifestyle, has more smug-factor than a Rolex right now. The dominant meme of annoying Facebook behaviour has segued from the posting of party photos to "inspirational" quotes (American men – Henry Ford, Albert Einstein, Ralph Waldo Emerson – are especially hot right now). Meanwhile, the narrative of reality TV has changed: bad behaviour in the hot tub, à la early Big Brother, has been replaced, from The Voice to The Apprentice, by Saturday-night preaching of the age-old Sunday-morning mantras that hard work will be rewarded, that mentors must be respected and listened to. Even family life has taken on a new set of values. With every issue of Goop, the cosy, cupcake-baking ideal of motherhood cedes territory to the Tiger Mothers (whose children will be more successful than yours) and the Gwyneth Paltrow-esque mothers (whose children will be slimmer and healthier, ergo more successful, than yours.)

We will always desire that element which is elusive in our culture – and right now, that element is discipline. Five months ago Malcolm Gladwell, author of The Tipping Point, gave a speech in which he noted the drawbacks of a culture of instant access to information and of the infinite flexibility of schedule made possible by a world in which everyone is instantly contactable. Discipline, he said, was missing in this setup, and this was a handicap in some areas of achievement. "Collaboration and sharing are not good for finishing your organic chemistry problem set," he said. Patience, strategic thinking and deference to authority, he added, are things "that do not come naturally to" those who have grown up in an online culture.

The Net-A-Porter online fashion website, most of whose customers surely walk past several Starbucks outlets on their way to work, is currently hosting an online video in which the Australian supermodel Miranda Kerr demonstrates how she makes her green "breakfast smoothie" out of a nine-ingredient list that includes coconut water, goji berries, spirulina and acai powder. Extreme diet plans – from the 5:2 intermittent fasting plan to juice-only days (Coleen Rooney tweeted recently about the "great results" of a three-day juice fast she undertook a month after having her second son) – have reinvigorated the dreary business of weight loss, turning your self-discipline into a potential cocktail-party turn. (No one wants to hear how many WeightWatchers points are in your lunchtime sandwich, but if you've found a formula to stick to 500 calories a day you'll hold the floor.)

The ascent of the age of discipline is changing the mood music in every aspect of our culture. It is the reason why skivers-and-strivers hit a nerve, and why David Cameron is rightly terrified of the "chillax" tag. Richard Benson, editor of the Middle Class Handbook blog, attributes the shift to "the tremendous increase in workloads and competitiveness that has occurred over the past decade, due in part to the influence of Americanised corporate culture and in part to the current recession. All recessions seem to have a dominant, lasting cultural impact: in the early 80s it was the loss of the old industrial community, in the early 90s it was the loss of the job for life. This time, it feels like the impact may be the acceptance of previously unthinkable workloads and working hours. Many people say they are still earning the same salary but having to work much harder for it, which perhaps explains some of the focus on discipline. And there is a certain disenchantment with the non-judgmental, diverse, emotionally literate approach that pre-dated this, for various reasons: it seems to dodge tough decisions, it is often disingenuous, it leads to awful corporate teambuilding exercises. And so that disenchantment leads to a counter-reaction, which is an appreciation of old-fashioned, no-nonsense school-marmishness."

Lorraine Candy, editor-in-chief of Elle, says that discipline "makes us feel more in control of our lives in a time when the recession defines us and how we live. The Elle reader [average age: 28] is more thoughtful about her way of life and her purchases because her future may not be as rosy as the generation before. Discipline is part of her mindset now."

In the age of discipline, watercooler gossip has taken a pious turn. Showing off about how drunk you were last night has been superseded by showing off about how many nights since you last drank. When I was first doing working lunches, 15 years ago, a glass of wine was perfectly normal; such a thing is unheard of now. And at evening events in the fashion industry, the meaning of the hand over the wineglass has gone from "I'm pregnant" (2005) to "I've got a job interview/meeting with the boss tomorrow" (2010) to "Can't afford to look unprofessional in this economic climate" (2013). Among Candy's readers, "sharing a great film, band or book is much more of a social currency on Facebook than saying how much they drank. That isn't the driver for an evening out any more." Conversely, as Benson notes, "it has become far more acceptable to boast about going to the gym or running. The posting of one's runs to Facebook is increasingly becoming a pressing issue of etiquette."

Earlier this month, a major American health magazine ran an article entitled "10 Signs You May Have OCD". It was a straightforward, well-meaning article attempting to tease apart character traits that mean you are more than usually careful or organised from those that suggest OCD. (Double-checking you turned the oven off is fine, but having to check exactly three times before you leave the house is a warning sign.) What was striking about the article, however, was the visuals that accompanied it. The front page was illustrated by an expensive-looking wooden rail on which hung a handsome row of shirts, pleasingly colour-coordinated so that mid-blue segued into pale duck egg, through a cream check and into lemon. On the next page was an action closeup of a handwash, with elegant French manicured nails gleaming in the suds.

When did OCD get glamorous? Only a few years ago, the layperson's description for someone who straightened paperclips and laminated everything was "being anal". It was an ugly description, with nothing remotely admiring about it. But perfectionism has rebranded itself, from being just a bit uncool to being "a Type-A personality" (essentially a way of saying "I'm Alpha, you're Beta" while hiding behind psychological terminology) or "a bit OCD" – a phrase used these days as a kind of faux self-deprecating compliment. ("Don't worry, it's fine you're late, it gave me a chance to clear my inbox. Me, I'm totally OCD about punctuality. I wish I could be more laidback, like you!")

Benson reports having had "younger bloggers who want to write for us suggesting blogs about being OCD and proud. Connected to this is the barely concealed boast that one is geeky or nerdy about certain things; it is no longer enough to merely like something, is it?" This new rosy tint to a work-obsessed, office-neat personality is starting to affect the way our homes look. Interiors magazines are abandoning the country house and seaside cottage ideals in favour of a more industrial aesthetic. Shabby-chic chandeliers have been replaced by light fixtures that celebrate the bare bulb, and foxed mirrors over mantelpieces taken down in favour of utilitarian or abstract light-up signs – "LIVE" in neon, say, or "LUNCHEONETTE" in retro fairground bulbs.

Gwyneth Paltrow is the poster girl for the age of discipline. Paltrow has a higher profile now, when she makes only one film a year, than she did when she was wowing Hollywood and winning Oscars, by virtue of being a pioneer for a disciplined lifestyle. It began with fitness, and the hardcore transformation of her body through what she freely admitted was a gruelling exercise and diet programme. What was new wasn't the regime, it was that Paltrow championed it rather than disguised it. Before Paltrow, most actresses and models toed the party line ("eat what I want/fast metabolism"). Since Paltrow, it has become de rigueur to own up to the effort. "When I interview supermodels today they explain how their bodies have been 'made' with exercise and good diet, especially the Victoria's Secret 'Angels'," says Candy. "It is rare to meet one who says she can eat anything she wants and never goes to the gym." The Paltrow brand has since extended into family life. The Paltrow-Martins maintain a strict abstention from goofy shows of public affection, only allow their children to watch cartoons in foreign languages, and exclude most carbohydrates from the family kitchen. Paltrow has become a compelling Marmite figure in popular culture, partly because we project on to her character the negative traits we associate with discipline (being dull company, not having sex) as well as the positive ones.

If Paltrow is the poster girl, the Tiger Mother is the bogey monster. The Tiger Mother, drilling times tables at the changing table and fiercely guarding the name of the best Mandarin tutor in town, is in reality a numerically tiny phenomenon. Nonetheless, a generation of parents lie awake at night cold-sweating over whether that extra half hour on the Xbox has seriously damaged their eight-year-old's future chances. If Keep Calm And Carry On grew from a notion that a return to old-fashioned British values was called for, the new age of discipline stems from the worry that a stiff upper lip alone is not enough to save us. It is no coincidence that the concept of the Tiger Mother took off at the very moment the name, with its Chinese assocations, was coined. Beneath the hysteria is a very real fear. As Benson puts it, "it's probably a reasonable reaction to think: China is going to eat us and our economy alive, if we don't find a way to compete with them."

• This article was amended on 27 June 2013 to correct a towed/toed homophone.

'The leather jacket used to hang out on street corners; now it can be found in Starbucks'

There was a story in the papers last month that Liam Gallagher had requested VIP tickets to the Chelsea Flower Show. I was cheered when Gallagher vehemently denied this. (I have always assumed a "vehement denial" to be newspaper code for "with swearwords".) Rebels should stay rebels: it is disappointing when the hard nuts go soft on us.

Which is why I have mixed feelings about the domestication of the leather jacket. It has been an icon of rebellion for a century, from the Bolsheviks to Sid Vicious, James Dean to the Fonz, Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones to Brad Pitt in Fight Club. This bad boy is steeped in 100 years of outlaws and bikers, metalheads and punks. So much so that I had hardly noticed what was happening all around me, until a nice middle-aged executive of a nice middle-market fashion store mentioned that it was the one key piece they had to get right every season, because it now has such universal appeal that it could be successfully marketed to all women between 25 and 55. You don't have to be young, and you don't have to be edgy, to wear one. It has become standard suburban day-to-night wear. It used to hang out on street corners; now it can be found in Starbucks.

Part of the reason the leather jacket has gone soft is that, well, the leather jacket has gone soft. Until not long ago, they were heavy, brutish things that weighed a ton and gave you a broad, bovine frame. Unless you could afford Rick Owens, you essentially looked as if you were carrying a Holstein cow across your shoulders. Developments in fabric technology mean you can now find a leather jacket that is as light as a cardigan, for a price that won't scare the horses. While the traditional jacket looked comfortable only when paired with the heft of denim or more leather, this new breed (sorry) works over a lightweight dress. A cardigan is cosy, a blazer is smart, but the leather jacket adds a modicum of spice to the same outfit.

You see what happened there? Leather jackets, cardigans and blazers all in one sentence. How things have changed. Indiana Jones did not, after all, wear cardigans. And even Liam Gallagher has yet to be spotted in a blazer.

• Jess wears leather jacket, £1,496, by Rick Owens, from netaporter.com. Dress, £35, asos.com. Heels, £475, jimmychoo.com.

Styling: Melanie Wilkinson. Hair and makeup: Tonee Roberio using Mac Cosmetics.

Donatella's Marlboro Reds are gone, but back is her label's confident glamour as Naomi Campbell makes a guest return

With 45 minutes to go before the Italian house of Versace will opened Paris haute couture week, one familiar element was missing backstage. The supermodels were there including Naomi Campbell making a guest return to the catwalk at Donatella Versace's request; Diet Cokes were being sipped through straws so as not to smudge lipsticks; Donatella herself was, as always, nut-brown and vanilla-blonde, her tiny frame neatly wrapped in black, and one of her constant companions – Audrey the jack russell – is by her side.

But her other constant companion was conspicuous by its absence. After 30 years in which Donatella was accompanied by a packet of Marlboro Reds and a crystal-encrusted lighter, she gave up smoking two months ago. "For the first month and a half, I had no desire to smoke. Now, all of a sudden, I see someone with a cigarette, I want to steal it," she jokes. In fact, she seems calm and focused.

That Donatella has finally found the strength to kick the Marlboros seemed indicative of a new confidence within the house of Versace, which finds itself on a more solid footing than it has been since before the murder of Gianni in 1997.

The devastation wrought on this family-run business by that death was not just the loss of Gianni himself, but the destabilisation of his sister and closest collaborator, Donatella. Donatella shouldered her brother's roles and responsibilities as chief designer almost immediately after his death, but for a decade this was a company existing on a knife-edge. The psychological fragility of a woman who had channelled her grief into upholding the family name in her brother's honour made for a compelling narrative, but a shaky foundation for business. For all their toughness, the motorcycle leathers, gold studs and Medusa heads on the catwalk could never disguise the eggshell delicacy of Donatella's state of mind.

But last week the CEO, Gian Giacomo Ferraris, who joined from Jil Sander in 2009, indicated that the family was ready to take the brand to the next level, with the company close to selling a minority stake in order to fund further growth. (Donatella owns 20% of the company, her brother Santo 30%, and Donatella's daughter Allegra 50%.) In 2011, Versace returned to profit after successive years of losses. In 2012, net profits rose further by 7.6%. Although the brand remains materially small – smaller than its high profile would suggest – it is growing. Ferraris has said that the target of €500m (£428m) revenue, which had been set as a goal for the end of 2014, will be achieved much earlier.

(In 2012, revenue was €408.7m, a 20% increase on the previous year.) Global reach, a profitable focus on the younger lines, and a clampdown on counterfeiting have all helped make Versace a more serious player on the luxury stage.

Donatella's talent as a fashion designer is devastatingly simple. She wraps and engineers fabric around the female form in a way which makes sparks fly off the catwalk. This is an art form which is simultaneously old as the hills and daringly modern. A knee-length cocktail dress is entirely covered in tiny sequins, delicately hand embroidered so that they quiver over every curve, with a keyhole section in sheer net mesh revealing cleavage, and the full-length seam tracing the back view lined with large hook and eyes, to spell out rather than simply suggest the possibility of undress.

The hook and eyes, Donatella said before the show, were there to convey that "you can reveal a shoulder, a little of your back, it is up to you. To be able to do that, in a strict black dress: that is what makes the dress powerful".

The other interpretation of an external row of magnified hook and eye fastenings, of course, is that it invites an observer to feel that he (these dresses are, undoubtedly, designed for male eyes) can undo the dress. Versace wouldn't be Versace without this static electricity between the idea of a woman celebrating her sexuality and that of a woman advertising her sexuality.

The starting point for this collection was the black and white fashion photography of Horst and Man Ray. "What is extraordinary about those pictures is that they are perfect, in an era when there was no retouching," said Donatella. "The perfection comes from the lighting, and the make-up, and the hair and the clothes. All those things have to be perfect. And this seems releveant, because couture needs to be that impeccable." The crisp silhouettes and arch attitude of those fashion photographs found its way into the gowns and tailored suits on the catwalk, causing front-row guest Uma Thurman to exclaim after the show that it was "just wonderful - like real old-time glamour".

Haute couture shows are still a novelty for Donatella , who took a hiatus from this most elite branches of the fashion industry "during the big [financial] crisis, which hit everybody. I had to compromise. We didn't have the budget for a couture show so I made a choice to concentrate on ready to wear, and on expanding worldwide." Now that the business is healthy enough to fund a couture show, she has returned with "a more experimental feeling about couture. Couture will always be elitist for the customers, of course. But visually, it is not elitist at all. Everyone sees it. So it has to be relevant to the twenty first century. I feel passionate about that." Unfortunately, Donatella's willingness to experiment has not as yet emboldened her to ditch the bootcut trousers which she remains wedded to; but if the Marlboros can go, there is surely still hope on this front.

Campbell, who opened the show in a sequin tuxedo and closed it in a mink cardigan, was "an iconic woman for Gianni, and is an iconic woman for my Versace now," Donatella said. "I feel like today is an iconic moment for my Versace. Naomi has personality. She is a fighter. She is not shy about showing her power or using her power. And she is not afraid to take risks. That is why she is a Versace woman."

Outfits created by Christian Lacroix for one-off collection will not go on sale – at any price

Schiaparelli has never been an ordinary fashion house. Elsa Schiaparelli was a fashion designer whose clothes grew out of art, not dressmaking. Salvador Dali described her studio in the 1930s as "the beating heart of Surrealist Paris".

Her famous putdown for her lifelong rival, Coco Chanel, was to call her "that milliner", a reference to what she saw as Chanel's prosaic approach to the issue of what women wear.

Yves Saint Laurent, a great admirer of Schiaparelli and her work, lists "her particular charms" as "her brutality, her arrogance, her self-possession, disdain, storms of anger, odd whims" in his foreword to her biography.

So the return of the Schiaparelli name to Paris fashion was never going to be an ordinary comeback. To be true to the brand, it had to be Shocking – the name Schiaparelli gave to her signature colour, a violent blue-toned pink which Saint Laurent described as having "the nerve of red".

The first subversive note was that the 18 outfits shown at the Musée Arts Decoratifs were created by Christian Lacroix, a legendary fashion designer, but one whose association with Schiaparelli is limited to this collection, and ends now. The second was that these clothes are for display only and not available to buy, at any price. Order books will not be opened at the house this season, however much money is offered by the super rich clients of haute couture.

The third subversive note was that even now – six years after Diego Della Valle, owner of the Italian Tod's group, bought the Schiaparelli house and announced their attention to relaunch – there is no official confirmation of who the Schiaparelli designer will be, although it has been widely reported that Marco Zanini of Rochas will be given the job.

This is, by any standard, an unconventional way to relaunch a brand – which, of course, is exactly the point. And in keeping with the unorthodox mood this was not one comeback, but two. This was Christian Lacroix's first fashion week appearance since his label was forced to close four years ago. Lacroix has since forged a stellar career designing costumes for opera and ballet, curating exhibitions, and designing hotel interiors, and proclaims himself happy to have moved on from the catwalk; many in the industry, however, still mourn the loss of his vividly coloured, richly evocative catwalk shows.

The Schiaparelli installation was held in the wood-panelled rooms of the Musée Arts Decoratifs where Lacroix presented his last catwalk show. On that day, the windows overlooking the Louvre courtyard rattled in the rain, and his adoring seamstresses sobbed backstage. Four years later, the sun streamed through the windows onto the 18 outfits Lacroix had designed for Schiaparelli, and he was welcomed as a returning hero.

The appointment of Lacroix to create this curtain-raiser for the Schiaparelli brand was inspired. There are natural synergies between Lacroix's aesthetic and that of Elsa herself, particularly in gloriously eccentric colour combinations (billiard green with Shocking pink, paprika red with electric blue) and flamboyant silhouettes untramelled by narrow metropolitan ideas of chic. (Lacroix, a native of Arles, told Womenswear Daily this week that he and the Rome-born Elsa Schiaparelli "were really the same, from the Mediterranean, Latin people fascinated by Paris.")

Lacroix initially produced 99 sketches, each based in some way on a design or an idea of Schiaparelli's, and then worked with a team of 12 in the Schiaparelli atelier to produce a final 18 outfits.

The cage which stood at the door of Schiaparelli's Place Vendôme boutique was reconstructed in bamboo at the entrance to this display. Virtual hummingbirds on mini iPads fluttered among the silk cherry blossom, a neat modern update on Elsa Schiaparelli's obsession with birds, bugs and insects.

On the clothes themselves, displayed on mannequins on a golden carousel, Lacroix paid homage to Elsa the surrealist with a golden bug brooches menacing the hip of a tailored jacket. The sharp points of a corset neckline were modelled on an upside down heart. Lacroix echoed the deeply artistic nature of Schiap's studio, by abandoning any notion of wearability: one crinoline skirt in this collection is made up of so many layers that it weighs almost 40kg.

But he also signposted the ways in which Schiaparelli's vision as an emancipated woman in the 1930s was daringly modern and practical: the zippered jumpsuit she pioneered was revived by Lacroix, as were dresses with deep pockets, an innovation she championed.

Schiaparelli have indicated that the announcement of a designer is imminent. From next year, they will present clothes commercially both on the elite haute couture schedule and on the ready-to-wear catwalks. The headquarters at 21 Place Vendôme will house a Schiaparelli boutique once again.

The relaunch is unlikely to be easy. Almost sixty years have passed since the Schiaparelli name was last on the catwalk and while the name is still revered in fashion history it has taken on a dusty academic note. To most consumers, it means little.

But Elsa Schiaparelli herself is proof that doing things differently can pay dividends. In 1937 she conceived the perfume, Shocking, whose name, fragrance, pink packaging and bottle – modelled on Mae West's tailor's dummy, it was the first in the form of a woman's body – caught the public imagination.

Shocking became an important source of revenue for her business, allowing her the freedom to design cocktail hats modelled on pork chops in collaboration with Salvador Dali, and make a silk dress with a larger-than-life hand-painted lobster on the skirt for Wallis Simpson's trousseau. Lacroix has got Schiaparelli off to a flying start – it remains to be seen whether Della Valle can keep the dream alive.

Dior designer Raf Simons ditches haute couture elegance for multicultural collection aimed at international audience

A year into his reign at Christian Dior, Raf Simons' mission to shake up the fashion world is still gathering speed. His feet may be firmly under the desk, but rather than relaxing into a comfortable position in the Paris establishment, the Belgian designer is looking at this rarified world with the fresh eyes of an outsider.

His haute couture collection was not Simons' most beautiful Dior show. This time last year, he had romanced and seduced us – the venue carpeted with flowers, the dresses chiming with our drilled-in belief in the primacy of Parisian chic.

This time around, the mood was more challenging. The collection was divided into four geographical realms: Europe, the Americas, Asia and Africa. Each had its own mini-collection, each of which had been shot by a celebrity photographer, so advertising-campaign-style images were projected on to the walls, which formed the backdrop to the square catwalk.

"I began by looking at women from different continents and cultures who wear couture, their personal style", Simons explained, and "the collection evolved to be about Dior not just being about Paris and France, but about the rest of the world and how many fashion cultures impact on the house and on myself."

The sense of calm, clear, thought-out strategy, which was such an appealing part of Simons' first shows for Dior, was absent. Moving screens presented the interpretations of Patrick Demarchelier, Willy Vanderperre, Paolo Roversi and Terry Richardson while the models walked, with the result that five large fashion egos, including that of Simons, were competing for oxygen throughout the show.

The air of elegance, which the couture world holds so dear, was notable by its absence: it was as if the Glastonbury spirit of anything goes had seeped into this week's couture fashion shows. The clear blue water which Simons had put between himself and the sometimes glorious chaos of the Galliano years was muddied, just a little.

The first message of the collection seemed to be that the couture customer base is not just global but strongly skewed toward new markets in Asia, the Middle East and South America. That is news to precisely no one who has glanced at a front row photograph in the past five years, of course.

Simons, who has been criticised for using overwhelmingly white models in previous shows, made good with a line-up representative of women from a variety of ethnic backgrounds. The choice of photographers seemed a little gauche, however. Was Richardson really the best person to represent an African point of view?

By presenting a couture show that didn't feel like one, Simons made another point: that the hoity-toity attitude that surrounds haute couture is irrelevant, when these events are as much about brand-building to a global audience as they are about selling clothes.

It makes little difference to the average potential purchaser of a Dior lipstick or sunglasses whether a dress is haute couture (£100,000) or ready to wear (£3,000) – they are both equally out of reach, but both contribute to the brand image.

Strip away the conceits and complications, and the clothes were consistent with the modern Dior look for which Simons is laying down foundations each season. A strapless neckline, cut straight across, continues to be key on the catwalk. This will influence the red carpet and eventually impact on high-street party dresses.

And with a celebrity audience that included everyone from Oscar-winning actor Jennifer Lawrence to K-Pop star Psy, this was a show whose sights were set way beyond the salons of Paris.

Bombed-out scene in Grand Palais, complete with piles of rubble, brings dreamlike intensity to designer's creations

To call a Chanel haute couture production a catwalk show would be to do Karl Lagerfeld a disservice. It would be like calling the Place Vendôme a roundabout, or Versailles a country cottage. There is a scale of ambition when Lagerfeld creates for Chanel that is on a quite different level to that operated on by any other designer. (It is a different level, indeed, to the scale Lagerfeld operates on when he designs under his own name, or for Fendi.) And there is no doubt that it pays dividends: the Chanel atelier, where the haute couture dresses are made, has recently expanded to keep up with demand. In London, the brand recently opened a three-storey Bond Street flagship, complete with a giant art installation of dripping pearls.

For his latest extravaganza, Lagerfeld recreated the shell of a burnt- or bombed-out theatre. Hidden within the Grand Palais was a full-sized theatre which guests entered to find the plush curtains drawn, the floor banked to allow all a clear view of the stage, the ceiling blasted away to allow sunlight to stream through from the domed glass roof of the Grand Palais. In between the rows of vintage wooden seats – to which the seat numbers of each guest had been screwed in tiny antiqued brass plaques – were prettily dishevelled piles of rubble. In the aisles, ushers handed out programmes from wicker ice-cream baskets.

The effect of such elaborate, immersive scene-setting is that the audience experience is one of an almost dreamlike intensity. At many catwalk shows, the personality of the fashion designer is something glimpsed only briefly when he or she takes a bow; here, it was all around, heavy in the fake-brick-dust-laden air the audience breathed.

The message of the collection, said Lagerfeld, was of the old world meeting the new. So the curtains opened to reveal a backdrop of a futuristic skyline, city landmarks from London, Dubai and Shanghai merging together. The tall, column silhouettes came in skyscraper shades of steel and iron, belts dropped to hip height to create a long straight line. The effect – especially when the sun caught the rows of tiny sequins, fracturing the light in the way that sunlight catches on glass – was that the models looked like walking versions of the buildings on the theatrical backdrop.

Lagerfeld never deigns to be pinned down to just one era, or even two. The dropped waists and spaghetti straps were slightly 1920s, while the squared-off hats and striped-on makeup had something of the 1980s London Blitz club look about them. But the real point was the notion of one era imagining a future one. So there were elements of Star Trek, and visual references to Fritz Lang's 1927 silent film classic Metropolis. Lagerfeld, who has a collection of memorabilia of the film, took it as inspiration for a couture show two years ago, and there were echoes of that collection here, in the gunmetal greys, and angular hairstyles.

Above all, of course, this was an event firmly rooted in 2013. Two shows were held in order to accommodate not one but two front row special guests. Rihanna held court for the paparazzi at the first show, Kristen Stewart did the honours at the second, without any need for an unseemly battle for celebrity supremacy, and with a corresponding doubling of publicity for all. Everyone's a winner – especially, of course, Karl.

If you wear a dress with structure, attitude and poise, then it will walk the walk for you. Jess Cartner-Morley chooses a selection for your wardrobe