Oh, Madge! The bottom line is no woman over 50 should wear fishnets
By Liz Jones
WHEN Madonna wore fishnet stockings the first time around, it was 1990. Back t hen, s he teamed them with a polka- dot jacket, black shorts, a bowler hat and a gamine crop. There was a huge dollop of attitude, too, and rather ballsy humour.
I remember she grabbed her crotch onstage in those little shorts. She looked incredible.
The outfit was not her idea, of course: she was mixing Marlene Dietrich with Liza Minnelli in Cabaret. She knew fishnets infer sadomasochism. They are slutty, especially if riddled with holes, and so segued nicely into her irreverent schtick.
She had a dancer’s buttocks and thighs but, most importantly, she was only 32 years old. I remember my 32year- old buttocks rather fondly: I enveloped them in tiny olive green Calvin Klein shorts and fishnet tights, topped off with a gold Katharine Hamnett waistcoat, and took them to a disco in Marbella.
Fast forward 21 years, and my 53- year- old bottom now has the consistency of unrisen dough. I keep expecting Delia Smith to turn up at my house with a rolling pin, and dust me with flour. I’d no more wear my olive shorts these days than a snow-washed denim blouson.
But here Madonna is again in fishnet tights. And even briefer satin shorts. She seems these days to be channelling Bette Davis, or some sad relic from the Eighties, what with the arm warmers and Karl Lagerfeld f or Chanel fingerless gloves. The awful quiff reminds me of the redoubtable fashion critic Suzy Menkes.
Now, I know these comments might be rather harsh, but so is growing old. It’s ghastly. I reckon I’ve had as much easier to grow old gracefully if your style has always been quite pared down, minimal and mannish, as mine has been: I always think the likes of Jo Wood, with her uniform of biker jackets and lots of black, can glide smoothly into senility pretty much unfettered.
But if you have always favoured ra-ra skirts, prom dresses and Jean Paul Gaultier conical bras, you might want to plan a great big bonfire.
Of course you can look fabulous over 50, but there is a crucial difference between being well groomed, a la Anne Robinson, and looking like a superannuated Barbie, a la Carol Vorderman, whose body- conscious Roland Mouret dress worn for a lunch with girlfriends was so tight we could see her kidneys, while a red- carpet gown worn at the National TV awards showed off way too much cleavage.
It doesn’t matter if you are as toned and honed as Madonna: it’s simply not dignified to pull on an Herve Leger bandage mini dress j ust because you can.
Julianne Moore might be a goddess, but I don’t want to see her upper arms or stomach (I found the sex scene in The Kids Are Alright gut churning, given I saw it with a boyfriend. I had never let him see my fifty-something rump in broad daylight, and here he was getting it writ large, across a 100ft screen).
Past 50, it is all about choosing