Fish and chips, wine and cheese, female politicians and scathing analysis of their outfit choices - all pairings that are as cliched as they’re irresistible. A new Labour government brings many things - new policies, new optimism and a shiny new cabinet promising to fix the NHS, end the Rwanda scheme and restore economic growth. But it also brings intense scrutiny to the members of said cabinet - particularly if they are female.
When Sir Keir Starmer’s new Cabinet strode into Number 10 on Friday, they clearly had more pressing things on their minds than what to wear to work, or whether their trousers passed muster. In this, as with so many other things in life, men have it easy. Pop on a grey/black/navy suit, team with a white/pale blue shirt and hey presto - you are officially under the radar.
While there’s nothing to prevent female politicians from wearing the same anonymous uniform every day, women tend to gravitate more towards self-expression. Margaret Thatcher didn’t have to wear pussy bow blouses, but they quickly became synonymous with her personal style; likewise, Theresa May’s leopard print shoes. The issue for women in any office, public or otherwise, is that every iota of self-expression is read into, to the nth degree.
Case in point: Deputy Prime Minister Angela Rayner, who chose a menthol green suit for her first day in her new job. As someone wonderfully unafraid of colour, her suit was as bright and bold as we’ve come to expect her outfits to be. But for some, the suit was a problem. Like the orange dress she’d worn days previously, it was by Me + Em, the independent British label whose price points place it squarely in the “mid market”.
At £225 for the trousers and £325 for the jacket, Rayner is hardly Elspeth Catton, swanning around Saltburn in Chanel couture. Yet up popped the critics, complaining that a £550 suit was off-message for a politician who is so proudly working class. Perhaps Shein can make her next suit out of sackcloth and ashes - for what, exactly, is a “working class” woman supposed to wear?
In fact, Rayner’s choice was savvy and judicious. Wearing a British brand flies the flag for British fashion. Wearing a mid market British brand priced so as to suggest the clothes will a) last and b) were made responsibly is a positive message, not a negative one. It’s likely why Lady Victoria Starmer has also worn Me + Em twice in recent days. Lady Starmer isn’t even a politician, but by being married to Britain’s new Prime Minister, her life has changed overnight. Like it or not (and friends claim the latter), she now finds herself under the spotlight, her choice of clothing picked over with the same forensic detail devoted to celebrities and royals. Is it fair? No. Is it avoidable? Also no.
As a former fashion editor of three national newspapers, it would be erroneous to suggest I haven’t penned my fair share of column inches analysing female politicians’ clothes. It’s part of the job description. Nor can I deny that clothes interest me more than politics. Where politics has always felt like a closed shop run by privileged male elites - certainly for the past 14 years - clothes are democratic. You go into a shop, you buy them, and through the language of clothes, you can convey whatever you want to, revealing or concealing at will. Unlike politics, we all have recourse to their power, whether our budget is Cancer Research or Celine.
It’s clothes’ ability to convey the nuances of a person that leads us to be so fascinated by their language. It should go without saying that we should never judge a female politician solely by her clothes, but it would be equally wrong to imagine they don’t play a part in our overall appraisal: not of her worth, but of her personality.
It’s human nature to want to know more about the record eleven women now in senior cabinet roles, and if all we have to go on is their shoe choice, we’ll take it. Sexist? Not if our curiosity is respectful. Provided they’re not referred to as “Starmer’s Sexpots” every time they wear a shift dress or a heel (it was only 14 years ago that the tabloids coined the term “Blair’s Babe’s”), some comment on their clothing is permissible. But there should be rules. Comment on their clothes, but not their bodies. Don’t chastise them for wearing £550 suits when they can clearly afford them. Be kind, rather than judgemental. They’re not here to win any best-dressed awards. They’re here to run the country.
