At home with with Lucinda Chambers
The former Vogue fashion director and co-founder of curated e-commerce website Collagerie talks posh dusting, the links between fashion and interiors, and finding your 'base-camp' neutral.
The first question is: what should I wear to go to the home of a woman who worked at Vogue for 36 years – 25 of them as its fashion director? What’s the right outfit to meet a style leader who has consulted at Marni, set up her own label, Colville, and co-founded Collagerie, the super-cool website that curates a mix of high-low fashion, homewares and latterly, art?
Of course I have many, many questions for this incredible woman whom I have admired from afar for years. I have a long list of things to ask – few of which it transpires I will actually get round to.
But the main question is the one I can’t ask. What am I going to wear? She will doubtless be looking fabulous, in some kind of loosely structured, geometrically-shaped layered ensemble. Probably make-up free, with her grey-blond hair casually pinned to one side.
I decide I too must go high-low. I remember a pair of silver Marni loafers my husband bought for me many years ago that are beautiful. Alas they involve a shoe horn, a lot of swearing sweating and a short lie-down once on. There is no notion of walking anywhere in them. I wonder if I can just sit on the pavement outside Lucinda’s house to squeeze them on and then hobble to the first available chair.
For four days I stuff them with wet newspaper and leave them on the heated bathroom floor. By the fifth day I can get them on and off and walk comfortably. It’s possible I have broken and reset every bone in my foot. By day six I have agreed that if my husband drives to M&S I will walk around with him to procure dinner.
Never let it be said that I didn’t prepare for this interview.
The day dawns. The shoes are as ready as they ever will be. I have a pair of linen trousers from Next (low) and an oversized jumper with a half tuck that takes so long to get right I will not be able to go to the loo for fear of disturbing it.
But I need layers. Lucinda is high-low with layers. I find an old Plumo shirt in the wardrobe with huge cuffs that will poke out from the jumper sleeve and add a casual, deconstructed air to the outfit. I re-dress. I feel choked by the collar. I add a cream mac from Cos. I am sweating. The menopause has come for me. The shirt has to go. Finally I am ready.
My husband has looked at the map. It’s an 11-minute walk from the underground station to her house. I’m in the silver shoes. He raises an eyebrow. I add a pair of trainers to my bag.
OK I’m ready. Let’s do this.
