There's always someone on TV spouting some fashion related twaddle about upcoming Autumn/Winter looks and how on-trend leggings are, and they're generally all giant weeping arseholes.
If it isn't Gok Wan molesting women and masquerading it as appreciation of the female form then it's that nad-less Mark Heyes spouting how great different shades of red are. Not even taking into account people with colour blindness. That's how much of a monster he is. And then there's Jason Gardiner.
But one woman stands aside from all of those gushing Anna Wintour Wannabes and fights for the customer?s desire to get good customer service, taking under her designer wing a whole range of businesses from bakeries, charity shops and garden centres (probably). That woman is Mary Portas of course. Imagine how angry you would be if you'd just read 140 words and this was all about Fern Britton.
Well Portas is back with her sharp tea cosy-esque haircut and penchant for leather capes, this time turning her attention to opening her own fashion store, which has helpfully been placed smack bang in the middle of one of the biggest department stores in the country. Must be nice to have a huge helping hand when you start a business like this.
Snarky, us? Never. Anybody who says any different, we will see in court.
Portas wants to attract the twilight woman who's body hasn't been entirely ravaged by the passing of time and blasting out numerous children, of which there is an actual hole in the market. The only companies that attempt to contend with the more mature lady are Bon Marche and Marks and Spencer and they are so lacking in feminine edge that even the amount of HRT it would take to make Jodie Marsh feminine again isn't going to make a dint.
Seriously, these stores are like the worst things about being a woman (probably). Even bleeding for four days out of thirty and not really being respected by men, unless you make a mean cup of tea and/or fellate good, is still better than anything Bon Marche can do. Big whoop, the same person who made Princess Diana?s dress is the instore designer. NO ONE CARES.
So how does Portas go around opening her own shop? By taking the space that is already dedicated to fuddy brands like Austin Reed and County Casuals, making all the staff redundant and using the space to stick her own wares in. Perfect plan. It's basically Lebensraum, but with tights.
Luckily Portas offers all those staff she makes redundant to apply for jobs working for her, and even goes out of her way to poach the manager of neighbouring brand, Biba.
Unfortunately all the old staff that had worked there for decades seem to be fascinator-loving mentalists, so they get the big heave-ho in exchange for people who would probably audition for X Factor because the corpse of their dead mother has told them that they can sing just like Beyonce (Beyonce being the child down the street). Even a member of the old Austin Reed staff who resembled Vincent Price after he spent a few too many nights in G-A-Y and half his wages on meth amphetamine, didn't seem to make the cut. It was either because his attitude stank, which it did, or because he advised Portas on where the best bathroom scene is. Both are unemployable qualities, unless you work in Topman.
Queen of Frocks is a great addition to the Mary Portas portfolio of emotions. Previous inclusions include; exasperation, anger, disappointment and elated happiness at finally getting her way. But now we have crying. With honest to God human tears and even tear hiccups. The new ginger Queen of Mean (which she won from Anne Robinson in a brutal cage match. Smashed Robinson over the head with a table. That's why she winks all the time. Involuntary tick) shows her more human side. Which after watching an hour of events seemingly to run away from Portas? control, might be one of the best things you could see to fill the gap between sessions of searing grief on a Saturday and Sunday night.
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