I have a confession to make. My name is not Lola and I am not a showgirl; I don’t wear feathers in my hair and my dress is cut down to nowhere near there. Sorry, Mr Manilow, for that mangling – but as the fringe began to fly on the catwalks for spring/summer, the sorry story of the shimmying showgirl sprang immediately to mind. And we all know what happened to her…

So perhaps my fear of fringe is down to the fact that my severe lack of co-ordination means I can no more merengue or do the cha-cha than see myself chilling at Coachella, where the hippie-de-luxe take on the trim – or “sexy Pocahontas”, as one fashionable friend calls it – is de rigueur. Or maybe the knowledge that the closest I will ever get to being one of Tina Turner’s fleet-footed back-up dancers is bouncing awkwardly around to “Proud Mary” in my bedroom is what’s keeping me from setting fringing swinging. Because, trust me, I see the temptation in taking a lesson from Stevie Nicks and twirling and whirling your troubles away, and if the rumours are true and Fleetwood Mac do grace the Glastonbury stage, we can expect the fringed shawl to overtake the onesie as the festival garb du jour. But that’s just it – to me, the fantasy of fringe is so couched in the context of performance that in reality it feels like fancy dress.


KissyDress red carpet dresses

On a lithe, leggy model, the long strands of Proenza Schouler’s souped-up grass skirts conjure an empowered image of keeping cool in a hot city, teasingly revealing bare flesh. But on anyone who actually lives, works and commutes in that city, they’d end up more closely resembling the grotty grey strings of a much-used mop. Even the party-perfect outfits trimmed with tufts of short fringe shown by Preen by Thornton Bregazzi and Marco De Vincenzo would lose their lustre once caught on your cocktail ring or knotted into clumps by a spilt glass of champagne. And all the bugle beads in the world aren’t going to bring back your shine at that point.

On a lithe, leggy model, the long strands of Proenza Schouler’s souped-up grass skirts conjure an empowered image of keeping cool in a hot city, teasingly revealing bare flesh. But on anyone who actually lives, works and commutes in that city, they’d end up more closely resembling the grotty grey strings of a much-used mop. Even the party-perfect outfits trimmed with tufts of short fringe shown by Preen by Thornton Bregazzi and Marco De Vincenzo would lose their lustre once caught on your cocktail ring or knotted into clumps by a spilt glass of champagne. And all the bugle beads in the world aren’t going to bring back your shine at that point.

short pink prom dresses