The Trashy’s guide to autumn style

Time to dig out those sexless knits and surgical tights

There’s a chill in the air and the nights are beginning to draw in. Yes, autumn’s peeping its rusty ass around the corner which means it’s time to pack away the flip flops and turn to the minefield of sexless knitwear and given-up-on-life socks.

But The Trashy doesn’t want you to face this challenge alone so we have compiled some tips to help you glide cosily, if a bit itchily, into the new season. It takes big conkers to meet the dying of the light in style, but we’ve got you.


“Let it grow, let it grow,” sang Elsa, the hirsute star of one of those Disney films. She was right too, it’s winter and no one minds a jot if your muff has the bounce and volume of Eva Longoria’s fringe. The shine might be hard to attain but you never know what a bit of Pantene Smooth and Sleek might help you achieve. Think Elvis’s quiff circa 1965.

The same goes for your legs and pits, let tiny labradoodles nestle under your arms and let your legs return to their full Mr Tumnus glory. In short, it’s time to swaddle yourself in your own lady pelt so you can face the new season in comfort and warmth.

“The cold doesn’t bother me anyway,” trilled Elsa. Now you know why.


Mmm, lovely toasty autumnal coats. It’s hard to get this wrong but there are a few pitfalls we’d like to help you avoid.

Shiny puffer coats: Unless you enjoy being mistaken for a Latvian sex worker lose either the puff or the shine. One is fine. Never both.

Trenchcoats: Don’t fall for the lie that these make women look timelessly classy. Unless you have the time and money to keep dry cleaning the thing you will end up looking like Columbo after a heavy night in a ditch. And just one more thing, since when was looking like Inspector Gadget sophisticated?

Metallic fabrics: Avoid these like the plague unless you’re keen to look like a wannabe Russian oligarch or a baked potato.

Plastic ponchos: Get a grip. A plastic poncho says you’ve given up on life and that you think practicality is the only thing that matters. It’s not, you look like a cheap Wizbit or bargain basement KKK member — either way it’s an abomination and an affront to humankind. Stop.


Just because the model in the glossy ad can carry off a seven metre long scarf doesn’t mean you can. You’ll end up hotter than the sun and will pick up all manner of rubbish in your tassels as they trail along the floor. One Trashy reader reported returning home to find a chihuahua and an elderly gentleman snagged in her scarf.

And besides, it’s a health and safety hazard. The Trashy knows of at least two scarf-related fatalities. One involved a revolving door and the other a sparkler. It took two fire trucks and seven firemen to put her out.

And no snoods, especially the flesh coloured variety which make you look a walking penis.


Fucking gloves. Always on when you want them off and off when you want them on.

Gloves render you as helpless as a toddler. They are the only items of clothing that result in you having to use your face to perform simple tasks like turning a page or making a phone call.

One survey revealed that the average woman wastes three full days of life rooting around in handbags while wearing gloves, incapable of locating the desired item because everything feels the bloody same.

And they are incredibly unsanitary to boot. The Trashy knows you’ve secretly wiped a dribbly nose on at least one glove in your life.


Too long and you look like the love child of Nora Batty and Joseph Merrick, too short and the gusset hangs mid-thigh, shortening your gait and cramping your style.

However, when seated, the low gusset can be an asset because it acts like a trampoline, returning anything you might happen to drop. A friend of the Trashy found this to be true when a croissant slipped out of her hand during a breakfast meeting. The wayward pastry rebounded from her lap, slid across the table and stopped front of her colleague who, unaware of its recent trajectory, gratefully accepted it.

Having battled with tights for many years, The Trashy’s solution is simple: trousers.

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