At my sister's house this afternoon we were helping her teenaged daughters get ready for their Victorian London party: one a foxy chimney sweep, the other a street urchin. It took some time.

For the first we tore a frail linen sheet in half and sewed the younger sister into a tight strappy white bodice and floppy micro-urchin skirt, but it wasn't quite right, so we unpicked and began again. My mother gave hints about how to make it all more authentic, but we knew that a becoming costume was more important than an historically accurate one. We made holes in some thick black tights ("Hey, not the Wolfords, use the Primark," my sister called), daubed the girl with some genuine soot from the fireplace, and then cleaned her and began again because she looked like a country maid, not an urban one.

The second try met with more success, and the smoky kohl cheeks of her final ensemble were particularly fetching. We put one or two curl rags in her hair and secured them with combs. It was such a long process that we wondered how any genuine urban scullery maids got their work done, what with the lengthy daily preparation time and all. Still, the result was stunning: one part Ruby from Upstairs Downstairs, one part William Blake, and one part Courtney Love. Then we began on the chimney sweep, whistling "Mary Poppins" as we went along. The final costume had slight thigh-slapping principal boy notes, it is true, but you could tell this sweep would bring you a great deal of luck if she shook your hand. The girls went off to their party, and we went home.

The family's attempts to set these two teenagers off on the proper footing reminded me of a scene from Milly Molly Mandy, a children's book I adored: When MMM is invited to the children's party at the town hall, one relative provides a giant silk scarf for her dress, another donates a lace handkerchief for the collar, and someone else buys some ribbon for a sash. Our similar efforts were lavished on making our girls look exquisitely distressed, bearing in mind their warmth and decency, of course. It struck me as a very modern endeavour. No one young wants to look glossy, no matter what the fashion pages tell us. Had we spent the same amount of time making these girls squeaky-chic, they would not have been seen dead among their peers. "It always takes far longer to look good and undone than to look polished," I remarked in the car. "Only the other day I heard someone say, 'I had to get ready in, like, five minutes, I didn't even have time to mess up my hair!'"

I was surprised, then, to read an article in US Vogue that stated that the recent fashion for looking slightly messy for fancy occasions, avoiding a high finish and leaving a part of yourself a bit natural or raw or even deliberately askew, was actually a sign of women's self-sabotage, of low female self-esteem. The writer seemed to believe that we should all make ourselves look as polished and perfect as possible and that by being our shiniest fashion selves we are projecting, even enjoying, our power.

I have to disagree. There is a humourlessness to too much sheen. It can be hard and steely (not to mention ageing). Besides, no one wants to look rich, exactly. It's uncouth. Extreme polish in England suggests you don't quite have a life; no serious women writers have manicures, for example, although pedicures are acceptable. And yet neither would I embrace French Vogue's dictum that the more expensive your clothes, the more recklessly you should wear them; no one in her right mind can do this unless she is in receipt of a great deal of free gowns.

I do, however, believe that a sense of the accidental ought to be preserved in one's appearance and that fancy outfits should look unintended, and ought to be worn as if they are raffle prizes, with surprise and a bit of delight. It's not a sign of low confidence but of high self-belief to cut one or two corners. And, apart from anything else, it looks better.

I won't quite be accessorising this season's grown up glamour with dabs of soot, myself. In fact, though I hate to admit it, I've clipped the stray fronds dangling from the hems of last year's skirts and started wearing face powder for the first time in 15 years. Yet despite all this I firmly believe a wonky grin, a chipped nail, and one or two very mild neuroses never did a look any harm.

今天下午在我姐姐的房子里，我们帮着她那两个十几岁的女儿为维多利亚风格伦敦（化妆）派对做好准备：一个（的目标风格）是妩媚的烟囱清洁工，另一个则是街头顽童。真的没少花时间。

首先是妹妹。我们把一个旧的麻布床单撕成了两半，为妹妹缝了一件白色吊带紧身胸衣，和一条松软懒散的小型海胆裙，但感觉不太对，所以我们又拆开了重来。在如何做得更具可信性上，我母亲提供了一些看法。但我们知道，与历史真实性相比较，衣服和人的匹配程度更为重要。我们在一些厚厚的紧身衣上穿了一些洞（我姐姐喊："别用Wolfords，用这些从Primark（英国的廉价服装连锁店）买来的。"），并从壁炉里拿了一些如假包换的炉灰点在女孩的身上，然后为她擦干净，重头再来，因为她的扮相是一位乡村女佣，不是城市女佣。

第二次的尝试获得了一些成功，她最后试装时用眼影涂的烟熏脸颊相当动人。我们还在她的头发上做了一两个用梳子扎好的布发卷。这是如此漫长的一个过程，以至于我在想，真正的城市帮厨女佣在每天面临如此长的准备时间时，是如何完成她们的工作的。不过，结果相当不错：有一点像是电视剧《楼上楼下》(Upstairs Downstairs)中的Ruby，又有一点像威廉·布莱克(William Blake, 英国浪漫主义诗人),还有点像柯特尼•洛夫(Courtney Love，摇滚女歌手)。然后我们开始做烟囱清洁工的那身衣服，嘴里还吹着《欢乐满人间》(Mary Poppins)的曲调。最后那套服装带着一点搞笑哑剧男主角（女扮男装）的样子，是真的，但你可以看出来，如果这个清洁工和你握手的话，会为你带来很多的好运。之后，两个女孩子去参加派对，我们也就回家了。

这个家庭尝试着为两个女孩提供尽量良好的条件。这让我想起了自己钟爱的儿童书Milly Molly Mandy中的一幕：当MMM获邀参加在市政厅举办的一个儿童派对时，一个亲戚为她的裙装提供了一个巨大的丝巾，另外一个献出了一个蕾丝手绢做成领口，还有一个买了一些丝带当成腰带。我们付出了类似的努力，为的是让我们的女孩看起来有一种精致而野性的感觉，当然时刻牢记她们都是热情的好孩子。我突然意识到，这一切非常之现代。不管时装杂志如何的教导我们，没有哪个小孩想看起来像瓷娃娃一样。假如我们花了同样的时间，来把这些女孩变得整洁而时尚，她们会宁愿死掉也不想让自己的同龄人看见。

"让一个人看上去自然姣好，比让她看上去光鲜亮丽，所花的时间要长得多，"我在车上说，"就在前两天我听到有人说：'我必须在差不多5分钟之内准备好，我甚至没有时间弄乱我的头发！'"

我读过美国《时尚》(Vogue)杂志中一篇文章，内容令我吃惊。它说，最近的时尚趋势是，在出席华丽场合时，显得稍微蓬乱一些，不要非常完美，让自己的某个地方显得自然、本色一点，甚至故意出点差错，这实际上是女性自我破坏和减少女性自尊的一种表现。文章作者似乎认为，我们应尽量让自己看上去光鲜亮丽而又完美可人，通过塑造最闪亮的自己，我们实际是在突出、甚至是享受我们拥有的力量。

我不得不表示反对。过于闪亮显得太一本正经了。那有点苛刻、冰冷（更不用说是老气了）。另外，确切地讲，没人想看起来显得很富有。那是很庸俗的。在英格兰，极度光鲜亮丽意味着你不太会生活；例如，没有哪个严肃女作家去修手指甲，尽管修脚指甲是可以被人们接受的。然而，我也不能接受那句《法国时尚》(French Vogue)的格言：你的衣服越贵，你就越随意的去穿着它们；没有哪个精神正常的人会这么做，除非她得到了一大堆不要钱的晚礼服。

然而，我确实认为一种意外的感觉应在人们的装束中得以保持，完美的装束应看上去是未经刻意雕琢的，它们应像是彩票奖项一样被穿在身上，充满了惊喜和一点点欣喜。剪掉一、两个衣角不是一种信心不足的表现，而是高度自信的反映。没什么可说的，那就是看上去要好一些。

我自己将不会用少量炉灰，来表现本季的魅力。事实上，尽管我讨厌承认这一点，我剪掉了去年裙子褶边上垂下的叶子状吊饰，而且15年来第一次抹了粉。然而，尽管发生了所有这一切，我坚信一个搞怪的微笑、削尖的指甲和一两种非常轻微的神经过敏从来不会有什么害处。
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