Quinn's Street hottie of the week... PLUS: an elegance rant.

This chick, at the Vogue's Fashion Night Out in Brown Thomas. (by Emily Quinn, via the Weekly Edit.)

I ultimately had trouble selecting this photo, after I read an article recently in the New York Magazine's fashion supplement about "repli-Kates". These being, of course, the stampeding women who are embracing Princess Catherine's prim, tailored, conservative style (and I'll bet, with much relief, after having to deal with fucking bandage dresses.)

This created a little bit of a crisis for me. The stuff that characterizes the Duchess of Cambridge's style--minimalism, timelessness, conservatism, fine finish--is the "elegance" in everyday fashion that I've been campaigning for. So I should be glad, right? However, it feels like high school all over again, when I was wearing Doc Martens and plaid skirts from age 13 and receiving nothing but abuse from other students. But suddenly, at age 17, "punk" became cool and mainstream, and by standing still my whole life I'd found myself thrust into the center of "coolness."

But if "elegance" has become trendy, then could it cease to be timeless? Once Avril Lavigne starting dressing like a slut, my Docs were no longer "awesome" and were causing people to question my sexuality again (they were right to, muahahaha.) Thus, after two upcoming seasons of plundering Oasis for anything made of tailored wool (which will be as poorly made and mass-produced as any of the maxi dresses from last year), will timeless minimalism come to be seen as "naff" and "totally last year"?

But I suppose that's the test of true elegance: either, that it is simply unmarred by such discussions of "so-last-year", or at least the people wearing it are unphased by them. Sticking to a principle of design, rather than following trends, must always be a bit confusing and disheartening when dealing with a dizzily trendy marketplace.

Stay away from the high street, buy vintage and handmade, and when people tell you that you dress a bit like Kate Middleton, say "That fat slag? THANKS A LOT." And pretend to cry. They'll never say it again.