What shall I wear to meet the Queen? (2024)

Among fashion people, it is considered terrifically declassé to discuss one's wardrobe crises. It suggests vulnerability in the field that is supposed to be our strength. Such problems belong to civilians. Ask a fellow fashionista what she plans to wear to an upcoming event and she will shrug and seem not to have given it a moment's thought – but be warned, this means nothing. More than likely, you will turn up on the evening to find her in Chanel couture, having remortgaged her house and spent the past month travelling back and forth on Eurostar for fittings. Even so, when you compliment her on it, instead of lapping up the praise, she will play down her own efforts: "Oh! Thank you. Yes, Karl is so sweet to me."

But, dear reader, I am hereby breaking rank. In the nine years, 10 months and two weeks I have been fashion editor of this paper, I have confronted just about every possible permutation of the wardrobe crisis. I have locked eyes in the mirror with every personal insecurity before interviewing intimidating super-chic beauties, decoded arcane dress codes and grappled with the etiquette of to-suck-up-or-not-to-suck-up when interviewing designers (answer: turn on the smarm every time).

But funnily enough, when the invitation to a reception for "the clothing industry" at Buckingham Palace arrived, I wasn't particularly fazed. Frankly, I thought myself far too modern to care much what I wore to meet the Queen. So I was surprised to find myself, at 11 one evening last week, standing in a tangle of discarded dresses. Clearly the nod from Her Majesty mattered to me more than I thought.

I had been lulled into a false sense of security by that classic schoolgirl error: I had half-picked an outfit in my mind, but left it until the last minute to try it on. I had planned on wearing an ivory, silk-lapelled Tommy Hilfiger tuxedo jacket over a pale pink Whistles dress. But when I stood in front of the mirror, the effect was not, as I had fondly imagined, garden-party-pretty-with-professional-smarts. Instead, I just looked like a waitress.

So it was back to first principles. I studied the small print. "The dress code is recommended as day dress/lounge suit. However, this is for guidance only and is not intended to preclude other smart dress. Hats and gloves are not required." Sounds easy enough. But when dressing for an event, it seems to me polite to dress foremost with your host or hostess in mind, rather than for other guests. Example: if you are going to a wedding, you should wear something that will look lovely in the bride's pictures, rather than something vampy designed to show your ex-boyfriend how much weight you've lost. In the same way, I felt I should wear something the Queen would approve of, rather than something that would impress my fashion industry comrades. But my wardrobe proved to be divided between glamorous clothes and demure clothes, with precious little that straddled the two. Everything that looked as if I'd made an effort also showed too much skin. In the end, I settled on an asymmetric Cos pale aqua silk dress that comes to just below the knee, with a swingy little Reiss jacket of outsize cream sequins to cover the one bare shoulder.

As it turned out, the palace drinks reception was the first fashion event at which the throng freely admitted to having been stumped as to what to wear. One editor admitted to having spent most of the day trying on everything in their office fashion cupboard. Yasmin Sewell, the extremely chic creative director of Liberty, wrote on her blog about the various outfits she discarded before settling on a black-and-white bib-fronted Marios Schwab dress, which seemed right for being "demure, conservative, but still conceptual".

Lorraine Candy, the editor of Elle, chose a classic 10-year-old Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress which has seen weddings and job interviews, reasoning that "the invite said day dress and I feel elegant in it. In fashion emergencies, I think keeping it simple and feminine is best, and nothing makes you feel as 'sorted' as a DVF." When I complimented Barbara Horspool, design director of New Look, on her pale blue Giles Deacon shift dress with a print of beautifully drawn tarantulas, she admitted that she'd had misgivings – "I mean, what if Her Majesty has a fear of spiders?" – but had decided to go for it because "this is a reception about fashion, and that's what I felt I should represent." Erin O'Connor, the 6ft model, was wearing flat shoes because her mum thought she should to meet our petite Queen.

A jacket over a dress turned out to be a popular combination: Twiggy wore a white blazer over a Stella McCartney dress with a paintbrush print by her daughter Carly, who is a print designer for McCartney. Tammy Kane, sister and close collaborator of Christopher, had on a python jacket with a gingham dress (no prizes for guessing the label). Alexandra Shulman, editor of Vogue, being determined to wear something British and feeling the occasion called for a dress, had hunted everywhere for one "that I liked and which felt appropriate, but everything I found was sold out in size 12. The number of elegant dresses longer than mid-thigh was ridiculously limited. In the end, Jonathan Saunders kindly offered to make me a longer version of a patterned shift of his that I had seen on net-a-porter but was much too short. He had to add five inches!"

It seems the Queen has inadvertently drawn our attention to a very modern fashion dilemma: how to find a dress with wow factor, when you are beyond the age when you want to draw attention to your thighs. Dress-up for grown-ups, if you will. As wedding season comes into focus, the need for glamorous but unrevealing dresses becomes urgent for many of us – whether or not your summer season includes a garden party at the palace. Shulman has lain down the challenge: "British fashion designers need to do something about their ridiculous hem lengths." Let's hope they're listening.