Alexandra Shulman’s Notebook: Angela Rayner… the latest leader to show that glam rocks!

The sight of Angela Rayner decked out in a lime-green Emilia Wickstead coat in the latest edition of Vogue has caused conniptions among a certain group of people who can’t figure why on earth Labour’s deputy leader would be prepared to pose in expensive clothes in a glossy magazine.

What’s happened to all that Left-wing credibility?

I wonder what planet such people inhabit. It’s as if Vogue has never featured politicians before. 

I draw your attention to Exhibit 1: a beaming Labour grandee Tony Benn with his actress friend Saffron Burrows in the May 2005 edition accompanied by hair and make-up credits.

It’s fascinating to look at the other politicians featured in that story which I, as editor, commissioned in the run-up to that year’s General Election: Alan Milburn then running the Labour Party’s campaign for PM Tony Blair; Liberal Democrat Sarah Teather, then the youngest MP; and a group picture of Tories including Liam Fox, Caroline Spelman and George Osborne (who was described in lowly terms as ‘MP for Tatton and formerly William Hague’s speechwriter’.)

The sight of Angela Rayner decked out in a lime-green Emilia Wickstead coat in the latest edition of Vogue has caused conniptions among a certain group of people who can’t figure why on earth Labour’s deputy leader would be prepared to pose in expensive clothes in a glossy magazine

With her working-class background and teenage mother back-story, Angela Rayner would have no fear that she might be seen as entitled and privileged

I recall that it took a lot of wrangling to get them into Vogue because politicians of every party were generally fearful of appearing elitist if seen in such a magazine. 

And the same would apply to leaders’ wives such as Cherie Blair or Samantha Cameron.

This was particularly infuriating as in the US scarcely an issue of the magazine went by without some politico being Annie Leibovitz’d – in deeply saturated colour, posing powerfully for the star photographer in a filmic setting. 

There was Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice memorably in a ballgown at a piano; Hillary Clinton endlessly appearing in an array of Donna Karan and Ralph Lauren; and more recently both Jill Biden and Kamala Harris as cover stars.

And, to my shame, I was beaten in 2017 by American Vogue to put Theresa May on the cover.

Possibly, I had been so sure she would have turned us down that I didn’t even ask her. In the US, politicians felt supremely comfortable with Vogue.

In the US scarcely an issue of the magazine went by without some politico being Annie Leibovitz’d – in deeply saturated colour, posing powerfully for the star photographer in a filmic setting. Pictured: Jill Biden, who recently featured in Vogue 

As for Angela Rayner, it’s not surprising that she would be happy to appear in the magazine – all flowing, auburn mane and lovely skin but also giving an interview in which she was free to get across any message she wanted.

With her working-class background and teenage mother back-story, she would have no fear that she might be seen as entitled and privileged. 

She could just enjoy appearing glammed up and probably rather delight in all the fuss. She knows that ‘aspirational’ is not a dirty word.

An unlikely comparison can be made with Margaret Thatcher who frequently appeared in Vogue, photographed by Lord Snowdon, Bailey, Donovan and Mario Testino. Thatcher often spoke of her hard-working, lower-middle-class background. 

But she similarly had no scruples enjoying the fruits of her success.

I am wondering whether hair might play some role in political triumph. The surprise win by hard-Right Geert Wilders in the Dutch elections sees another guy with a headful of the blond stuff rise to the top

Now Dutch suffer a hairy moment 

I am wondering whether hair might play some role in political triumph. The surprise win by hard-Right Geert Wilders in the Dutch elections sees another guy with a headful of the blond stuff rise to the top.

Hardly any of the world’s male leaders are even remotely bald – Sunak, Macron, Biden, South Korea’s Yoon Suk Yeol. 

The group pictures at any major international summit could be an advert for the haircare firm Wella.

Except for one notable exception – Putin. But you always need one disruptor to prove the theory.

A ‘baby doll’ look? That wasn’t my aim!

The other evening I wore a dress with a hemline above my knee for the first time for decades. I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress of that length.

It was an M&S black jacquard smock – worn in its Christmas advert by singer Sophie Ellis-­Bextor (who, I admit, looks much better in it than me).

I mention this because, as an occasional writer on fashion and style, I generally take the line that we should wear what we feel comfortable in and pay no attention to what other people consider age-appropriate. All that matters, I parrot, is that you feel good.

But when it came to this dress and its length, I found myself unusually conflicted. It wasn’t what other people might think that bothered me but I was unable to figure out what I myself thought.

I was amazed how difficult I found it to decide whether this short dress looked good – or a bit ridiculous – on me.

In the end, I took the plunge and put it on for dinner with friends that evening. I asked my partner David whether he thought it was OK and he said it looked great – very baby doll. Baby doll?! Not the aim in one’s 60s!

At that moment, I really did think I was making a mistake. But it stayed on and off I went.

The other evening I wore a dress with a hemline above my knee for the first time for decades. I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress of that length. It was an M&S black jacquard smock – worn in its Christmas advert by singer Sophie Ellis-­Bextor (who, I admit, looks much better in it than me).

In need of some root and branch reform

An American journalist spending some time in London recently told me he how he was particularly enjoying the city’s greenery.

And, of course, our tree-lined streets and glorious parks are part of what makes the city so attractive. 

But if you live, as I do, opposite a park and in one of those tree-lined streets, feelings about the arboreal nature of the place are somewhat conflicted.

The giant plane trees in the park have branches hanging so low and heavy that, in winds, they threaten to crash on cars below, while their roots can turn pavements into lethal rollercoasters or, more worrying, snake into our houses.

Then there is the issue that the slightest hint of a crack in walls risks seeing our insurance companies demand that we rip up our front and back gardens and live in a concrete desert.

The main culprits, which are the trees in the park and roadside, are not in our control, and the council, which is responsible for them and keen to avoid their expensive maintenance, threatens total removal if we make a fuss.

So, although our houses keep cracking, at least we can look at the leafy view.

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