The creator of this Cretaceous curio, Giles Deacon, grew up 30 miles down the road from me in Darlington. Apparently he used to have to catch three buses all the way to Sunderland, travelling with his towel rolled up under his arm the whole way, to sample the delights of my hometown leisure centre’s wave machine. I love his wit and the sense of the fantastic in his designs. There are so many clichés about northerners being unpretentious and down-to-earth, which crowd out another, escapist side to northeast culture (it’s the rich interior life of the club singer and the reason nobody wears a coat on a night out, even in December). I see that in Giles’s work and – although his fantasy world is much darker – in the subversive designs of Sunderland-born Lady Gaga favourite Gareth Pugh Photograph: Suki Dhanda
As the mother of two small sons, it is hard – by which I mean utterly impossible – to remain stylish at all times. Which is fine by me. Surrendering oneself to the unfathomable nature of life, death, being and the human spirit seems to be the great and constantly evolving lesson of parenthood. Not being able to wear dry-clean-only fabrics is very much at the thin end of my personal-development wedge right now. However, even though I know I am doomed to fail, I try. I got this silk-jersey dress by London designers Belle & Bunty to wear to the launch party celebrating the publication of my first book while I was six months pregnant. Once my protuberant belly disappeared it was suddenly 8in too long. I can’t wear it with a train, but I love the colour so much I just couldn’t let it go. I now need a good tailor or an extremely tall friend so that it may live again Photograph: Suki Dhanda
I purchased this little number aeons ago in a Barnardo’s charity shop for the extortionate sum of £8. My aesthetic sensibilities are rooted in my past as a 90s indie-kid, so I’ve always been a charity shopper. I have yet to embrace the term “vintage” – or the price tag that goes with it. It seemed expensive to me at the time, but I’ve worn it ever since, and was even chased through Portobello market by an American stylist attempting to buy it off my back, so I reckon it was worth it. Growing up I could do a weekend (new outfit, two nights out, bus fare) on a fiver. The old-lady negligée section in Help the Aged was rich pickings for us because nobody else – barring the two friends I had and would go on to form a band with – wanted the “dresses” we bought each weekend. Back in my callow youth I used to describe my style as “a young, thin Pat Butcher”. As I hurtle through my 30s, not quite so thin Photograph: Suki Dhanda
