“Look, Roman got engaged,” said Peach, my then boyfriend, now husband, while showing me a photo of a woman’s left hand displaying a diamond engagement ring as she held her fiancé’s hand. I looked closer at the photo and saw that Roman was wearing a ring, too.

“Is Roman wearing an engagement ring?!” I asked, excitedly.

“No, that’s the family ring he wears. It’s his right hand,” Peach said.

“Oh, but would you ever consider wearing an engagement ring?” I asked.

“No way, that’s weird,” he answered quickly, before realising such a response would certainly elicit a feminist lecture from his future wife.

And indeed it did. I’d already made it clear I didn’t want to wear an engagement ring myself, and this decision had caused a bit of friction in our typically copacetic relationship. I had a multitude of reasons why I wanted to opt out: The tradition is based largely on a marketing scheme; a diamond engagement ring is not a piece of jewellery I would normally wear; and frankly, I’d just prefer to put that money toward other financial goals. But if I were being really honest, the biggest reason is that it felt sexist. The fact that I, the woman, was expected to wear a ring that symbolised that I was no longer available while Peach, the man, was free to flaunt a naked finger until our wedding day just didn’t sit right with me. This is by no means an indictment of women who do not share my feelings and want a diamond engagement ring. It’s simply my personal beliefs.

The fact that I, the woman, was expected to wear a ring that symbolised that I was no longer available while Peach, the man, was free to flaunt a naked finger until our wedding day just didn’t sit right with me.

One simple solution would have been for my betrothed to also wear an engagement ring. We had already agreed on gold bands as our wedding rings, so we could have worn them as engagement rings, too. But Peach never felt comfortable with the idea. It’s not something he’d seen modelled by other men in his life, and for some reason, he started digging in as though I’d finally pushed too hard against his masculinity and this ring was his breaking point.

Peach was completely okay with breaking plenty of other gender norms. His generous heart and openness are part of what I admire and love about him most. I write about money professionally, and he didn’t even have a problem with me sharing publicly that I out-earned him. He was proud of my success and loved his job as a public-school teacher. He didn’t see a need for it to bother him. So frankly, I couldn’t figure out why my engagement-ring refusal was the one thing that seemed to actually get to him.

After many rounds of me pressing the issue, his visceral reaction finally morphed into a rational sentiment. “I understand that you have many reasons for not wanting to wear an engagement ring, and that’s okay,” he said. “But other people aren’t going to think that’s why you aren’t wearing one. They’re going to think I can’t afford to buy you one.”

I sat in this unfortunate truth for a while before I could formulate an answer beyond “So, who cares?!” Because it mattered. This man was going to be my husband, and I couldn’t dismiss his feelings, even if I felt that they were stemming from a type of socialisation and societal pressure that really pissed me off. He still had a right to feel them.

Eventually, I pointed out that the people who knew us best and loved us would know affordability wasn’t the reason I wasn’t wearing an engagement ring. Besides, it would only matter for about a year while we were engaged. Afterward, we’d both be wearing wedding bands.

If he wanted me to wear an engagement ring, then he would have to wear one, too. If that made him too uncomfortable, he needed to be okay with my decision. He finally gave up on the engagement-ring fight, but he did insist on being the one to propose. I relented, even though I was slightly disappointed — I love crafting a high-stakes surprise.

While people didn’t really care that I didn’t have an engagement ring, I got a lot of questions about how Peach could propose without one. I won’t go into the full proposal story, but it was perfect and thoughtful and tailored to our relationship. It happened at home with just the two of us, and I didn’t miss the ring, as some people told me I would. The whole experience was filled with love and happiness.

As for how we announced it without the stock photo of me displaying my freshly manicured hand for the camera, well, we did what any millennial would: We used our dog.

Early on in our engagement, only a few people grabbed at my left hand, thinking they would see a blinged-out finger. Because I’ve always been outspoken about not wanting an engagement ring, I rarely had to explain myself. I was also blowing up wedding traditions left and right — no engagement party, no bridal shower, and my dress wasn’t all white. And then there was the matter of having a straight guy in my bridal party (no, he wasn’t my brother or cousin). Apparently, that’s very scandalous, so people had much more important gossip to discuss than my ringless left hand.

The few times when I was asked why I ditched the tradition, I sometimes got called (gasp) “too feminist,” or people would ask if I planned to have a diamond wedding ring. Sometimes people would ask how Peach felt about it. I only ever got really annoyed when men would say, “Your fiancé is lucky to be saving all that money. I wish more women did that.” I’d often resist the urge to roll my eyes. My choice should not be used to shame other women for wanting what they want.

The few times when I was asked why I ditched the tradition, I sometimes got called (gasp) “too feminist.”

One unfortunate ramification was making other women feel uncomfortable. It was never my intention to do so, just as my keeping my name isn’t a judgment against women who elect to take their spouse's. Some would justify their rings to me by saying it was a family heirloom or that it wasn’t a budget buster. There never is any need to defend an engagement ring, as long as you elected to wear it because you want to and not because it’s tied up in someone else’s ego. Just like you don’t have to justify changing your name. It just needs to be your decision.

But for all the initial stress, after we got married, it didn’t matter. The best piece of wedding-planning advice came from one of my closest friends. “You’re going to get into fights about things that do not matter at all outside the context of wedding planning,” she said. “This is all happening in a vacuum.” She’s so right, and her advice also applied to the engagement ring. I never get asked anymore about ditching it.

Of course, now I’m facing a new line of rude questioning. These days everyone wants to know the last names of our hypothetical children.

Erin Lowry is the author of Broke Millennial and Broke Millennial Takes On Investing. She lives in New York City with her husband.

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Natural hair is almost a contradiction of itself. It's natural, yes, so reason says that it should be easy to care for since it's what's growing out of your own scalp. Yet it takes a whole lot of effort to maintain your curl definition and hydration, especially when your hair is colour treated or bleached. There are plenty of shampoos, conditioners, and masks that boast properties to help ensure a fade-free finish, but there's one treatment that eludes even the most seasoned naturalistas: Olaplex.

“Can you use Olaplex on natural hair” has nearly nine million page returns on Google — and for good reason. We know that the three-step system “glues” bonds together that have been damaged from processing and heat damage by “finding single sulphur hydrogen bonds and cross-linking them back together to form disulfide bonds,” Vanessa Boland, Olaplex’s Education Manager, says. It's considered a godsend for some of Hollywood's top stylists and colourists because of its ability to make hair stronger during a colour treatment, but is it good for natural hair?

Olaplex: Friend Or Foe For Natural Hair?

“It's like a guardian angel [because] natural hair is usually dry,” Jaxcee, a colourist at Hair Rules salon, says. “Lightening dry hair can be tricky because like a sponge, it soaks up any kind of moisture. If you use a high volume developer on your natural hair, it runs the risk of being over processed at a faster rate than hair that is less dry.” She says that for natural hair, Olaplex is like an “insurance policy against over processing damage.”

But Jaxcee says she uses it to prevent and heal more than just colour damage. With the help of a bond builder (called bis-aminopropyl diglycol dimaleate, in case you were curious), it can even restore the hair’s natural curl after too much blowdrying, flat ironing, or curling, as it helps rebuild the bonds in your hair that have been temporarily flattened.

A post shared by Providence RI ✂️ Hair Stylist (@hairmajestiii) on Jan 7, 2018 at 9:31pm PST

What To Expect
So now that you know it's successfully used on natural hair, what are the steps you can expect? Of the three-step system, No. 1 and No. 2 are done in-salon, as they're both chemical treatments. No. 1 repairs the disulfide bonds that are separated as a result of chemical treatments or heat styling, Olaplex ambassador Chad Kenyon says. No. 2 completes the colouring process, once the dye has been applied. The colour is rinsed, your hair is towel-dried and No. 2 is applied to the hair and left on for a minimum of 10 minutes.

No. 3, on the other hand, you take home. It conditions and moisturises, but is not to replace your regular conditioning treatments. See, even though it's a lot more potent than a regular ol' mask, it serves a different function, Jaxcee notes. “The active ingredients in Olaplex lasts a lot longer than others,” she notes. And like those treatments, you should probably get Olaplex on a monthly basis — but if your curls are severely damaged, there's no problem with using it weekly. “Damaged natural hair can use No.3 before their usual conditioner” she says. Meaning, you can still wash and go while repairing your hair.

In fact, conditioner is very important throughout your use of the system… or maybe even before, as a precaution. “A lot of the time, people feel like their hair is damaged when it’s actually just very dry, I always suggest to my clients to try a very hydrating conditioner such as Hair Rules Quench or Kerastase Bain Elixir Ultime Fondant. If the hair is actually damaged due to chemical or heat damage, though, Olaplex is the best.”

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Atopic dermatitis, eczema, psoriasis, rosacea… These are just a few irritating conditions which come under the umbrella of sensitive skin, which, according to consultant dermatologist Dr Anjali Mahto, affects 40% of the population – and mostly women.

The top dermatologist, who specialises in a variety of different skin conditions including acne, cites pollution, stress and changes in temperature as just some of the sensitive skin triggers that can result in red, itchy, sore, flaky skin. If you identify with these symptoms, you’ve no doubt swapped out certain products for those which are marketed at reactive skin types, including paraben- and fragrance-free creams, shower gels and other skincare essentials. You’ve probably also been swayed by the 'hypoallergenic' label, which indicates said product is less likely to cause an allergic reaction. But if Dr Mahto's latest Instagram post is anything to go by, you could have been misled.

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“Beware of marketing terms on products such as 'hypoallergenic',” Dr Mahto wrote on Instagram. Calling out the word, she continued: “The term is pretty meaningless and is there to imply to you, as the consumer, that a product will cause fewer allergic reactions than a counterpart without the label.”

But this is where it gets really interesting. “There is no legal definition of the word and no minimum gold standard or test that a product has to pass to have this label,” wrote Dr Mahto. “It is there simply to mislead you about product suitability and safety, I’m afraid. Products which carry the label can still contain irritants which may aggravate sensitive skin.”

Those irritants can include fragrances, essential oils, dyes and other ingredients. Her advice? To conduct a good old-fashioned patch test before you incorporate a new product into your skincare, body care or makeup routine. “Apply a small amount of product (e.g. cream or serum) to clean upper, inner forearm skin and leave it for 24 hours (i.e. don’t wash the area),” Dr Mahto expanded. “If no irritation or redness occurs during this time it should be safe to use the product in the future. This is a very crude version of the allergy testing dermatologists carry out in clinic, i.e. patch testing.”

Luckily for those with sensitive skin, Dr Mahto went on to share her product recommendations. Also R29-approved, CeraVe's Hydrating Cleanser, £9, La Roche-Posay's Toleriane Ultra-Fluid Sensitive Skin, £17.50, and NeoStrata's Redness Neutralizing Serum, £34, made the cut. The dermatologist also made a case for including sun protection (a must for everyone) and touted Jan Marini Physical Protectant, £53, and SkinCeuticals Mineral UV Defense SPF 50, £37, as two of her favourites. She also recommended steering clear of mechanical exfoliators, such as scrubs and cleansing brushes, as well as ingredients like retinoids and AHAs. If skin sensitivity persists, visit your GP or a qualified dermatologist to discuss the next steps.

Dr Mahto signed off, “Sensitive skin is a very personal phenomenon and what works for one person may not work for the next,” so be sure to conduct that patch test for best results.

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Swedish pop singer and style supremo Robyn has launched a new capsule collection in partnership with activewear brand Björn Borg, exclusively available at Browns.

The new capsule, called RBN, combines the worlds of sport, music and fashion. It offers gender neutral activewear, with some casual streetwear and workwear pieces. The designs reference Björn Borg’s archive of '80s sportswear, with influences from Robyn's personal style and some of her favourite pieces from her teen years and throughout her career. Through the collection, Robyn shares her love for street style and how it’s reflected in youth culture.

RBN is co-curated by prominent stylist Naomi Itkes, whose work has been featured in Purple and Buffalo magazine, as well as in campaigns for Stine Goya and Filippa K. The collection also takes aesthetic cues from Naomi and Robyn’s shared experiences of growing up in Sweden.

“I thought it would be cool to make gear that I can wear both to go out running and clubbing in,” shared Robyn, whose coveted cool girl style is made attainable with hoodies, tracksuits and intimates in one easy-to-wear collection.

We caught up with Robyn to hear her thoughts on the new collection…

Why did you want to explore the realm of fashion with a collaborative collection?
I think it was a few different things that just aligned at the right moment that made me decide to get involved. Björn Borg's history as a sports brand was one of them, another was that I was able to collaborate with my friend Naomi Itkes. It felt like a fun thing and something I thought I might have some ideas about how to do in a good way.

Why was Björn Borg the right brand for you to do that with?
Naomi started working with Björn Borg a long time ago and she always told me about their archive and that she loved some of the pieces in it. We had always talked about how fun it would be to do a collection together, but we never really pursued it, just kind of talked about what we would have liked to wear and what we thought other people should do. When the question came from Jonas Nyvang at Björn Borg, there was a connection that felt interesting.

Where did you draw inspiration for the collection?
RBN is a combination of Björn Borg’s archive and my personal closet. A mix of signals from our teenage years, where sports and music mixed in a natural way.

Which is your hero piece and how will you be styling it?
The bomber jacket. This piece is based on one of my favourite pieces of clothing. It has Anders Haal’s record design on the back.

Is this the beginning of a further move into fashion?
I don't know, it all depends on if it feels inspiring and reasonable from an environmental perspective. I wouldn't say this collection is environmentally friendly, but Björn Borg has set sustainability goals for their production process that feel ambitious and that was an important part of it for me.

Why was it important to make this collection unisex?
I don't know if it was important, but it felt natural as a lot of the things we liked in the Björn Borg archive were menswear that we wanted to wear ourselves. But I don't know if I’ve ever made the distinction between men's and womenswear in sports clothes…

Your onstage dance moves are legendary – when designing, did you prioritise comfort or aesthetic?
I hope you don't have to choose between those with this collection. We have designed for both comfort and aesthetics.

What was the inspiration behind the campaign images?
We have created a campaign that talks about RBN’s core values: youth, inclusivity and community. It is also a campaign that examines our own Swedish identity and our Scandinavian childhood.

What defines Swedish style?
A kind of relaxed minimalism, I think.

Describe your style in three words.
Ironic, comfortable and soft.

Who is your ultimate style icon, and why?
Donald Duck – no pants, I don't care (or realise maybe?).

Most prized possession in your closet?
My grandmother's handmade lace collar.

First major fashion purchase?
Calvin Klein leather jacket in 1995.

What was the last thing you purchased?
Eytys shoes.

What was your style like as a teenager?
I would have loved RBN as a teenager. I wore bomber jackets and track pants with Dr. Martens.

Favourite fashion moment from pop culture?
Neneh Cherry in the “Manchild” video.

What is always in your bag?
Hand sanitiser.

Song to listen to when getting ready?
“Beulah Loves Dancing” by Planningtorock.

RBN launches exclusively at Browns in store (at Browns East) and online today. The capsule is priced from £10 to £225.

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Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez has been called everything from a “little girl” and “liberal darling” to someone who “comes across like she is 16 years old.” She’s been accused of making her voice sound younger, of seeming “to lack even a modest helping of guile,” and not looking “like a girl who struggles.” Male columnists have been eager to offer unsolicited advice, telling her to slow down and “get some authority before she tries to use it.” The Wall Street Journal recently reduced the 29-year-old representative to someone “whose claim to fame is winning one election, looking cool on Instagram, and proposing ways to spend other people’s money.” And after President Trump’s State of the Union address earlier this month, one of the paper’s columnists, Peggy Noonan, tweeted that Ocasio-Cortez appeared “not spirited, warm and original” but rather, “sullen, teenaged and at a loss.”

Not only was Noonan’s comment textbook sexism — she all but told Ocasio-Cortez to smile — it also wreaked of the same condescending, ageist tone that has followed the political firebrand since she defeated a longtime male incumbent in last year’s primary. What was Ocasio-Cortez expected to do: Look older? Less teenaged? Why was the onus on her — one of many Democrats displeased by Trump’s rhetoric — to play the part of polite young lady, a nice, good girl, when the President drummed up fears about immigrants and claimed that the U.S economy could suffer if investigations into his campaign continue?

It should come as no surprise that Ocasio-Cortez, the most visible congressional newcomer in recent memory; a woman with almost five million followers on Twitter and Instagram combined; who takes receipts and calls the quacking bird with a beak a duck when others suggest it’s an alt-chicken, wasn’t having it. “Why should I be ‘spirited and warm’ for this embarrassment of a #SOTU?” she posted in response to Noonan. “Tonight was an unsettling night for our country. The president failed to offer any plan, any vision at all, for our future. We’re flying without a pilot. And I’m not here to comfort anyone about that fact.”

Disparaging Ocasio-Cortez’s age is a weapon, but what many of her critics fail to realise is that her youth is part of her power. In a time when many voters want change, nothing quite signals the shifting of the old, white, male guard like the rise of millennial women eager to take their place. And while historically, politics has tended to attract older people who stick around for a while — the average age of a congressperson in 2017-2018 was 57.8 years, and the average length of service almost a decade — it’s hardly representative. This year, millennials are poised to overtake Baby Boomers as the largest generation in the U.S., and already, they outnumber all other generations in the labor force.

In a time when many voters want change, nothing quite signals the shifting of the old, white, male guard like the rise of millennial women eager to take their place.

There’s also a clear need for more elected officials from younger generations. Just look at last spring, when multiple older Senators asked Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg some genuinely embarrassing questions about the social network, proving that they didn’t have a basic understanding of how it worked or made a profit. Senator Orrin Hatch, who’s 84, asked Zuckerberg, “How do you sustain a business model in which users don’t pay for your service?” The Facebook founder replied, “Senator, we run ads,” before cracking a smile. It was a cringe-worthy moment for younger audiences, who no doubt stared at their screens and thought, These are the guys in charge of this thing?

Enter the newly-elected millennial women sworn into Congress this year. Ocasio-Cortez has dominated headlines, but there’s also Rep. Abby Finkenauer, 30, one of the first women to represent Iowa in the U.S. House; Rep. Lauren Underwood, 32, the youngest Black woman to ever serve in Congress; Ilhan Omar, 37, one of the first two Muslim women elected to Congress; Xochitl Torres Small, 34, a water rights lawyer in New Mexico and the first woman to represent her district; and and Katie Hill, a 31-year-old advocate for the homeless, assault survivor, gun owner, animal fosterer, and married bisexual. During her campaign, Hill embraced being dubbed “America’s most millennial candidate,” and also her “resting bitch face” or what she called, in true millennial fashion, her “RBF.” All six of these Congresswomen ran in highly contested primaries or general election races. All six of them replaced men over the age of 50 — five of them white men.

That’s good news for representative government, and it’s good news Democrats: In last year’s midterms, 65 percent of women ages 18-29 voted blue, and they backed their own, ushering a record number of women into Congress. Anyone who didn’t see millennial women coming for the ballot wasn’t paying attention. According to the Brookings Institute, a public policy nonprofit, millennials are more diverse and more educated than previous generations. And their size and influence predictably makes them a coveted voting bloc. Once stereotyped as entitled and aimless, millennials — or people 23-38 years old — have arguably become the most powerful demographic in the country.

It makes sense that the old guard would think their age would be the most effective mode of attack. And why wouldn’t they? Women have long been expected to be smart, but keep their heads down; to learn from people who supposedly know better, but wait (and wait…and wait) until someone tells them it’s their turn. Then, after years of gaining experience, they can find themselves being considered past their expiration date. (One of the main arguments against Rep. Nancy Pelosi becoming House Speaker again was that at 78, she was too old, and had been around the chamber too long even though Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell is almost the same age, and has served as Senate leader longer than any other Republican.) This generation isn’t playing by those rules: Millennial women have been skirting norms by working more, earning higher degrees than their male peers, marrying later (if at all), having kids later (if at all), and demanding action on everything from the wage gap to sexual assault and harassment. Now in Congress, millennial women in politics are creating their own rules, too. If the old script dictated that women — especially young women, especially young women of colour — were the last to be heard and the first to be told to wait their turn, the new script, one being written even as I type this, calls for those very same women to stand up, speak out, and clap back.

Depending on who you ask, this shift is either exhilarating or terrifying.

If the old script dictated that women — especially young women, especially young women of colour — were the last to be heard and the first to be told to wait their turn, the new script, one being written even as I type this, calls for those very same women to stand up, speak out, and clap back.

Hill recognised that her age was a benefit, rather than a deficit, even on the campaign trail. In October, she told Rolling Stone, “Millennials smell the B.S. If you want young people to actually be excited, to feel like there’s any reason to show up to vote, you have to truly have something for them to connect with. That’s easier for me than for a lot of candidates because I am young. I know what it’s like to be faced with student loans, to have rent so high you don’t know if you’re ever going to be able to save up and buy a home. The issues the people of my generation are going through are natural for me because I’ve lived them, my friends are living them.”

Underwood similarly told NPR, “In [Illinois’s] 14th district, our community has never elected a woman to Congress. The only people that have ever come out of our district are middle-aged, white men. And so I think that there’s just an interest in having a different voice represent our community now. And the fact that I am a millennial woman of colour is very different.”

Older members might learn something too: Critics might talk about their lack of political experience, but no one can belittle millennials’ social media savvy — which is why some older Democrats are leaning on them for guidance. Ocasio-Cortez — who expertly uses Instagram stories to bring her supporters along for the ride, including when she’s eating ramen or downing ice cream after a long day on the Hill — has been happy to school her more senior colleagues on the topic. “Don’t post a meme if you don’t know what a meme is,” she recalled telling them. She also uses her Twitter account to educate people on what politics as usual really means. Likewise, the new millennial women in Congress are embracing their supposed “naiveté,” which has made them even more relatable to younger voters. The day she was sworn in, Finkenauer shared a photo of her parents, writing, “I call this one: ‘A retired union pipefitter welder and retired public school secretary walk into their youngest daughter’s Congressional office.” During the government shutdown, Hill, Ocasio-Cortez, and Underwood were part of a group looking to hand Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell a letter demanding that he put an end to the madness that had left more than 800,000 government workers without pay. They shared it with their followers on social media, using #WheresMitch.

This isn’t to say their influence is confined to hashtags and character limits, although their ability to effectively use social platforms to reach people has had an impact on Democratic messaging. Hill and Ocasio-Cortez are now part of the prominent House Oversight and Reform Committee, which keeps the president’s power in check and can also investigate potential executive wrongdoing. Ocasio-Cortez is also hard at work on the Green New Deal, and has ignited public discourse on tax rates. Finkenauer passed her first bill last month, one aimed at helping small businesses in rural areas. Underwood, a registered nurse and expert in health policy, introduced legislation to protect those with pre-existing conditions. Omar, who wears a hijab, helped prompt a new rule allowing head coverings to be worn on the House floor for religious reasons — making the chamber more welcoming for current and also future members. And Torres Small, a member of the Committee on Homeland Security whose district includes 150 miles of the U.S.-Mexico border, co-led a border tour for House Democrats interested in sensible security measures.

Fearless and unapologetic, in touch and unintimidated, the new millennial congresswomen are adding valuable perspectives to a governing body rich in years and experience, but at times lacking in relatability and accessibility. Eventually, it should get boring for people to mock their age, their young looks, their voices. Eventually, we can hope pundits will stop using the word “girl” to describe grown women elected to office. And if not, if those comments continue, then we’ll know the critics have nothing else to go with — they’re just lashing out. Kind of like a bunch of sullen, unspirited teenagers.

Caitlin Moscatello is the author of the forthcoming book SEE JANE WIN, to be published by Dutton, an imprint of Penguin Random House, later this year.

Welcome to Life Begins At. Refinery29 is proud to team up with AARP to bring you honest, intimate stories that aim to uncover all the unique experiences that come along with living — no matter your age. It’s time we shed the negative stereotypes, unconscious cultural bias, and misconceptions associated with age and get real about what ageing really looks like for us. Because it’s not about how old you are; life begins when you decide to start living it. Have your own story to share about ageing? Fill out this form or email us at lifebeginsat@refinery29.com

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Women are paying more than men for big name fragrances in the UK, proving that what has been dubbed the pink tax still exists on our high streets. Female fragrances cost an average of 6p more per ml than male fragrances from the same brands, while some brands charge close to £20 more for perfumes made for women (compared to the male equivalent fragrances).

Fragrances in the UK marketed towards women cost 53p per ml, compared to men's 47p, according to data from price comparison site Idealo, which analysed the price of over 100 perfumes and aftershaves during January 2019. It found a pink tax of £16.12 on a 50ml bottle of Yves Saint Laurent Opium Eau de Toilette for Women compared to the men’s version, for instance; and an £18.27 gulf between Lancôme Hypnôse Homme Eau de Toilette (£23.87 for 50ml) and the women's equivalent scent, Lancôme Hypnôse Eau de Toilette (£42.14 for 50ml).

Public anger over the pink tax, which sees women charged more than men for “feminine” versions of the same items, blew up in 2016 and it has since been widely condemned alongside the sexist marketing of everyday products including pens, crisps and toiletries. Research last July on gender-based price discrepancies for basic toiletries found that the average 50ml facial moisturiser aimed at women costs £10.77 – a third more (£8.02) than the same product aimed at men. And if the new fragrance data are anything to go by, nothing much has changed.

Refinery29 visited Boots at London's Liverpool Street station to compare price points. In that one branch, Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue Eau de Toilette (£56 for 50 ml) for women works out at £112 per 100 ml, while the brand's equivalent male fragrance, Light Blue Pour Homme Eau de Toilette (£41 for 40 ml), comes to £102.50 per 100 ml.

Similarly, the Dolce & Gabbana women's scent The One Eau de Parfum (50 ml) was priced at £60, while Dolce & Gabbana The One for Men Eau de Parfum (50 ml) was £58.

It was a similar story for some Gucci fragrances – Gucci Guilty Black pour Femme Eau de Toilette (sold out in store but £58 for 50 ml online) was priced at £116 per 100 ml, a significant amount more than the £104 per 100 ml of Gucci Guilty Black pour Homme Eau de Toilette (£52 for 50 ml).

Refinery29 reached out to Boots UK for an explanation – is there a qualitative difference between men's and women's fragrances that justifies the price disparity? Or is it just plain and simple gender discrimination? A company spokesperson told us that it has “never operated a pricing system that discriminates gender”.

They continued: “All of our products are priced individually based on a range of factors such as formulation and ingredients and we have clear principles that ensure all of our products are priced individually.” We cited one example – the £2 difference between Dolce & Gabbana’s The One Eau de Parfum for men and women – to which the spokesperson said they were “different scents with different ingredients, making them not directly comparable.”

We are seeing more and more perfume houses creating unisex perfumes and this is definitely a move that we support

Spokesperson for The Perfume Shop

The Perfume Shop also told us it “never price[s] exactly the same products differently based on gender,” and that some scents from the same brand which are labelled “for her” and “for him” can “often have the same name but very different ingredients to give scents with different nuances, and the cost of these ingredients can vary enormously.”

The spokesperson added: “We are seeing more and more perfume houses creating unisex and gender-neutral perfumes and this is definitely a move that we support as our customers choose fragrances by the notes, and scent, not based on gender labels.”

Refinery29 contacted L’Oréal, which creates fragrances for the likes of Giorgio Armani, Ralph Lauren and Viktor & Rolf. A spokesperson told us that while, ultimately, “the shelf price of any product is at the discretion of that specific retailer,” fragrance pricing “is not based on the gender of the consumer”.

Instead, L’Oréal's spokesperson continued, it's based on factors including: “the concentration of ingredients, Eau de Parfum vs Eau de Toilette, the newness of the ingredients, the technology used, packaging design, quantity manufactured and the brand’s overall market position.” Does this mean men's fragrances are therefore inferior to the equivalent women's fragrances? Absolutely not, they said.

The Cosmetic, Toiletry & Perfumery Association (CTPA), which represents the industry in the UK, also told us that the price at which a product is sold is set by the retailer, not the manufacturer or distributor, which a spokesperson said was in keeping with UK and EU law. “Other factors such as distribution costs, packaging, advertising, service elements, etc will all be considered within the pricing structure.”

If what the retailers, manufacturers and industry body are saying is indeed the case, the only option for women wanting to bypass the surcharge is to wear unisex fragrances or those aimed at men. Britney Spears' Prerogative, anyone?

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Gay Talese told me I was getting the story wrong. We were sitting next to each other at a sprawling wooden table at Morso, a Manhattan restaurant so far east I could see the Queensboro Bridge stretching into Queens from the window.

This meeting between me, a recent college graduate, and one of world’s most renowned journalists was organised by the now-indicted conservative political operative Paul Erickson, who worked mostly in the shadows to establish connections between the National Rifle Association (NRA), Republicans, and possibly Russia. My mother had met him at a seminar during their 25th Yale college reunion in 2009. He had made her laugh with a characteristically wildly clever joke; by the end of the day, he’d charmed his way into becoming an honorary member of the family.

After the reunion, Paul would punctuate months of silence with spontaneous (and ostentatious) activities for our family, like dinner at Sardi’s, a trip to Disney World, or a dinner with Gay Talese, whom he’d met during the trials of John Wayne Bobbitt in 1993. (Paul was Bobbitt’s media manager and spearheading his “Love Hurts” campaign; Talese was working on a 10,000-word story about the Bobbitts that would never run.)

This roundabout convergence brings us to that snowy evening in March 2017, when Talese told me I couldn’t see what was right in front of me, which was my friend Maria Butina, then 29. Like always, her long, red hair tumbled past her shoulders. She wore no makeup. Just an expression.

“You’re a reporter, right?” Talese asked. I nodded. I had just started my job as an entertainment writer at Refinery29, a publication he’d never heard of. Gay flicked his head toward Maria. She stared back at him with the intensity of someone who knows they are the subject of another person’s conversation. And no one could stare quite like Maria. In an instant or in an angle, her face could switch from bright wonder to an expression that seemed more hawk than woman.

“There’s your story. Her,” he said. “Why can’t this woman, this beautiful Russian woman, get a date?” He began sketching out his vision for a bombshell magazine article: She’s a Russian woman studying politics in Washington, D.C., months after the presidential election, a time when Russia is accused of interfering in American politics. She’s getting in heated fights with her classmates. She’s too busy defending her honour as a Russian to date.

“Write about the dating struggles of a Russian sexpot in D.C.,” he proclaimed, making eye contact with me for the first time that evening.

As Gay spoke, I watched the expressions of some people at the table freeze in degrees of bemusement and discomfort. My mum smirked. My dad, next to me, squirmed at the mention of sex. And Paul Erickson, sitting next to my mother, barely moved.

We all knew something Gay did not: Maria wasn’t single at all. She was dating Paul Erickson, a man nearly double her age. Paul’s stone face, usually on the cusp of a smile, made that much clear.

The story sitting in front of us, of course, was never why Maria Butina couldn’t get a date. No, I now know the real story was that Maria Butina is an alleged Russian spy — and that she had been my friend while she was purportedly working to influence American politics to be sympathetic to Russian interests at the height of the 2016 presidential election.

That was one of the last nights I saw either of them in person.

I first met Maria Butina at the arrivals terminal of the Orlando airport in 2015. She and Paul were sitting in the front of a large white van, which they’d rented to drive my family to a hotel outside of Disney World. They were wearing matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse hats.

We’d been hearing about Maria since Paul, the forever bachelor, appeared in our backyard in the summer of 2014 moonstruck with tales of a woman who shared his values and interest in guns. Maria was the founder of the Right to Bear Arms, a gun rights group that lobbied to end Russia’s strict restrictions on firearms. Although my family was comprised of four people who teared up when President Barack Obama gave speeches, Paul was so charming we overlooked his work for the NRA as if it were a genetic quirk that couldn’t be helped. His political views emerged in small puffs that dissipated over laughter and more exciting conversation — like this story.

Paul and Maria met in Moscow at a meeting of the Right to Bear Arms in November 2013, then reunited in Israel a few weeks later to be together on New Year’s Eve. It was all very fast and very romantic. In my head, I pictured a Russian starlet with deep red lipstick and a past of which she did not speak.

But that was not who I saw standing outside the van in Orlando. Here was a girl only six years older than me, wearing a princess T-shirt and blue jean cut-off shorts. Her entire personality in that moment boiled down to, “Excited to go to Disney World.” In contrast, Paul, then 53, seemed unbearably old, with his yellow buck teeth poking from his gums at jagged angles, and the last strands of his ridiculous haircut moments away from skipping town. “Come on,” I wanted to say to her. “Let’s Thelma and Louise out of here.” I had red lipstick in my back pocket, I really did.

What I know now: Maria’s feet were in concrete. She wasn’t going anywhere. But don’t feel bad — she put them there. After knowing Paul for some years, Maria moved to America in 2016 on a student visa. While she was studying at American University, she was also cavorting with politicians in meetings brokered by Paul. As with the day we met them, it appeared their daily activities comprised of a whirlwind of buzzwords like Republican party, National Prayer Breakfast, and gun rights, but we had no way of knowing specifics. Until the torrent of recent coverage, both Maria and Paul were virtually scrubbed from the internet (back in 2009, I’d scoured the internet for what Paul did for a living and found nothing but some mentions in South Dakota clips — turns out he didn’t put “conman” on his LinkedIn).

Before Orlando, Paul told us Maria’s biography in disjointed snippets. Snippets that, when sewn together, never smoothed to a cohesive timeline. Maria was raised in Siberia. Paul told us that when he visited her family in Russia, he used the outdoor sauna and her parents smacked him with wooden sticks, a Russian tradition. She only saw her parents once a year, a fact which saddened her greatly. She started a furniture-store chain in her early 20s. At some point, she became the president of the Russian equivalent of the NRA, which explained the glamour shots of her holding machine guns. She was close to Alexander Torshin, a prominent Russian banker with ties to President Vladimir Putin, and longtime NRA donor. Currently, Torshin is at the centre of an FBI investigation into whether Russian money funnelled into the NRA went onto the Trump campaign.

Actually, together, she and Paul knew a lot of people. That’s what they seemed to do, most of the time. Fly from person to person. After our dinner with Gay Talese in 2017, for example, they were in a rush to get back to D.C. to “help” with President Donald Trump's transition.

For the next four days in Orlando in 2015, they were putting down their political agendas, and we were putting down our suburban lives, for a week of no-politics Disney World activities. They pretended we weren’t liberals, we tuned out Paul’s comments on “family values.” In exchange, we had fun. We swam with dolphins. When Maria chipped her tooth and missed a day at the park — an excuse that now seems suspect — my sister charmed the Magic Kingdom ticket-takers with our travails and shuttled us to the front of every line. After riding Space Mountain, Maria turned to me and said solemnly, “That was the most fun I’ve ever had.”

It was fun. After scampering through five Orlando parks with Maria, my sister and I were undeniably bonded to our new Russian friend. She was kind, and eager, and stared at me solemnly when I spoke. I found it improbable that she, this woman who was only a few years older than me yet lived a much bigger life, would take me, a college student, so seriously when I spoke. Naturally, I couldn’t stop speaking to her.

“Thank you, Elena, for your ‘big sister’ demeanour that Maria so identified with — she saw in you several of the things that she tries to do with her own younger sister (and learned several things that she never imagined),” Paul wrote in an email after the trip. When I think of her, I cloak her with the forgiving fondness of someone I once loved.

The next time I saw Maria was at my graduation party in June 2016. She and Paul didn’t RSVP. They drove from D.C. to my house in New Jersey and surprised us by strutting into the backyard wearing togas, a nod to my family’s Greek background. Their sudden appearance two hours into the party elicited audible shrieks of glee. Paul and Maria were known for these kind of stunts: They brought “arrrrr-rated” pirate costumes along for their Disney cruise, according to Paul’s email, and serenaded each other with songs from Beauty and the Beast.

At the party, Maria sat on a chaise lounge in the shade and provided free entertainment. Maria’s credentials as a psychic were mysterious but rendered believable by her unwavering, serious tone — just like her entire biography. “The powers of a white witch skip a generation,” she said, before taking my palm into hers. “My grandmother taught me.”

She stared at my palm and paused with the anticipation of an awards show presenter. “You are definitely a cheater,” she pronounced, eventually. “One hundred percent a cheater. You will definitely cheat on your husband.” I was 22, and by then had gone to countless palm readers down the Jersey shore and in small storefronts in suburban towns. None had unrolled fortunes with such matter-of-factness. She proceeded to unspool similarly merciless fortunes to the rest of my friends brave enough to face her firing squad. She told one girl she wouldn’t get married, but would have one child, “at best.” Another, that she would forever fight with her parents.

Nearby, Paul charmed a table of my friends with stories of celebrities he’d met while working the Oscars. None of them were verifiable; all of them were fascinating. Briefly, the conversation turned to the media spectacle that was the run-up to the 2016 presidential election. Paul dismissed any talk of competition with a flick of his hand. “Trump’s going to win,” he said, confidently. I rolled my eyes. He sounded like a conspiracy theorist.

Or, he sounded like someone who knew what he was talking about. After all, what was it, exactly, that had been keeping him so purposeful ever since we’d met him? Paul wasn’t plugged into conventional worries. He had a big life, without the trappings of a desk job or a 401k to fill. He supposedly had money in the Bakken oil fields and elder-care homes (now revealed to be part of his long-running fraud). He had stories.

But which of his stories were true? Did he really spend his summers in college fighting Communists abroad? Did he really fly Green Day out for his niece’s birthday party in South Dakota? Who did he know? Who was he? Before, those questions were like pestering flies that I flicked away so I could pay attention to the glitz of it all.

Now that his stories of NRA meetings and the Russian government were converging oddly with current events, I snapped to attention. Namely, what were the “meetings” he was constantly referencing, in-between his bursts of booming laughter and fast-paced spouts of celebrity gossip? Why did they interrupt our dinner at Orlando’s Bahama Breeze to briefly meet with that Russian couple? Later, when photographic evidence of Maria meeting with Donald Trump Jr. and other GOP and NRA officials emerged, I wasn’t surprised. I was relieved. I was right.

With every new article about Maria that comes out, I get texts from people who were at the party. “Is that the lady who read my palm and said I’d fight with my parents until I died?” my friend asked. I responded with an affirmative in all-caps. Their glum fortunes pale next to the thrill of having been palm-to-palm with something big.

In May of 2017, Paul and Maria once again drove to my New Jersey home, this time for my sister’s graduation party. Same routine, different president — Paul had been right, after all. The pieces were coming together for us, now. Suddenly, all of Paul’s off-hand remarks about Russia and the president seemed less like good guesses and more like insider knowledge. My friends and I whispered about what Paul and Maria knew, and deliberately took pictures with Maria’s brimmed hat and Paul’s pink shirt in the background so that one day, we could say we were there.

After my sister’s graduation party, I became consumed with following news that most people hadn’t caught up to yet. I set notifications for Paul Erickson and Maria Butina. During long walks with my ex-boyfriend, who had spoken to Paul about oil futures at the party, I catalogued all the new information I’d gathered from Twitter sleuths and extremely early reports in The Daily Beast. He thought I was exaggerating, as he always did.

But something was coming. The buzzwords on the news were the same words that Maria and Paul had shadily been floating around for years. Eventually, someone with access to information would add up what I never could. Someone would situate the nuggets of information Paul and Maria had been dropping cryptically around us for years into a big picture, one that involved the United States and Russia, the GOP and billionaires, power and nefariousness. My own homespun crazy wall could only lead to one conclusion: Something was up.

Not long after my boyfriend and I broke up, Maria Butina was charged with conspiracy and acting as an unregistered foreign agent. I didn’t even have to text him a petty and victorious, “I told you so.” The front-page story about Maria Butina’s alleged subtle campaign to influence the far-right in the New York Times did it for me.

Amid the swirl of coverage about Maria and Paul that began in fall of last year, I return to that tense dinner with Gay Talese as the grounding moment. That night, we sat at a table raised inches off the ground, as if we were actors in a play.

Gay forced me to admit there was a story on my hands, though not the one he had in mind. That evening, I understood definitively that Maria and Paul were plugged into something wide-reaching, powerful, and scary. They were of the string-pulling class, whose actions would have reverberating effects on the rest of our lives. They embodied the shadow connections that tied the Christian right to the Russians, which potentially culminated to the election of Trump. They knew things I didn’t.

Back then, I knew the story of Paul Erickson and Maria Butina would end interestingly, though I couldn’t predict how. Two years later, I’m coming to terms with the fact that I may never know what they were actually up to. Is Maria a spy who seduced Paul? Is she a scapegoat? Is Paul (who denies all the accusations) the architect of some decades-long political scheme, or is just a skilful swindler, fooling me into reading my life as a fascinating story instead of a long dupe? How many lives did he unravel with his money-laundering scheme? And, as many pundits are already wondering, will any of these revelations topple Trump?

The mass of questions is tangled, thorny, and probably juicier than anything Paul Erickson could’ve come up with in one of his tales.

Last week, Paul was indicted for running a 22-year-long fraudulent financial scheme, which affected my family directly. In December, Maria pleaded guilty to conspiracy, and agreed to cooperate with the Feds, which means she may be testifying against Paul. Maria is adamant she’s not a spy — and a recent article in the New Republic convincingly points out the flimsiness of the FBI’s case against her. “If I’m a spy,” Maria told journalist James Bamford, “I’m the worst spy you could imagine.” Or, she could be the best, depending on how you view it.

On our last night in Orlando, Paul raised a glass to us. “There are many people in my life,” he said, eyes crinkling like you’d imagine Santa Claus’ would, “But only a few of them, true friends. You are among them.” For my mother, those kinds of words were emotional super-glue, bonding her to Paul’s side of things until the bitter end. So it’s taken her, she who still has the handwritten note from Paul framed in the basement, the longest to catch up to the cold light of the truth. She’ll be sending that letter to the FBI for evidence any day now. When she said she wished she'd been born in a different year, and attended a different reunion, I understood.

There will be no answers, probably, for those of us whose influence in the world extends only to our height off the ground. What I know is this: Maria Butina and I went to Disney World, once, and we had fun. She said a vertical line in my left palm meant I would be a writer. She invited me to Moscow as a friend, and I almost went.

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Warning! This feature contains spoilers for the first season of BBC's Killing Eve.

It's been a little while since the first season of Killing Eve wrapped up. The dust had settled, our heart rates had returned to normal and searches for Villanelle-inspired style interiors had just about petered out. But then we started to hear news of the second series, saw Molly Goddard's show at London Fashion Week, and now everything is suddenly very tense (and exciting) once more.

To bring you up to speed, the season one finale threw us all out of whack, remember? Eve seduced and then stabbed Villanelle, Carolyn Martens (Fiona Shaw) seemed to be straddling the line between good and bad pretty unsuccessfully and Villanelle’s handler Konstantin Vasiliev (Kim Bodnia) was a goner. The future of the series was up in the air for all of our beloved characters.

But now the BBC have released the first teaser trailer for the most highly anticipated series of 2019. Have a gander below:

Exciting, right? For the time being, we have to make the most of the BBC America trailer (yes, they get to see the episodes first again this year) but holy hell does it look tense/terrifying/brilliant. If that's not enough, further photographic evidence of what the next chapter holds were released just before Christmas. Obviously, we did our best to unpick them. Here's what we can unpick from the clues.

Villanelle is alive and not so well

So it's not a huge surprise to hear that our glamorous villain is still alive. We already knew Jodie Comer had been shooting for the second season but at least we can confirm that her involvement isn't just through a series of complicated flashbacks or anything. Villanelle is very much present and by the looks of things she'll be lying low in Paris for a little while – alone and on the run from British intelligence and the Russians she used to work for, perhaps?

You might remember Konstantine tending to one of her wounds in an earlier episode, and it's now unclear who she'll turn to in this time of need. I'm no expert, but that bottle of vodka she's holding above will only help that amount of blood for so long and everyone, even the world's best hitwoman, needs someone to rely on.

Beyond her injuries, though, there's little more we can deduce from Villanelle's photos for the time being. Knowing her, though, we should expect the unexpected.

Eve is going to have to face the consequences

Eve's venture out into the field was a huge step for someone who'd spent so long on the other side of secret service action – desk-bound and behind the scenes. Now, having lost her job, her husband and Villanelle (we don't think Eve will know that she survived the stabbing), Eve is going to be feeling pretty damn isolated and vulnerable.

Our hearts break at the site of her deep in thought and troubled in the bathtub, but which loss is she mourning? Husband Niko or Villanelle? We saw the distress on Eve's face when she realised what she'd done to Villanelle in that apartment and there's no doubt that, unlike our assassin, she won't be dealing with having supposedly killed someone for the first time, very well at all. A quick scan of the bathroom suggests Eve might have made it back home to London at some point, though.

On the other hand, scenes at airport security could mean anything. Eve seems to be walking away from the checkpoint with a few blurry passersby staring at her in what I'm going to assume is bewilderment. This could suggest a threat (forgotten about something in her bag?) or change of heart (there's no knowing what awaits now that everyone she trusted on the inside is gone). Yep, I'm tense just deliberating it too.

Carolyn isn't done just yet

Though we still don't quite have a fully explanation of how deep Carolyn's involvement with the Russian spies and/or government, we can be sure that whatever she's been up to isn't over yet.

If you assumed Carolyn would have burnt all bridges with Eve when she continued to ignore all of her orders, found out about her secret relationships and encouraged her son Kenny to disobey her, you're not alone. But it looks like there'll be reason for the former colleagues to reunite again next season. My guess it'll have something to do with, yes, Villanelle, but also Eve's fierce desire for greater purpose. I have a feeling Eve's going to demand her job back. That, or create a new one for herself.

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We're wishing winter away (and with it our uniform of puffer coats and stomping boots) and instead dreaming of spring's most thrilling trends. Last September's shows threw up a plethora of sartorial ideas, but three that caught our eye don't necessarily require purchasing new pieces. From sweet-as-anything bows to punked-up bleached denim, it's time to embrace a DIY ethos and craft your own wardrobe.

Take a Bow

With the past few years celebrating all things hyperfeminine – think Molly Goddard's billowing tulle, Batsheva's prairie dresses and, of course, saccharine millennial pink – it was only a matter of time before the prettiest of details cropped up on the catwalk. Bows were everywhere at SS19, from dainty brooches to focus-pulling sashes.

From Valentino's heavenly red dress (arguably the look of the season) with its puffed-up sleeves and off-centre waist bow, to Erdem's romantic collection, which had tiny bows strewn throughout, via Preen by Thornton Bregazzi's blush step-hemmed satin number, complete with virginal white bow, there was inspiration aplenty on the catwalks.

Bows were a theme at this year's Golden Globe awards, too, with the likes of Julianne Moore in Givenchy, Alison Brie in Vera Wang, and Gemma Chan in Valentino all featuring showstopping bow detailing.

So how are we recreating the look? As well as adorning our ponytails with ribbons just like Millie Bobbie Brown, we're wrapping black velvet around empire line dresses and tying in a bow at the front, plus adding safety pins to smaller bows and pinning to our favourite blazer.

Reach for the Bleach

At the other end of the spectrum – and more closely aligned with spring's most wavy trend, tie-dye – is bleached denim, which has woven its way in and out of fashion since its punk inception back in the '70s. In such turbulent political, economic and environmental times, designers have been reflecting and rebelling – and what's more rebellious than home-dyed bleached denim?

While Stella McCartney elevated the fabric dyeing technique with a boiler suit (teamed with heels), Proenza Schouler (who has long been a champion of experimental fabric manipulation) mashed up black and blue tie-dye with an oversized bleached denim holdall. Ashley Williams stuck to her punk roots for SS19 and made a black denim knee-length short and jacket combo all the more rock'n'roll. All you need is some cleaning bleach and an old pair of trusty blues. Don't forget to wear rubber gloves!

Not sure where to start? Watch our video guide on how to tie-dye at home for inspiration.

A Splash of Colour

Abstract expressionism but make it fashion. Jackson Pollock's signature painting style hit the catwalks this spring in a cacophony of colour. At Vivienne Westwood, a classic workman's boiler suit was given the painter-decorator treatment with an array of splatters, while Mugler's collection took a more high art approach with seeping paint splodges on patent coats, silk dresses and body-con co-ords.

Sacai's show treated its pieces like a paintbox, with primary colours dashed across white flak jackets and pleated dresses. Reinvigorate your pieces by marbling paint in the sink or bathtub and laying your clothes flat on the surface, or go wild with urgent flicks of colour on a canvas backdrop.

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Say it with us: There is no national emergency on the U.S.-Mexico border. But this didn't stop President Donald Trump from declaring one on Friday after being unable to get the funding he wants from Congress for his border wall and presiding over the longest government shutdown in U.S. history.

“I didn't need to do this,” Trump said in his announcement (no, you didn't, agree millions of people) after signing a spending bill to keep the government running. “But I'd rather do it much faster.” In the deal, he got about $1.3 billion (around £1 billion) for a border fence, which is far from his initial demand for a $5 billion (£3.8 billion) wall. That's why he declared a “national emergency” as a last-ditch effort, a move that has drawn bipartisan condemnation and will very likely face legal challenges.

House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, who has been checkmating Trump throughout the entire duration of this saga, called the decision an “unlawful” “power grab by a disappointed President, who has gone outside the bounds of the law to try to get what he failed to achieve in the constitutional legislative process.” His actions, she said, violate Congress' power of the purse, or the ability to tax and spend public money for the federal government.

There are differing views on the legality of Trump declaring a national emergency. “Judging President Trump's emergency declaration is all about perspective,” Peter Margulies, a law professor at the Roger Williams University School of Law, told Vox. “The law says that the president can take funds from current projects if the situation 'requires' the use of U.S. armed forces. The entry of unarmed Central American refugees — many of them women and children — at the southern border doesn’t 'require' a military response.” Since the National Emergency Act of 1976 was signed into law, 58 emergencies have been declared, 31 of which are still in effect.

Pelosi warned Republicans that a future Democratic president could declare gun violence a national emergency if they wanted to. While she said she's not advocating that Democrats do so, she said Trump is setting a precedent that should make Republicans nervous.

“If the president can declare an emergency on something that he has created as an emergency, an illusion that he wants to convey, just think of what a president with different values can present to the American people,” she said on Thursday. “You want to talk about a national emergency? Let's talk about today,” she said, referring to February 14, 2019, the day that marked one year since the school shooting in Parkland, FL, where 17 people were killed.

“You want to talk about a national emergency? Let’s talk about today. The one year anniversary of another manifestation of the epidemic of gun violence in America. That’s a national emergency. Why don’t you declare that emergency, Mr. President? … A Democratic president could.” pic.twitter.com/NDvhb339aT

— Kyle Griffin (@kylegriffin1) February 14, 2019

Democratic presidential candidates Kirsten Gillibrand, Kamala Harris, and Elizabeth Warren joined Pelosi in calling attention to the actual emergencies the U.S. is facing: the family separation crisis created by Trump, the potentially catastrophic outcome if we don't deal with climate change, the opioid crisis, and the epidemic of mass shootings.

Let’s be clear on this: The only emergency at our border is the humanitarian one Trump created himself, by demonizing and ripping apart families. This manufactured crisis is racist, wasteful, and an outrageous abuse of power from someone too reckless and hateful to hold it.

— Kirsten Gillibrand (@SenGillibrand) February 15, 2019

Declaring a national emergency over this President’s vanity project is ridiculous. We don’t need a wall. Instead, we should address the actual emergencies facing our country — everything from gun violence to the opioid crisis.

— Kamala Harris (@KamalaHarris) February 14, 2019

Gun violence is an emergency.
Climate change is an emergency.
Our country’s opioid epidemic is an emergency.

Donald Trump’s ridiculous wall is not an emergency.

— Elizabeth Warren (@ewarren) February 14, 2019

Nearly 1,200 kids have been killed by guns since the Parkland shooting one year ago. There's no other industrialised nation that experiences U.S. levels of gun violence: six times as many gun homicides as Canada and nearly 16 times as many as Germany.

On the other hand, there is zero evidence of the widespread chaos on the souther border that Trump describes. Immigrants statistically commit fewer crimes than native-born Americans. As for the “pouring in” of drugs and trafficked people Trump described in cartoonish, graphic detail, a wall wouldn't do much to deter either as both are overwhelmingly brought in through official points of entry.

But, unfortunately, if national politics were the “guy checking out another girl” meme, the “girlfriend” would be “issues we actually need to take care of, ASAP” and the “other girl” would be “whatever the GOP is getting paid to peddle on this particular day.”

My accomplishment for today: was able to work the “guy checking out a girl” meme into my lecture slides. https://t.co/i9sBT5V79M pic.twitter.com/reSDAMRO9h

— Jimmy Lin (@lintool) January 5, 2018

“There is no national security emergency at our southern border,” Massachusetts Rep. Katherine Clark, vice chair of the Democratic Caucus, wrote in a statement provided to Refinery29. “The crisis we face is a humanitarian one that will not be solved by a wall, but with thoughtful, comprehensive immigration reform. Trump's wall has never been about national security. It is a political applause line he uses to stoke anti-immigrant sentiment. Now we must stand together again to stop the President's unconstitutional actions and prevent him from undermining our rule of law.”

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Ever since my first job at MTV working as a music programmer, I can't stop trying to match people with music they might like. So, I wrote a book called Record Collecting for Girls and started interviewing musicians. The Music Concierge is a column where I share music I'm listening to that you might enjoy, with a little context. Get everything I've recommended this year on Spotify, follow me on Twitter or Facebook, and leave a comment below telling me what you're listening to this week.

Our Native Daughters “Black Myself”

This song (and the album it's on) contains observations on slavery that aren't always comfortable to listen to, but are very necessary. The songs were inspired by historical texts and the ancestral experiences of slavery based on stories passed down by their families. It's exciting to find a project like this that puts a spotlight on the often overlooked history of Black women in America; this one is capably helmed by Rhiannon Giddens (who conceived the project), Leyla McCalla, Allison Russell, and Amythyst Kiah. This fabulous album is available to stream on NPR (and out next week), so don't miss it.

Mae Muller “Leave It Out”

North London's Mae Muller is a good one to press play on if you kind of wonder what Lily Allen might be like if she launched her career today. Her braggadocios lyrics sort of remind me of Katy B, while the production has a reggae-infused element that is infectious. Forget being sad. Muller is here to give us all the infusion of self-confidence we need.

Ginette Claudette “Slow Up”

The title of this song gets it right: everything here is a very slow jam worth sitting down to enjoy. This native New Yorker, whose family has roots in the Dominican Republic, knows how to create a mood with her voice, which doesn't rush or overdo it, and with a super low beat packed with so much reverb, you can feel it all the way down your spine. She takes a page from the '90s R&B movement for this track, and I'm in no way mad at it.

Quin X 6lack “Mushroom Chocolate”

Also coming in slow, but building on an entirely different kind of beat, is Quin and 6lack. She calls her style “fantasy soul,” and that makes sense — this beat sounds like something a Disney princess would mess with. The high pitch is offset by a lone bass line that moves things along, and the sparse, girliness of the track lets you know whose point of view you're supposed to pay attention to, even though it's a duet. This is a low-key way to say ladies to the front with music.

Moving Panoramas feat. Matthew Caws “In Tune”

Ah, I love a good shimmery guitar-driven rock track. This all-woman band from Austin recruited Matthew Caws of Nada Surf to harmonise with them on the track, but it's still all about the women. Well, their voices and a driving snare beat that I can't stop grooving to as I listen. The Jesus and Mary Chain could never get this haunting, though they have certainly given it a try with their honey and all.

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Being a size double zero, fashion week is actually really glam and easy for me. I’ve been going to shows since I was a wee bairn — nineteen — where I swarmed the edge of Somerset House in an All-Tartan-Everything look, replete with a Freedom for Topshop spiky headband to reflect both my mood and the response I got from PRs when I tried to enter shows. That means it’s been *counts on hands* eight years I’ve been doing the old fashion week game, and I still have no idea how to play it.

Darling, I’ve been to couture week, Milan, Paris, New York (but that was for a holiday), London and the Clothes Show at the NEC in Birmingham, and there’s something rife across all those stunning events: insecurity.

What follows is my inner monologue from the first day of London Fashion Week 2019. An inner monologue rife with insecurity, but also wealth, money, success, fame and a severe case of athlete’s foot…

7am

Wake up and itch foot. Feels good. Decide to skip breakfast and have an extra strong coffee. I like my coffee like I like my men: with a big dick.

Drink dicky coffee and decide, as the clock ticks, that I need to make a radical change to my aesthetic. Like any freelancer in London, money is tight, so I haven’t bought any new clothes since the men’s weeks in January. And I hadn’t bought any new clothes before that since women’s weeks back in September. Gasp! In an impassioned rage — because appearance is everything — I decide to shave off both of my eyebrows. I’ve been wanting to for a while because all the cool kids did it a year ago and it takes me about a year to do what the cool kids do. It looks surprisingly good, like “oh shit I look cool”, but then I move my forehead into a frown face and realise when I make any expression beyond deep apathy I literally look like a boiled ham. It’s a disaster. Thank Prada the general mood of fashion shows is apathy, and thank Me (God) it’s sunny so I can wear sunglasses to cover my meaty head.

8.30am

Text friend to tell them I’m going to be late as spent a while trying to draw on different kinds of brows, none of which work, and decide to own the bald. Choose an outfit: a Raf Simons shirt I bought instead of paying my rent, for which I then had to get a credit card and now I've maxed that out. Some gorj trousers and a spritz of Gucci's Song From A Rose, which my friend who is a beauty editor gave so generously to me.

9am

Out the door, 10 fags, lie to boyfriend that I’ve started using a Juul since I got a fake Gucci decal for it. More fags. Train. Fags. Watch Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on the train for the first time and both wish I was Camille Grammer but also really hate Camille Grammer.

10am

Meet my friend for breakfast where we talk about fashion, my new book, boys, babies and, of course, Valentine’s Day for which we both did nothing. Decide capitalism is the work of the devil, before we check our FitBits (we don’t have FitBits) and dash to the first fashion show of the London schedule.

11am

ASAI opens and bass literally makes my Raf vibrate. It’s gorgeous. Think tie-dye knits, Withnail and I fits and swampy shoes made from earthy wools. All the cool kids are there too: me. But also actual brilliant icons like Jamie Windust, Munroe Bergdorf, Carrie Stacks. Run into a friend and air kiss, then run into another friend and air kiss, run into two more friends and air kiss. Consider for a sec how glam this is, then go back to complaining about the queues and climate change.

12pm

It’s lunchtime, and I have a meeting at — where else? — Soho House because I’m WHAT? Part of the London cultural elite. Lol, I’m kidding, although the meeting was at Soho House and it was really gorgeous. Ran into — how glam? — a supermodel friend on the way and we gave each other an air kiss and I thought about how glam this is, before deciding that money is the root of all evil. Call mum and ask if she’ll go in on one of those new parent’s mortgage dealios and she says no, obviously, because she doesn’t have the money to buy anyone a house. Fuming!! Want a house!!!

2pm

Dash to Ryan Lo, somewhere in Bank, and am forced to stand as I’m late. I’m furious — these legs weren’t made for standing, and I can’t see the show because I’m scowling so much that I have to stand for a total of 12 minutes. Wow! This is honestly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

I’m kidding: I actually like standing because you can see the show better, and you can catch everyone looking at you thinking you’re a fashion nobody. Little do they know I’m about to take over Chanel, once Karl abdicates. The show is a classic floaty femme piece, with girls pushing pushchairs full of roses down the catwalk — worry it’s like a baby’s funeral, which I find slightly odd imagery to invoke — but then think about how pretty the dresses are. All is well in the world and I go to Abokado and then instantly leave because what even is that fucking place?

3pm

Scurry to meet a friend in a magazine’s office and she tells me she’s just bought a house (well, a bedsit) and I feel distressed that I’ll never make it. Look down at my shirt and remember that this is all the security I’ll ever need, before calling my rich friend and asking him if he wants to lend me £41k for a mortgage deposit because there’s a gorj little maisonette on my road for sale. He says yes!!!! And so I buy a house!!!!

3.45pm

That was a lie.

4pm

The Marta Jakubowski show. Everyone had a flower in their mouth, and the clothes were about finding fluidity in tailoring. Flowing pieces of fabric swept over the body and nipped at the waist where it fastened like a double breasted jacket. Unusual silhouettes mimicked armour, power-play, and softness all in one. The manipulation of cut and pattern make every single outfit one which you have to really think about: how did she make that? How would you get it on and take it off?

5pm

Fifth coffee of the day. Ears start to ring, but this is only a good thing as it drowns out the drone of all the paparazzi swarming me as I leave the show venue. Stop for a picture — you know, give them what they want — but it turns out there’s someone much more important right behind me, and I’m told to get out of the way. Feeling dejected and mortgage-less I go to Somerset House and pretend to be rich while realising my lighter has broken, therein begging every smoker I see to borrow theirs.

6pm

Something wicked this way came at Matty Bovan’s AW19 show. It was a bustle to get in — a real event — and as the clothes shot onto the runway, the attitude was one of confidence, power. Bovan was looking at folkloric tradition and the Pendle witch trials this season: reflecting on myth and modern magic. It really was modern magic.

7pm

A friend’s birthday dinner and I am forced against my will to go to a fucking vegan place. Worried about climate change so decide to cave, and it turns out the food is bloody stunning. It’s a stunning evening: only queers aloud, although somehow — as the bill arrives — it seems I’ve racked up a total of £31 for a bit of bean curd and some shoots. Can’t believe it. Dreams of a house dashed. We steal into the night and go to a straight-person-pub where I can’t believe the state of the toilets. Why are men like this? Why do they piss everywhere? Why do men exist?

10.30pm

Ditch the vegans and meet my flatmates and boyfriend to go to a Robyn x Browns event which was actually very glam. Excited, to say the least, that upon entry they’re giving out free T-shirts from her Bjorn Borg collaboration, but when I realise that the biggest size is a size 10 (which looks like a size 6) I’m baffled, and I can only, sadly, get my hands on a headband for, I dunno, sports??? Decide to cane the free bar so we make a rule that if you go to the bar you grab eight drinks — two for each of us. Had 13 drinks in total. Feel gorj and drunk and end up dancing right in front of Robyn who is DJing, desperately trying to make eye contact with her. In the end we do, and decide the night can’t get better than that and so we walk to the Strand to get an Uber home.

3am

Arrive home, magically, with two McDonald’s meals each and think how glam and disgusting this is. Eat them and watch Friends and talk about how problematic Friends is. At one point a mini onion goes down the wrong way and I have a coughing fit and end up going to bed with my least favourite thing: the hiccups.

5am

Wake up to use the loo, and think about how the world is ending and having a mortgage is pointless because property is theft. Go back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that tomorrow another day of radical protest and insecurity will ensue as I head back to fashion week.

This has been my inner monologue, thanks be to God.

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A Matty Bovan show always feels like a real moment: a moment which celebrates craft and detail and ritual, as well as that much overused word, 'punk'. You might recognise the designer from last season’s giant balloon headdresses (designed by Stephen Jones, of course; only the best) or because he’s adored by most: from the last living punk Dame Vivienne Westwood to Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran, from fashion’s dreamboat Adwoa Aboah to Drag Race winner Aquaria — everyone’s talking about Matty.

But really, you should know him for his clothes. Starting out life as a knitwear-focussed brand, Bovan — who trained at Central Saint Martins — has blurred the edges of what knitwear can mean. How? With giant crinolined ballgowns with juts at the hip and floral panniers at the bum, and sparkly Christmassy jumpers knitted into giant proportions and worn over one shoulder, puckered at one side and piled in rolls at the other. A dress that was never meant to be a dress, a suit made out of suit bag – Bovan makes knitwear, and other fabrics, both desirable and diverse in their uses.

For AW19, he explored the idea of modern magic. Pulling, as usual, from his Yorkshire roots — Northerners represent! — Bovan started this season by delving deep into the history of folk traditions, and into the harrowing accounts of the 1612 Pendle witch trials, which happened one county over in Lancashire. Healing and myth were two of the ideas behind it all: trying to unpick the ways that folklore was used both to control and to punish. Colours were earthen, with flashes of red and spots of yellow. Floral prints spoke of nature and black-heavy looks — especially the Edwardian mourning dress — invoked mythicised images of witches.

What proffered was a collection full of clashing patterns and prints. A collaboration with Coach saw their signature CC print find its way onto knee-high boots, steampunky top hats and a giant bow atop the head (hats off to Stephen Jones, once again). Archive Liberty print featured on pussy-bow blouses, dresses and coats. The style takeaways were bold, clashing prints — try florals with picnic blanket tartan — and unusual silhouettes: out at the shoulder, in at the waist, out at the hip, and further out at the knee. Essentially Bovan’s proposition was about following your own instincts, your own folklore, building looks crammed full of patterns, textures, feelings, accessories. There were even bells layered on some of the pieces: a warning that something wicked this way comes? Or simply there with bells on?

But as with any culturally awake designer, the meanings behind the designs reflect what’s occurring today: how difference is feared and so often punished. Thankfully, where there’s youth there’s protest — as we saw yesterday with the climate change demonstration; with Transmissions, who protested fashion week demanding trans inclusivity; with the Grenfell activists taking over the LFW runway, asking “72 deaths and still no arrests? How come?” Matty Bovan’s show was titled “In Uncertain Times, This Is A Sure Thing!” — it’s unclear what that Thing exactly is, but perhaps it’s him, perhaps it’s asking more questions, or perhaps — fingers crossed — it’s witchcraft.

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“I don’t think I’m very interesting,” Michael Halpern tells me in his studio ahead of his AW19 show at London Fashion Week. He’s referring to the fact that, while his design aesthetic is all high-octane glamour and dramatic draping, he wears head-to-toe black and sports a cap that rarely leaves his head. “I’m not interested in what I’m wearing – it’s nice to look at someone else.”

Someone else is Marion Cotillard at Cannes, a vision in one of Halpern’s signature sequin-laden designs; or Lupita Nyong’o at a Star Wars premiere in his aquamarine draped dress, or perhaps Adwoa Aboah in a cutaway mini with an asymmetric fluted sleeve. Despite the designer's modesty, as the women he's dressed prove, his trajectory has been anything but ordinary.

Within a year of showing his debut collection at London Fashion Week in 2017, Halpern had won the Emerging Talent Womenswear category at the prestigious Fashion Awards, his eponymous label was stocked everywhere from Browns to Bergdorf Goodman, and the most in-demand actresses and models were wearing his pieces at every turn. The world was ready for some hedonism, and Halpern’s razzle-dazzle gave us just that.

Two years on from that first show, he’s become synonymous with glitz and glimmer, but his vision wasn’t always that way inclined. “Glamour wasn’t a forever thing for me, actually,” he says. The native New Yorker started his career at the Parsons School of Design, where his collections were more in line with his personal style: all black. “I was obsessed with the whole Rick Owens aesthetic, working with black feathers and crepe. I wasn’t feeling any glamour in New York because fashion felt like a business there, like a fashion company. It all happened when I came to London, really.”

After Parsons, Halpern was snapped up by American retailer J.Mendel, before working as an assistant in the fur department at Oscar de la Renta. “It wasn’t for me, which is what led me to go back and do a master's. It’s a really indulgent, luxurious thing to be able to go back and study after working – I’m very grateful.” He moved to London to enrol in the master's programme at Central Saint Martins, in the first year group after legendary professor Louise Wilson passed away. While he says he “wasn’t so rated at Parsons” and “wasn’t the type of designer that they were breeding at the time,” he attributes a large part of his success to the teaching at CSM.

Taught by giants of the industry – “Fabio Piras was our leader, we had the artist Julie Verhoeven, Jane Shepherd, Fleet Bigwood for prints and textiles” – he took to the rigour of the course immediately. “It makes you question and doubt yourself, which I think is the only way you can grow. That’s the biggest difference between the UK and the US – it’s not hearts and flowers, it’s real and very intense and deep in self-reflection and self-criticism. That’s the most important thing you can do as a designer. If you stop questioning yourself, then what are you doing? What is the point?”

It was this self-analysis that led him to the Halpern we know today, the one that has captured the international fashion industry’s imagination. “I was trying to find my voice and I started talking to my mum about her time in the '70s – her friends, what they did and wore. I became fascinated with how in times of strife and confusion and sadness in the world, people constantly gravitate towards glamour as escape.” His resulting MA collection – think swirling patterns, satin corsets with dramatic trains, and sequinned flares – received critical acclaim and the attention of the house most associated with all-out glamour: Versace.

Sarah Mower, the renowned journalist with a knack for sourcing emerging talent, introduced Halpern to Donatella, and within 24 hours the fresh-out-of-school graduate was on a flight to Milan. “She told me I’d be working on the couture collection. That was probably the craziest day of my life.” Seeing the way the house operated gave Halpern the push he needed to start his own business. “Meeting the people who had been there through both Gianni and Donatella’s time was incredible. They were incredibly supportive but constantly critiquing and it made me want to model my company after that way of working.”

Halpern has recreated this close-knit family within his business, but it’s no small-fry gang. He’s had the same big hitters on his A-team since his inaugural collection, with the prolific Patti Wilson styling, Sam McKnight on hair, Isamaya Ffrench on makeup, Michel Gaubert on music and Shona Heath on set design. This season, for AW19, the team took a new direction, creating light and shadow play within the art deco ballroom of the Sheraton Grand Hotel. Models moved in and out of the sculptural set in '70s patchwork sequin dresses, stovepipe silhouetted trousers and thigh-high mini dresses.

“We’ve been going for two years now and each season I try to ask what rebellion is, what it means to go against the norm, what it means to go against what people tell you should or should not be. This season it happened to land with Erté.” Halpern looked to the fantastical Russian illustrator, who designed around 200 Harper’s Bazaar magazine covers during the 1920s and '30s, and drew parallels between the tensions of the interwar period and those of today.

“Whether it was between the wars, in the '70s, or now, there have been so many times that history has shown us that the way to get through something is with decadence. Through giving yourself a break and not living with the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s about being able to let loose a little bit.” So what will he be doing after today’s show to let loose and celebrate this season’s feat? “Usually we do a big after-party with our sponsors and partners, and that has been amazing. But this season it’s just me and my friends going out for Chinese food, which is my favourite thing to do.”

Despite his shimmer and sparkle making magpies of us all, it turns out Michael Halpern is pretty low key after all.

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The fashion world mourns after learning that style icon Lee Radziwill died on Friday at the age of 85, WWD reports.

Radziwill was born Caroline Lee Bouvier on March 3, 1933 in Southampton, NY, to stockbroker John Vernou Bouvier III and socialite Janet Norton Lee. She was the younger sister of former First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. WWD described Radziwill as “the pretty one” growing up while Onassis was considered “the smart one.” Nonetheless, the sisters were extremely close and in her memoir Happy Times, Radziwill talked about their strong bond even after Onassis married John F. Kennedy.

“With the wedding, Jackie’s destiny led to another life. As the wife of the president of the United States, she was extremely busy. She had to travel a lot, and liked to have me with her as we were very close. Apart from great mutual affection, I think our strongest bond was a shared sense of humour, which was endlessly enjoyable,” Radziwill wrote.

Radziwill carved out a name for herself separate from her sister and had many famous friends, including Truman Capote. A famed writer himself, Capote reportedly encouraged Radziwill to pursue an acting career, though it ultimately didn’t pan out. Instead, Radzill became known for spectacular fashion sense.

She was entered in the International Best Dressed Hall of Fame in 1996, according to Vanity Fair. Later in life Radziwill worked as an interior designer and also as a brand ambassador and public relations executive for Giorgio Armani.

She was married three times. Her first was to publishing executive Michael Temple Canfield in 1953. They divorced six years later, the same year she married her second husband, Prince Stanislaw Albrecht Radziwill, who gave her the title of princess. The Polish aristocrat was nearly 20 years her senior and they had two children, Prince Anthony Radziwill (who died in 1999) and Princess Anna Christina Radziwill. They divorced in 1974. Her last marriage occurred in 1988, to Herbert Ross, an American filmmaker who directed Footloose and Steel Magnolias. They divorced shortly before Ross’ death in 2001.

The exact cause of Radziwill’s death is still unknown. Sources close to her told WWD that “she was in good shape” over the past week, though she did suffer from an age-related disease in the past.

Radziwill is survived by her daughter. She was also the mother-in-law of journalist and former Real Housewives of New York City star Carole Radziwill.

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London Fashion Week kicked off with a day reserved for the younger designers: the emerging, the outsiders, the cool kids. Think Matty Bovan, ASAI and Ashley Williams. The latter is always a joy, but what makes a Williams show so much fun?

Yes, her flock of models is always more interesting than most (including visual artist Claire Barrow and Pretty Sick’s Sabrina Fuentes), the beauty looks encapsulate London rebellion (see new faces with razor-cut mullets and black-rimmed eyes), and her best friends are guaranteed to be cheering her on from the front row (Pixie Geldof, Alexa Chung, Nick Grimshaw), but it’s the designer’s ability to be witty and conjure instant demand that sets her apart.

In the past we’ve had her 'Anxiety', 'Heaven' and 'Bored' crystal hair slides, and her 'Retired and Loving It' slogan tees (girl’s got a knack for coining a catchy phrase). This season’s instant hit? A sperm-covered fleece. Yep, you read that right. Think spunk-emblazoned silk skirts and fuzzy sports headbands with graphic penises – a tongue-in-cheek homage to the male appendage.

The show, named 'Power Nap', offered us her AW19 girl, who has been living her best life in the monolithic countryside. “She dined at King Arthur's round table, paid pilgrimage to the summer solstice, marvelled at Mercury in retrograde and spotted the Loch Ness Monster whilst skinny dipping” so the show notes go – and now, she needs to sleep off all the excitement. Hunkering down in cosy pieces like mohair cardigans, relaxed tracksuits reading 'Whoops!' and fleeced smiley face jackets, the collection was a mishmash of cosy winter-appropriate pieces and Williams’ signature aesthetics.

Trademark tiger print, tie-dye and electric hues all featured, as did power blazers, tracksuits and puffed-sleeve dresses. The other pieces worth mention? The pink and black knitted cat twin-set, Kermit-green fluffy shoes and bags, and boob tube (hello, '00s) reading 'Don’t Know, Don’t Care'. Like the cult pieces she’s created before, expect to see Williams’ irreverent collection on the fashion set's Insta soon.

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Channel 4's new drama Traitors takes us back to 1945. We’re in London, World War II has just ended and Feef Symonds (Emma Appleton) – our privileged twentysomething protagonist – is sleeping with an American army officer. She’s proudly Tory (we’ll come back to this in a sec), with a niggling sense of ambition and adventure that she hasn’t been able to satisfy. Sure, Feef's disappointed that she didn't get a chance to serve in the war effort, but she's also pissed that now it's come to an end, her lover will have to return to the States.

An opportunity does arise, though. One of the American lover boy's colleagues, Rowe (Michael Stuhlbarg from The Shape of Water) suspects that something fishy is going on in the British government. He thinks that there's a Russian agent on the inside, and wants someone to infiltrate the administration and uncover what's really going on. That somebody is Feef. He asks her to take a job in the civil service and feed information back to the US through him. Yes, he wants her to spy on her own country.

What follows are six episodes of slow-build tension and the unnerving suspicion that no one, not even Feef, is quite what they seem. Not only is the reality of post-war Britain piling pressure on the government but when Feef does take the job as a civil servant (and a spy), the Labour party has just been voted in, which proved to be a landmark victory that people really didn't see coming. Change is in the air but danger lurks in the shadows, too. The stakes are high for everyone involved, but no one bears the brunt of this particular period of history quite like the women in the middle of it all.

Appearing opposite Appleton is Bodyguard star, Keeley Hawes, who plays Priscilla Garrick, a prim and fascinating woman who leads a team high up in the civil service. It's clear from the offset that there's a lot to her – she's one of very few women of seniority and operates in one of the most powerful circles in the world. She's unwaveringly good at her job and, although unaware that she's been manipulated into it, takes Feef under her wing.

Beyond the immediate post-war spy thriller narrative, Traitors takes a real look at womanhood, and it's hard to miss all the references to how poorly women were regarded at the time. When Feef and Priscilla first run into each other, the female staff who had been employed by the government during the war are being told that their jobs will be cut so they can fulfil their proper purpose – being at home to care for their sons and husbands returning from the front line. Feef's brother reminds her that she's expected to get married, not run off and work in such an influential arena. And yet here she is alongside a female superior, effecting change at one of the biggest political turning points of the century.

There's going to be some soul-searching for Feef. Despite her early conviction that the Conservative party is the only party worthy of her unassuming respect, she's poised to open her mind. She's young and the backdrop for her coming into her own is both extraordinary and terrifying. The amount she risks for the thrill of adventure and some sort of greater purpose is juxtaposed with Priscilla's fierce commitment to achieving excellence by playing by the rules. And despite their individual assurances, it's clear that there's a lot at stake for both of them.

Traitors starts on Channel 4 on Sunday 17th February at 9pm

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Alexa Chung, who has been revered for her sartorial prowess since her T4 presenting days, is often associated with the markers of prettiness and hyper-femininity. She chose to depart from the Peter Pan collars and schoolgirl pinafores aesthetic this season, her second time showing on-schedule at London Fashion Week.

“I haven’t been interested in prettiness for a long time, and the world doesn’t look saccharine and innocent to me anymore,” the creative director of her eponymous label Alexachung wrote in the show notes. With Brexit looming large and the divisive politics of the US today, it seems like Alexa’s girl has uprooted to a far more idyllic place. For AW19, she’s 'Off The Grid', where a “gaggle of women have retreated…regrouping and plotting.”

Taking inspiration from California’s West Coast – “an enticing well-trodden path for creative respite and a disconcertingly vast space to ponder” – the show’s set reimagined the venue’s pillars as “looming redwood trees” covered in moss, earth and crawling vines. Alexa’s woman has grown up, too. Gone are the hints of youthful femininity, in their place a structured and protective layer of leather, knitted wool and reflective silk. “There’s a toughness to the collection, but it’s more about resilience than it is aggression.”

Hallmarks of Chung’s vision are still present (which will please both her longtime fans and her legion of new followers): country-bound prairie dresses, platform heels and exaggerated lapels on suits. An unexpected but strong collaboration with Sunglass Hut also featured, with blacked-out sunnies in '70s shapes.

And if you're wondering about the direction Alexa will take next season, it seems there is great hope ahead: “Deep beneath the soil in an underground bunker a new form of beauty is preparing to grow up and out like a virulent weed. We won’t be off the grid for long.”

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