Eva Bradley: Floods? Hand me my miniskirt

Deciding what to wear on any given day is something that women the world over struggle with.
Whether you are in India with your sari, Japan with your kimono, or Africa with a kanga, a girl still needs to make a multitude of important decisions each morning about colour, fabric, length and layers.
Which is why I can hardly be blamed for turning up to photograph a major flooding event wearing a miniskirt.
It's not that I don't have wet weather gear in my wardrobe along with every other conceivable item of women's clothing in every conceivable colour. It's just that it was early when the call came in and my miniskirt left lying on the floor the night before was the closest thing to hand.
But as I waded waist deep through the worst flooding Hawke's Bay has seen in living memory, it occurred to me that it wasn't necessarily the smartest choice in the world.
Although given the photographer for the opposition (decked out fully in waterproof trou and jacket) was denied access while my short skirt and I walked right past the cordon, I suppose this point is debatable.
What the experience did make me wonder about, however, was the wisdom of what we wear and the consequences of the choices we make when we walk out of our front door on any given morning, making a statement to the world without even saying a thing.
We may be told it's not nice to judge a book by its cover but without doubt that is exactly what all of us do, and an entire fashion industry has been built on our collective wish to be judged kindly.
And never has a girl been laid so wide open to judgment as the future Mrs William Windsor.
Before Kate had even been given Princess Di's controversial ring and been judged harshly on that decision, magazines were running multi-page spreads with would be/could be designs for the wedding dress of the century and all the accessories to match.
It doesn't matter whether you are walking down the aisle of the local country church or Westminster Abbey, what you choose to wear while doing it is an intensely personal decision, which makes a very public statement about your sense of style and attitude to life.
How does the future Queen of the Commonwealth even begin the process of picking out a frock?
Unlike the rest of us, she sure as hell doesn't wander down to the local wedding shop and grab something off the rack.
But does she really have to do the opposite and opt for a 25ft train?
Even for the 1980s, this took OTT to lofty great heights. Or rather, lengths.
Since then the wedding dress has been dumbed down, along with the shoulder pads, to the point that I often wonder if today's brides will look back and blush at the decision to get married wearing what looks to their grandchildren to be little more than a gussied-up satin nightie.
Fashions change and are always followed but one thing that stays the same is our ability to look back and cringe.
Form over substance has always been de rigeur when it comes to looking the part, and if one is to be a true fashionista then style will always sit before comfort.
Without doubt, I was the best-dressed photographer ever seen covering an emergency evacuation this week. However, one can look smart and not be smart and yesterday, as I stepped back out at dawn to continue my coverage, I was every inch the wet weather paparazzi in full-length waders and gumboots.
Except, of course, the rain had stopped and the floods receded. Making it perfect miniskirt weather. Dammit.