What not to wear - Punishing regime wears thin

By FRANCES GRANT

The wardrobe mistresses from hell have launched another crusade against the sartorially misguided and innocently style-free.

Fashion disciplinarians Susannah Constantine and Trinny Woodall come from a nation that boasts a long line of steely females, such as Boudica, ERs I and II and Mrs Thatcher. Another peculiarly British aspect of their makeover S&M show, What Not to Wear (TV One, 8pm), is that a pair of toffs see fit to give ordinary people a good dressing-down. The true crimes of Trinny and Susannah's victims, you can't help but suspect, is that they're just not one of them.

By now their modus operandi - swiftly executed guerrilla raids, harsh advice taking no account of the victim's feelings, instant deportation of all offending garments to the nearest rubbish bin - are familiar.

The ends justify the means, they would have us believe. But their sartorial crackdown on the badly dressed belongs firmly to the theatre of cruelty and humiliation. It also joylessly underwrites our culture's repellent insistence that happiness can be bought off the rack and superficial appearances maketh the woman or man.

The torture starts as the pair secretly film their innocent victim in moments of sartorial shame, footage that is then shown to the captive to teach her the error of her ways. Next it's off to parade her, nearly naked, in front of the 360-degree mirror, a degrading exercise which they pretend is necessary to assess the makeover candidates' good points.

Last week's victim, Sandy, a newly divorced teacher stuck in an 1980s time warp, never stood a chance. Her pain was made that much more acute by a level of self-awareness not usually in evidence in reality telly shows. Under the chilling scrutiny of Trinny and Susannah, Sandy was forced to confess her crimes.

Yes, she did look rather a fright, Sandy had to agree, as Trinny and Susannah began the aversion therapy. Yes, Sandy had to admit, the short, fluffy jumper and purple leggings were "seriously hideous", her love of bolero jackets an inexcusable error, her polo necks a shameful addiction.

Yes, Sandy confessed, she was indeed ridiculous to think she could possibly look like her role model, pretty Agnetha from Swedish pop band Abba in its heyday. It was a fantasy that made Sandy happy but in the style cultural revolution all delusions must be wiped out.

The two fashion dictators couldn't wait to make their nasty assessments: Sandy's clothes made her look like she had "three pairs of tits".

Next she was paraded in her beloved mini-dress, which looked like something a Russian iceskater might have sported in the sequin-free Soviet era.

That the habit of sneering at other people's appearance is so contagious is one of the least attractive aspects of this show. For What Not to Wear, with its snobbishness and cruelty masquerading as kindness, is a truly detestable bit of telly. What right do a vacuous society matron and a snooty "fashion guru" have to try to put the rest of the world into their Sloane Ranger uniform?

Whereas the makeover team in Queer Eye for the Straight Guy manage to spiff up their charges with humour and charm, the tone of What Not to Wear is one of contempt.

In her new, tailored suits, subtly matching tops and tasteful hairdo, Sandy now blends seamlessly into the boring world of "good taste". Sandy was all craven gratitude for her transformation, the same kind of gratitude a torture victim displays when the pain and terror stop.

Sandy will now cause the likes of Susannah, Trinny and their friends no visual offence. And the world has become several shades less weird and wonderful.