Is there any feeling more idiotic, more ‘sad’ in the modern sense of unenviable, than that little stab of pride you get when you suddenly see a look that you already favour appearing before you on the catwalk? When you are actually wearing the very outfit, just quietly at home, as it trips down the runway? Is it wrong to feel right? To feel righteous even? 

When pictures came through, from the Ferragamo show, of  the grey jersey and the silky gathered skirt, I felt a little bit triumphant. I was at that moment wearing an APC grey jersey, a little severe, from about 14 years ago and a slightly gathered pinkish brown skirt from Marni. At the weekend, when I saw images of another grey jumper and an inch-below-the-knee burnished silver gathered skirt at Bottega Veneta, I was wearing a different ancient crew neck chunky grey knit (Jospeh) and a pale gold metallic tweed skirt, a couple of years old, from Moschino (one inch below the knee).

My husband walked into the room. ‘You look happy!’ he greeted me. 

‘Oh thanks. I’ve just seen … ’ But I have my pride.

Of course Miuccia Prada has worn plain jerseys with fancy skirts for a long time; Solange Azagury-Partridge also. It’s hardly news, but it looked so fresh. It was fashion that hardly registers as fashion and as such seemed rather subtle and confident, strict and carefree. ‘Hold the front page: jerseys and skirts are in fashion,’ I murmured to myself. It will never take off…

Suddenly jerseys and skirts were all over social media. Justine Picardie at Harper's Bazaar was taken with these looks and  tweeted them; Vanessa Friedman (my editor at the FT) featured them on her pages at the weekend. Sally Singer at US Vogue was also a fan.

Then I remembered something. There is a black snakeskin bag in the Bond Street Ferragamo store that I sometimes visit. I like it very much indeed. I need a new bag and have been looking for one for nearly a year, yet I don’t quite love it so I can't make up my mind. It may be that genuine love feelings only come through for leather goods once or twice in a lifetime … and in what do I carry my stuff in between these very occasional coups de foudres? So I keep going back.

What occurred to me was this: had I been spied on my visits to the store? It seemed awfully unlikely.

Last year when a narrow grey sweatshirt  paired with an immaculate skirt and high shoes had a little moment in the sun, I enjoyed having already dabbled with the look, and again it made me smile. I have always looked up to pale grey marl terrycloth as it makes me think of visiting New York as a teenager.

"Suddenly jerseys and skirts were all over social media... It's hardly news, but it looked so fresh"

Sometimes, just seeing something in your wardrobe that you never wear, coming towards you on the catwalk, gives you a sizeable lift, the shimmer of success. I have a Myrène de Prémonville black wool crepe dress, which has a built-in cape, that I bought as a sort of homage to Joan Crawford. Every three years, I see its sister or cousin on the catwalk and I feel pleased with myself, not that I ever wear it, but I enjoy what it suggests: a woman running from the convent, perhaps on a last spree before taking her vows; or very devout mourning.
 
Of course, if  you make echoing the catwalk your life’s work you will see connections everywhere. The brash and controversial service industry chic at Moschino last week could be said to have recalled my first teenage job at McDonald's on Seven Sisters Road. On arrival at the branch, we were shown a feature-length film about how the burger patties must be treated with TLC. I did not last long, admittedly. But it is a look that is part of me, I guess, and one that suits me also, especially when a nurse-y aesthetic is added into the mix. 

I wonder…