Money buys clothes. Taste buys the right clothes, in the wrong-looking way, at exactly the wrong-looking moment, so that everyone assumes you simply threw them on. This is the great paradox of posh dressing: enormous effort, expended entirely in the service of looking as though none was made at all.

Consider the coat left casually unbuttoned in a wind that plainly demands otherwise. Consider the shoe that is far too good for the pavement it is walking on. These are not accidents. They are declarations. To be merely expensive is to match. To be posh is to look as though your wardrobe and your afternoon had a small disagreement and your wardrobe lost.

Our verdict on the season: less shine, more cloth you could nap on. The label should be a rumour, never an announcement. If a stranger can name the brand from across the room, darling, you have been sold something. If they can only name the mood, you have arrived.