The day I got dressed in Egg: Theresa May's favourite new fashion label
The Tory-blue matching dress and coat from L.K.Bennett that Theresa May wore for her new U.S. Vogue shoot with renowned photographer Annie Liebowitz was a safe, some might say predictable, choice.
But a second outfit, of slouchy red canvas coat (£450) and 6-ply, hand-framed grey cashmere sweater (£1200) from Egg, a British brand known only by the fashion cognoscenti, has proved a more intriguing selection. And one perhaps better in keeping with May’s eclectic fashion preferences, which range from Vivienne Westwood’s tartan suits to Amanda Wakeley’s leather trousers.
While you may not have heard of it, and there was some speculation the clothes were called in by Vogue stylists, it appears that May specifically requested Egg for the shoot, herself.
Far from being a new kid on the block, like Erdem or Roksanda Ilincic (labels favoured by Samantha Cameron), the brand has been operative since 1994 - the brainchild of Maureen Doherty, who originally trained as a pattern cutter and was both mentored by, and worked with Issey Miyake, whom she regards as a genius.
Preferring to call herself “a developer” rather than a designer, Doherty takes much of her inspiration from vintage finds picked up on her travels, working quietly under the mainstream fashion radar while attaching paeans of praise from devoted customers, who include Dame Maggie Smith, Tilda Swinton and more recent convert Diane Keaton.
Over the years I’ve known a few Egg advocates. They’ve tended towards professions like design, art and architecture - and to eschew mainstream fashion. The kind of people who would rather cut out a label than brandish it for all to see. You might recognise Egg if you’re in the know, but certainly you won’t see the name on the inside of a collar.
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Fittingly, then, its lone store is tucked away in a mews-style Knightsbridge back street, in quirky premises that have been converted from inter-connecting garages, which were once a working dairy (the original blue wall tiles were uncovered during Doherty’s restoration).
The Egg aesthetic is a perfect reflection of the personal taste of its idiosyncratic creator. Doherty doesn’t do zips, for example. In fact, she hates zips: skirts wrap around the body, so if you gain or lose a little weight they can expand or shrink to fit. She doesn’t do body-con either.
“My clothes are about comfort. You don’t have to think about your stomach because something is tight-fitting. Or whether you need tights because your skirt is above the knees.” Doherty definitely doesn’t do short.
What she does do is layers: baggy trousers worn under a skirt, shirts worn under jackets worn under coats. Clothes that stand away from the body in luxurious linens, cottons, canvas and cashmere. I dare not even mention the word synthetic.
Wandering round the white-walled shop with its creamy painted wooden floorboards, one is struck by the sense of being in a gallery, viewing a carefully curated collection of artworks. It’s not only clothes you can buy, but unusual objets: a Japanese tea caddy for example, or soap manufactured in Yorkshire by the oldest soap-maker in Europe. Doherty seeks out artists, too, and was the first to display the porcelain of ceramicist and memoirist Edmund de Waal.
Perhaps because they don’t have huge hanger appeal, the garments themselves are cleverly displayed on hooks on the wall, enabling whole outfits to be shown at once. Topped with a floppy hat or scarf you can imagine how you might combine pieces for yourself.
In truth, I’m wary about even trying anything on: being on the skinny side I fear being swamped, of disappearing under the layers and the volume. What transpires is a revelation; comfortable, chic and pleasingly substantial. It occurs to me that not only are the clothes ageless but timeless, too. Paying no lip service to the season’s latest must-haves means you could go on wearing them for years.
A grey cashmere sweater, a slightly shorter version of the one May wore in Vogue is so soft, so cosy and luxurious to the touch that I never want to take it off. And so eye-wateringly expensive that if it were ever unfortunate enough to encounter a moth, Egg at least guarantees to repair it for you.
As I make to leave, Doherty calls me to her studio to meet a customer, who turns out to be doyenne of American designers, Donna Karan. “I only wear my own clothes and Egg,” she declares. She never goes to bed without her Egg white shirt. The full Egg she reserves for her beachside retreat.
It may not be to every woman’s taste, or within every woman’s budget, but having joined clothes-loving Theresa May’s refreshingly varied favourite fashion brands, Egg is now likely to be a name on many more women’s lips.
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