There is a word I heard for the first time a couple of weeks ago. I was talking to one of the costume designers on Strictly, and, as usual, apologising. Why? Well, I always apologise in the presence of costume designers; it’s a habit. In this case I was saying sorry for
- My jeans (not a good fit; not a good label)
- My shirt (it has an oil stain by the third button, but I can’t bring myself to dispose of it as I used to wear it for Newsnight 15 years ago)
- My hair (grey)
- My jacket (shiny/worn)
- My general appearance (dilapidated)
- My shoes (fluorescent — and literally luminous — green trainers, reminding me every time I wear them NEVER TO BUY SHOES ON THE INTERNET).
The designer smiled at me sweetly and reached for a tape measure. I found myself wondering how many famous inside legs it had touched, and she said: “Don’t worry Jeremy. We will soon Strictlify you.”
After a lot of measuring, and a bit of make-up, and a beautifully-tailored outfit that clung to my ribcage like a glove, the result was released this morning.
And I gasped. My first sight of the photo coincided with the release of the annual Daily Mail article with the headline WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE? and I was inclined, for a fleeting second, to take the paper’s side. I stared and stared and could not see myself.
And then it dawned on me: that is exactly what is supposed to happen. Gone is the oil stain. Gone the slipshod jeans and embarrassing trainers. I don’t even look as grey as I feared I was.
Look at the cufflink!
The white bow tie!
I have been Strictlified!