The Icons - The Statement Knit

My first fashion trophy was a cardigan. Where most might claim a specific designer handbag or a luxe leather jacket as their most-influential sartorial possession, mine was a statement knit. As a 19-year-old intern in Diane von Furstenberg’s London office, I was invited to a few particularly epic sample sales, and picked up an exquisite navy wool kimono, woven with lilac silk chiffon ribbons and silvery metal threads, for just £20. The rest of my student wardrobe was, duly, made up of wedges and jeggings from H&M. But no one was looking at all that with the knitted dream coat on top, were they?

I’m really into textiles and have learned in the years since that a great knit can be an exciting work of color, pattern and texture. My collection now is vast (and surrounded by a fence of protective cedar balls). I get my rainbow fix from Chinti & Parker and Christopher John Rogers, or turn to Ganni, Sandro, Paper London or Christopher Kane for hefty embellishments. I’m not a snob - a great knit is a great knit and I’ve bagged plenty of bargains from charity shops, or from Tu at Sainsburys. This fall, collared knits, jumbo cables and vivid brights are trending, but so are slinky ‘90s ribbed cardigans. You can take your pick, safe in the knowledge that a bold knit is the easiest piece in the world to style; pop a noisy jumper over a simple black dress or jeans and it will always do all the talking for you.

I love the way that designers continuously re-approach and reinvent the simple structure of a knit with fresh creativity. The maximalist artist Kaffe Fassett once shared an excellent personal philosophy in an interview with Vogue Knitting International (a real magazine, by the way, and still very much going unlike most fashion titles - Michelle Obama was its recent celebrity-knitter cover star). He asked: "Why limit yourself to just one shade of red when you can use 17?"

The history of the statement knit is complex and would be impossible to unravel in these 600 words. London’s V&A Museum has important examples of hand-crafted socks from ancient Egypt and holey little hats from 16th-Century London. Home knitting thrived through wars and tough times, seen as a source of comfort. Knitwear enjoyed a wholesome reputation before it was shredded by punk or grunge countercultures, and latterly spun into novelty forms. Each new generation has made its own statements via knitwear - literal, abstract, comedic, rebellious, artistic, decadent, ironic, naff. The current craftcore revival is perhaps symbolic of the great big hug we all need following a few years of serious upheaval. Does anyone ever really select a jumper from their wardrobe just for the warmth?

In pop culture (and in good taste or bad), statement knits can become iconic. It’s Princess Diana declaring herself a luxury. It’s Bridget Jones at Christmas, or Cher Horowitz’s sweater vests. It’s Tom Daley at the Olympics and Taylor Swift in her cardigan. It’s Gyles Brandreth presenting a This Morning segment on barbecues while wearing a flaming steak intarsia. Can you tell I’ve been on maternity leave and watching too much daytime TV?

In a post-pregnancy wardrobe detox, I almost put the original DvF knit in a charity bag. It’s getting a little, shall we say, crispy in places after a few too many trips to the dry cleaners. One of the ribbons has come gently unthreaded at the back.

I couldn’t get rid. Instead, I carefully folded it back into its dust bag. If my knits are timeless prizes - bought to remember life changes, good times, great fashion collections or work promotions - then this most-worn one deserves its place back in the trophy cabinet.