How to drag off leopard print by BRYONY GORDON

My name is Bryony and I am addicted to leopard print. I would argue it’s not a problem, although my husband, clamouring for space in our bedroom wardrobe, might disagree. ‘You’d think a safari guide lived here,’ he says, motioning to the rails of lavishly printed clothes, the endless shoes, not to mention the umpteen pairs of sunglasses, hair scrunchies and bags, all covered in imitations of the big cat’s distinctive markings. ‘Do you really need leopard-print trainer socks?’

Yes, I do. I need it all.

My love of leopard print has existed for as long as I can remember, although it’s only in recent years I’ve felt able to embrace it. And oh, how I have embraced it! At the last count: nine leopard-print frocks, 14 pairs of leopard-print leggings (some in a neon colourway, because why not?), so many leopard-print accessories I could set up a series of shops that cater to obsessives such as myself. Also coats. Lots of coats. And bags, obviously.

It wasn’t always this way. As a busty teenager in the 1990s, I was worried I would look more Bet Lynch than Brigitte Bardot. ‘It’s very Coronation Street,’ people would say sniffily about a pre-millennium woman in leopard print. It belonged behind the bar with Bet in the Rover’s Return, not on the catwalks, and had a similar status to shellsuits: tacky, garish, a bit much – all the things I naturally felt as a human, now I come to think about it.

And like those personality ‘traits’, I locked away my love of all things leopard print, ashamed to be seen in it. I dressed to blend in, to be small, unnoticeable, presentable, above all, appropriate. Deep inside me, a girl in head-to-toe leopard print screamed to get out, and I silenced her with boring black dresses that didn’t make a fuss.

What changed? My desire to fit in, I suppose. I have become older and wiser and less bothered by what anybody thinks of me. I’ve realised that my inner lady in leopard print needs to be unleashed if I am ever to be properly content. I have decided that life is too short not to wear leopard print, à la Kim Kardashian, who instantly became my icon when she strolled through the streets of Milan in head-to-toe Dolce & Gabbana a couple of years ago.

Before then, my leopard print was limited to a couple of pairs of leggings from Sweaty Betty, my regular 5k runs round the local park being the only place I thought it was acceptable to rock camouflage as a peri-menopausal mother who lives in South London. Then I started accessorising a bit more – a backpack, a hair clip, a wallet, a pair of earrings (more tortoiseshell, really, but of the same stylistic family, I would say), and before long I was feeling braver, bolder, more bolshy, until I had branched out into the dresses and trousers that make up the heart of my wardrobe. That’s the power of leopard print, you see – once you start, you become unstoppable.

It helps that it’s having a fashion moment, though I think the point of it is that it is always inherently a bit unfashionable. Still, all the major houses embraced it in a non-ironic way for the autumn/winter 2024 shows: Alexander McQueen, Balenciaga, Celine, Dior, Versace, Alaïa, Dolce & Gabbana (of course). Some say it’s having a moment because of the ‘mob wife’ trend, a TikTok aesthetic rocked this year by the likes of Rihanna, Kourtney Kardashian and even – gasp! – the Queen. She showed once and for all what an absolute icon she is when she wore a beautiful floaty leopard-print frock on a royal engagement earlier this year.

As for me, I’m glad that I no longer have to scrabble around in old-fashioned catalogues for my hit. Zara, M&S, Ganni, Rixo, Damson Madder… the list of affordable, quality brands embracing their wilder side goes on and on, feeding both my obsession and my wardrobe (sadly for my husband).

And when it drops out of fashion, as it inevitably will, one thing is for sure: this leopard will never lose her spots again.

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by Jessica Carroll