Scary fashion trends to try: You - yes you - can wear orange

Orange coats are so in right now.

Orange is the colour of easyJet, prison jumpsuits, the Netherlands, fish fingers and obviously oranges. As a pasty person, I always avoided orange because it’s this bold, traffic light, look-at-me colour. It’s the same thinking insecure brides use to justify putting their bridesmaids in horrible polyester peach dresses: they don’t want to be outshone by something that’s meant to be on their team. Instead I admired 50 shades of orange from afar, silently giving an approving nod to those courageous individuals totally pulling off burnt embers, marmalades and even rave party neon at 1pm on a Tuesday.

But then February 2016 rolled around and a weird thing happened. The weather had suddenly decided to give us a parting blast of winter and dropped the temperature by 10 degrees. Suddenly, orange was everywhere. Specifically orange coats. Classy macs, padded parkas, trendy cocoons, even capes. Camouflaged among everyone else who went for the sensible, goes-with-everything navy coat at the first bite of winter, I watched these colourful mavericks nonchalantly hopping on buses and strolling the streets, no doubt going somewhere fabulous and exciting in their attention-grabbing gear that defied the grey drizzle.

In 1957 this guy called James Vicary claimed that flashing the words ‘EAT POPCORN’ at people in a cinema more than doubled sales of the snack. A lot of people weren’t having this and he was accused of being a fraud, but probably most of us can admit that at some point we’ve found ourselves buying or thinking about something because we’ve been battered with adverts for it. (I bet you haven't thought about fish fingers in years...) That’s how orange worked for me. Seeing so many people embracing what I always thought was a trend reserved for people who know without googling how to pronounce Moschino (it's a ck not a shh, apparently) spurred me on to open my wardrobe and my heart to this shade.

The final push was seeing my sister Claire casually slipping on a super smart orange mac, the colour of sharon fruit (an actual fruit, not a person). I’ve been hanging on to her fashion coattails since we were kids and she cut up old Tammy Girl socks as sweatbands (trust me, it was all the rage in the early 2000s), so somehow this served as a final tick against the phrase ‘Orange as clothes?’

And then I met the orange jumper. In a last ditch attempt to prove to myself that orange, like cocaine and potholing, was best left to other people, I grabbed a random orange jumper from the men’s section of H&M. And the bastard fit. And, worse, instead of draining my skin of any remaining rosiness like a colour-sucking leech, it actually made me look more alive. It pointed to the bit of pink in my cheeks and went 'Hey, look at this!' It made my eyes look a little bit more blue. It was the wingman my wardrobe had been waiting for.

The ‘money’ part of my brain managed to wrestle the ‘fashion’ and ‘but I want it’ parts down and run away without it, but they launched a war of attrition over the next few weeks. Unfortunately my office is within a lunchtime walking distance of three H&Ms. After visiting the jumper two more times, it ended up on a coat hanger in my packed-out closet.

It didn't stay there. We’re still in the honeymoon phase of showing each other off on strolls along Southbank on sunny weekends and in smug photos on my Twitter profile. We snuggle up for Parenthood binges on rainy evenings. I’m planning on introducing it to more aspects of my life soon, but for now we're finding out what works for us (ice cream necklace: yes; burgundy hat: no).

What I learned from years of being a distant orange admirer and a few weeks of coming out in wild support was that your own personal style needs to be fluid. Sometimes fashion risks strike out. Like that phase when I wore nothing but baby blue tracksuit bottoms with Tammy Girl slogan t-shirts (the early 2000s was a good time for that shop but a bad time for fashion). But if something catches your eye on other people, it's worth being bold.

Film Review: Populaire

Directed by Régis Roinsard

Starring: Romain Duris, Déborah François, Bérénice Bejo

Let’s all forget our unspoken agreement to lie through our teeth in an effort to appear cultured, and admit that if there’s a choice between a subtitled foreign film and one in our native language, the latter will probably win out. It’s not just laziness; subtitles can be problematic from an artistic point of view. Having to constantly read subtitles distracts you from the visuals of the shot, sometimes revealing critical information before the images have had a chance to catch up, and it is often difficult to connect the tone of voice with that big mush of unfathomable words, meaning subtleties of the dialogue go over your head. Ultimately, through no fault of the filmmakers or audience, this disjointed feel means it can be hard to immerse yourself in the world presented by a subtitled foreign film.

Into these reservations blew the trailer for Populaire, showing a well-dressed boss meeting a ditsy secretary with a talent for typing, and promptly entering her into a typing contest. Will-they-won’t-they romance plot? Check. Misfit leading lady waiting to shine? Quirky scenario? Glamorous 1950s period setting? Big, bright, beautiful dresses? Check, check, check, and check. Oh, and Bérénice Bejo from The Artist is in it too. While many film fans will be groaning into their snobbery and horror collections at the thought (hi Matt, thanks for reading), these ingredients compromise everything I would look for in a fun, easy film, and so I overlooked the groaning sensation let loose by my inner heathen at the mention of the S word, and got ready to read.

As the trailer suggests, the plot revolves around Rose Pomphyle (Déborah François), a modern woman trapped in a small French town, who dreams of leaving it all behind to make it big, starting with a job as a secretary. Enter dashing but gruff Louis Échard (Romain Duris), an insurance man who is fed up with always being second best, both in the eyes of his father and of Marie (Bejo), the woman he once loved who went on to marry his best friend. Échard begins training Rose for the typing championships, but the gruelling schedule and their emerging chemistry complicate their feelings about each other and themselves.

So far, so predictable, but there’s more to this romance than meets the eye, and the characters are not simply allowed to fall into each other’s arms in typical Hollywood style. Despite his generosity, Échard is no Prince Charming, often seeming cold and rude, while Rose is alternately sweet, tough and maddeningly selfish. Both undergo some thorough self-examination as they try to tangle out their places in the world, a theme that reflects the mood of the 1958 setting, which sees France caught between the memory of the war and the new generation’s desire for modernity.

And that 1958 setting looks good. The visuals are awash with the glamour that pervades fifties and sixties period films, with the vast difference between Rose’s sleepy town and the vibrant, modern city emphasised by scenes bedecked in candy colours, fancy cars and snappy dressers. Everyone has their hair styled to perfection, make up looking flawless, puffy dresses, sharp suits and big, shiny houses: in other words, everything you would expect from a retro rom com, but transplanted to France and revolving around a typing competition.

It this plot detail that really lifts this film out of the ordinary and means it would be entirely fair to classify Populaire as a sports movie. It employs a fairly standard formula: an underdog with raw talent and ambition to be great undertakes intense instruction from an expert coach in order to try and win a competition. There are training montages that are surprisingly entertaining, mid-competition disasters, and the tension of whether or not victory will be achieved. The quirky twist, of course, is that the sport involved is speed typing. Populaire does for this what Whip It did for roller derby, in that it brings a frequently derided activity and shows a competitive, gutsy, challenging side that requires discipline and skill. Ultimately, it is this sporting plotline, rather than the romance, which drives the narrative of the film, pushing Populaire from an average rom com to a mix of sports film, love story, drama and comedy.

Like those subtitle sceptics, Populaire is not pretentious in its ambitions, offering light-hearted but moving entertainment rather than hard-hitting drama. While the pervasive screen of retro glamour threatens to posit it firmly in the territory of frothy, mindless love story, the quirky premise, sporting plotline and well-developed main characters takes this from run of the mill and make for a charming, whimsical film.