I tried to avoid it as long as possible. I stuck my head in Olympic hoo-ha and refused to pull it out. I thought Lycra, Lycra, Lycra instead of lust, lust, lust. Even when the news hit that Fifty Shades of Grey , the tripartite saga of smut and spanking in Seattle that has become a publishing phenomenon, had surpassed Harry Potter as the bestselling book of all time on Amazon UK, I rolled my eyes and shrugged: nothing to do with me. This book is about getting rid of clothes, not analysing them.
How wrong I was. If any proof were needed that a blockbuster bestseller equals a sartorial spin-off waiting to happen, this is it.