In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s something of an Eighties revival in the air. Shoulder pads, jumpsuits, neon eyeshadows, stonewashed denim, bodies – it’s like some crazed Duran Duran fan has kidnapped fashion. And now, the final blow: Superdrug is restocking Sun-In.

I can only assume that the people coming up with these trends are so young as to be blissfully ignorant of the terrible consequences their actions might have. I know; I was there the first time round. I was 17 in 1984. I had a dodgy orange Simon Le Bon flick, frosted purple lipstick that made me look like a cadaver and far too much streaky blusher. I also had an extensive collection of shoulder pads that I wore at all times. I would buy them in Peter Jones’ haberdashery department, along with poppers that I sewed to the under-side of all my bra straps to help keep them in place (slippage was a big problem, especially on the dancefloor). I looked an absolute fright.

On the whole, my mother tolerated my excesses bravely; but the one thing she just could not fathom was the Sun-In. It turned my very dark brown hair a spectacularly unflattering shade of orangey yellow, like tobacco stains, or old pub wallpaper, and gave it the texture of straw. And yet we all used it, ever hopeful that it would turn us from suburban brunettes into blonde bombshells.

It’s fascinating, this blonde thing. The message that blonde equals attractive is so culturally ingrained, it’s impossible for young girls to resist. My own daughter, very much a feisty brunette, regularly expresses a desire to be blonde; and even though her favourite character in High School Musical has brown hair (Gabriella), she still admires her bitchy rival (Sharpay) for her sunkissed tresses.

So, in a slightly hectoring way, I’m here to say, Sun-In: don’t go there. You might as well douse your hair in Domestos, for all the good it will do you (although please don’t, obviously). The original formula has remained pretty much unchanged since it launched in the Seventies, apart from the addition of a conditioner in the Eighties and some botanical extracts to mask the smell of bleach. If you think how far hair colouring technology has come since then, it’s the follicular equivalent of the horse and cart.

The modern equivalent is John Frieda’s new Sheer Blonde Go Blonder shampoo, left, and conditioner (£5.49 each; call 020-7851 9800 for stockists). Suitable for both natural and treated hair, the shampoo contains citrus and camomile extracts to lighten the hair gently by a shade or two. It goes as far as a shampoo can go without needing a professional to avert catastrophe, which means you won’t have to worry about ending up looking like Andrew Ridgeley by accident. Assuming, of course, it is by accident…

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