For men, it’s one of life’s great mysteries: why on earth does it take women
so long to get ready to go out? To find out we set husband and wife team
Philip Clothier and Rosie Millard the pretheatre scrub-up challenge: given
the same amount of time to shower, change and perform their toilette, who
came out best? And two well-groomed experts for their verdict on the
finished products . . .
ROSIE ‘I simply never buy clothes that need ironing’
17.30 Vaguely think about getting ready, but I know I have a bit more
work to finish, one of the perils of working from home. I sense Mr Millard’s
getting testy about the time, but I must send an e-mail, and have a
faux-casual chat with an editor before I leave my work station.
17.45 Wash hair in downstairs shower. New puppy and toddler try to come
in during this exercise. Kick them both out.
17.50 Quickly pad upstairs to slather hair products on my head (Kiehl’s
SIlk Groom), plus current fave treatment, Elemis Body Sculpting
Lipo-Refining Serum on thighs and, ahem, buttocks. I’ve been using this all
month, and given my selected outfit for the night (minuscule hot pants), an
ultra-smooth rear is a must. As I slap my bum with cupped hands (the advised
method), Mr Millard puts a furious face around the door. “What is going on?”
he asks. “Just treating my cellulite, sweetie,” I reply.
18.00 Dry hair while Mr Millard is ironing his shirt. I feel quite
relaxed. We have only 15 minutes to go, it’s true, but as I know that I will
bypass the ironing procedure, I am confident that I’ll be ready in time. I
simply never buy clothes that need ironing. The Simpsons starts.
Great. An inspiring example of a similarly chaotic household.
18.15 Damn. Forgot to take make-up off before shower. Return to
bathroom for quickie with make-up remover. Mr Millard making revving noises
in his throat. It’s usually at this point that he begins his Speaking Clock
routine.
18.20 “It’s 6.20, you know,” he says. Yeah, yeah.
18.21 Get dressed. Ta-dah! No ironing!
18.22 Apply make-up. Use Guerlain’s Divinora Perle de Nuit eyeshadow,
which is quite brilliant, needs no blending, shading, or even a brush. Just
bung it on with your fingers and you look like Catherine Deneuve in Belle
de Jour. Bung on mascara and lippy. Realise am starving hungry. Fiddler
on The Roof is three hours long and we won’t get to eat first.
18.30 Wander into kitchen to forage for food. Dog attacks tights with
claws. Fend him off and find handful of nuts.
18.31 Goodbye, Junior Millards. “Hug! Hug!” they cry. “Do you think I
look like mutton dressed as lamb?” I ask. The oldest one gives me a funny
look. “What does that mean exactly, Mummy?”
18.32 Dive back into house for bag. “It’s six thirty,” shouts Mr M.
18.58 Arrive at theatre with two minutes to go. Perfect. Now all I need
to do is find a loo.
VERDICT: Lorraine Candy, editor-in-chief, Elle magazine
6/10 Not a bad effort for someone who has had only an hour to get it
together, with a household of kids and dogs to distract her. What I would
say, though, is that with Rosie’s pale colouring and red hair, a black
T-shirt can be draining on untanned skin; a colour would be better. The
“before” dress was a promising look, worn with a gypsy-style blouse or
statement jewellery. Am loving the red nails. Perfect.
Accessories are a quick, easy way to update your look. A big-buckled belt will
give you a waist. Wear it with a V-neck or a blouse and jeans or go for a
clashing colour if you’re brave (even patent).
A clutch bag is an instant updater for any look and perfect for evening.
Always go for a heel; it will elongate the leg. your legs after your morning
shower; it will save you grappling with tights, especially if you plan to
wear a summer dress.
The answer to a great PM is all in the AM. When you get up, work out what you
want to wear that evening and keep it simple. And if you’ve got children,
don’t forget to do the dribble test. Rub in a splash of moisturiser with
fake tan on
Lorraine’s scrubbing-up tips
PHILIP ‘An unnecessary shave will make things better’
17.30 It’s a first night, so I’m planning to wear a vaguely presentable
shirt and white pinstripe trousers. I will be ready in five minutes.
17.35 My DKNY shirt, with trademark wrinkled collar, needs ironing. The
board is in the cellar, the other side of the nanny’s room. I wait while the
nanny lets me in.
17.40 As I grab the ironing board, I hear the mobile phone ringing
upstairs. I wrest it from the bottom of Rosie’s bag, but the caller rings
off.
17.42 I spill water from the iron on to our stair runner, en route to
discovering three of our four children huddled round the bedroom TV,
watching something called Numberjacks.
17.45 I officiously remind Rosie that we only have half an hour to go.
She ignores me.
17.47 Rosie is telling our oldest daughter to start practising the
piano. I shout out that it is now nearly ten to six. Vaguely unhappy sounds
emanate from the bathroom, the gist of which is to tell me to stop fussing.
17.50 The shirt is not putting up much of a fight; I can iron because I
used to do it for pocket money as a teenager. However, my trousers have
unremovable creases.
18.00 I toy with the idea of polishing my shoes before spotting large
holes in the soles. I choose some old black suede shoes with smaller holes.
Although it’s raining, I’m sure that I can make it to the car without becoming
waterlogged. I tie the laces but one of them snaps. I steal the frayed laces
from the worn-out shoes.
18.05 I’m still rethreading laces when I glance up to find Rosie,
miraculously ready, and dressed in Kate Moss clothes from Topshop, including
new shoes. She looks at me as though I’m wearing something I’d found in the
garden.
18.10 Although we are now officially late, I start tidying the bedroom.
I hope, with warped logic, that this might compensate for being dressed like
a mature student alongside my crisply dressed and beautifully manicured
wife.
18.20 Maybe an unnecessary shave will make things better. I’m using a
blunt razor, trying not to cut my face. Rosie has done her usual PreTheatre
Disappearing Act, giving me catching-up time.
18.25 I noisily open the front door hoping this will concentrate
Rosie’s mind.
18.27 In the same vein, I go outside shouting goodbye to the children.
I step in a puddle.
18.30 Rosie appears. The children wave us off. We agree how lovely they
all are.
18.58 We arrive with minutes to spare before the curtain goes up. I
collapse ready for a snooze.
VERDICT: Dylan Jones, editor, GQ magazine
3/10
I actually think that Philip looks quite good in the “before” photograph –
younger, relaxed, more comfortable, and yes – even perhaps a little bit
cooler. In the “after” photograph, however, he looks as if he could be
modelling chinos for a mail order catalogue.
Before you start thinking that all fake tan will make you look like George
Hamilton, there is solid research which states that men in business meetings
are taken more seriously if they have some colour.
While it’s perfectly acceptable to have a grooming regimen, I wouldn’t, if I
were you, call it a beauty regimen. Ever.
Dylan’s scrubbing-up tips
Don’t be embarrassed to use an electric razor. Most men’s magazines will try to
tell you that only a wet shave will get the job done properly, but the
electric ones are just as good.
Use whitening toothpaste. It works.
Put cologne on your hands, rather than your face or neck. That way people will
take a little bit of you away with them, having shaken hands with you.
Mr Jones’ Rules, by Dylan Jones (Hodder, £7.99)
