It felt like Paul Smith had stripped his collection back to the bare bones, and what beautiful bones they were. This being a huge moment for the shirt, it is appropriate that they were deceptively impeccable versions: pinstriped and oversized, tucked casually into the palest pink trousers; in watercolour prints featuring the most delicate of blooms; jacket/shirt hybrids that wrapped across the front. You’d take them all, in particular the pale pink shirt worn with a saffron silk skirt. There was a decent quotient of dresses: the softest pearl-grey silk shirt-dress, the shrug-on piece that would make your summer; eggshell-blue chiffon belted at the waist; an apron maxi- dress that looked natty with Chelsea boots. If that all sounds too pretty, he also threw in some fabulously deep jades, blues and clarets. I loved the envelope bags; and the brogues and ankle boots delivered that English tomboy sensibility that is so now. Personally, I want to be a PS woman next summer – confident, easy, a bit boyish and very English. And that is coming from a Scot.
