Dressing Ms Curvy

It's time to dump the Slim-Fast for hot chocolate with extra cream. Curves are back in fashion and the skinny superwaif has, at long last, had her day.

This news comes from no less an authority than French Elle, which has just announced that the twig shape beloved of fashion designers (most of whom would really prefer to dress men) is now so very last year. Instead, the "guitar shape", as epitomised by J-Lo and her bottom, is the desirable figure to possess.

The new voluptuousness has even made its way into Vogue magazine (edited by the deliciously curvy Alexandra Shulman), where this month's issue is busting out all over with rounder beauties (well, okay, one). When even Kate Moss starts putting on a few pounds, you know something's in the wind. Which should be good news for the vast majority of us whose pesky bust, waist and hips go in and out rather than straight up and down.

In recent months, for reasons best known to myself, I have crossed the Rubicon from a size 12 to a 14. But, armed with the knowledge of just how chic my measurements have become, I had high hopes when I sallied forth in search of a simple little party dress. My requirements were pretty basic. I didn't want anything too revealing (just looking at the lardy white flesh on display at most parties makes me want to emigrate); and I wanted something with sleeves (show me a woman over 25 who likes revealing her upper arms).

At Miss Selfridge, there seemed to be nothing with sleeves. The choices on offer ranged from a wisp of black chiffon that ended at the knicker line and had a diamondshaped cut-out at the chest that confined it to the flat-chested. There were satin culotte pants cut off at the most unflattering point to emphasise knee bulge, and a slithery, barely-there thing in green-and-black stripes.

Eventually, I saw something that looked remotely possible for a guitarshaped woman: a Fifties-style dress in black satin with purple polka dots. Eagerly, I scanned the rack. There was a size 6 on display, which I assume is for Posh Spice the next time she drops in, but no size 14.

At Topshop, I fared little better. The fashion crowd may be constantly suggesting this place as a source of dirt-cheap must-haves, but you won't find much if you don't fit the twig template. Everything seemed frontless, backless or sleeveless, and often all three; which may be why, when I asked an assistant whether they had any dresses with sleeves, she simply goggled at me. True, there were some nice-looking satin skirts and clingy jumpers, but, dammit, I wanted a party dress. Just how hard could this be?

Perhaps, after all, I was just trying the wrong shops. They were all seething with pre-pubescent girls who tend to be straight up and down without trying.

Karen Millen, on the other hand, caters for young working women. Surely they would have something suitable? They did. A little black dress, with sleeves, cut low but sexily enhanced with diamond strands at the back. Size eight, ten, 12. "No 14?" I asked the assistant, crushed. She rang down to the stock-room. No 14. "But try the 12," she said helpfully, "it's quite baggy."

Baggy wasn't quite the look I was after. But this, it turned out, wasn't nearly baggy enough. I squished myself into it and found that, though it was possible to breathe and perhaps even speak occasionally, any extraneous activities like eating a canapé or moving would be distinctly risky.

The high street was clearly interested only in catering for the skinny. Perhaps it was time to go upmarket.

When I set foot in the vast Donna Karan on Bond Street, the mere sight of the whipthin, immaculately trendy shop assistants made me wonder if I hadn't made a mistake. Actually, I hadn't. It seems that for Donna, the money of the voluptuous woman is just as acceptable as that of the waif.

The assistant found me three perfect dresses - a long-sleeved wrap-around, a halter-neck and a fabulous ribbed and corseted number in which I felt like Nigella Lawson. Yes, I could look drop-dead glamorous - if I could afford to. Boggling at the £950 price tag on the simplest dress, I nevertheless left feeling rather cheered.

This mood increased as I entered Liberty, and fell gratefully into Ghost, emerging, 10 minutes later, with a sassy little Betty Boop number in scarlet for £150. It was, however, sleeveless, but you can't have everything.

Unless, that is, you go to Neil Cunningham on Sackville Street, who specialises in dressing guitars. In a swingy, Jackie O-style pillar-box red A-line dress, I felt utterly comfortable for the first time that day. At £560, it wasn't exactly cheap, but I could see that I could wear it even on a fat day and still feel sexy.

Best of all, it was a size 12. Call me shallow, but as a woman with curves, it's nice to fit in again.